Sinister: those pylons frame the light, see

[Gordon]

Well, a guy my own age at work told me to go home yesterday, and so here
I am. Attempting to do something pretty whilst I could, I talked for
three hours with him about the project, then drew a couple of sketches
of the barmaid before the proprietor threw me out, fell asleep somewhere
posh then got home and burst into tears, inconsoleable and
uncontroleable. Perhaps I should visit the Saracen's Head after all. I
talked with some steelworkers, too, who were on a trip up from
Sunderland. One thinks that, at the end of the day, there will be
something useful in all of this. I mean I'm patient: I choose life,
etc., but the world is so annoyingly intolerant of my desires of
domination over my own wee patch of it. I suppose I make the mistake of
countering trivialities with a grate! big drama but it just amazes me
how people can so quietly and sophisticatedly buckle down to this
utterly absurd scenario of 'the way things are today'. To think that I
worked *so hard* and so well on that job: gave it everything I have, for
me to be told to go home on a technicality of breath. Alcohol, see, and
I'm not sacked either: I'm welcome back today or Monday but
I'm telling you all this
I'm telling you all this because I want to demonstrate that a confident,
showy bright guy who 'should know better' knows more than that and yet
can still be reduced to a pathetic shrivel not in himself but for others
simply dismissing. 'Your way of working is not our way of working.' Well
what the hell is that? 'You might fantasise about the situation in
Barcelona, but' I fantasise about everyone whose been looking at athena
posters when there's an olive grove around, or even some haystacks. I'm
not really making great claims for myself: I really just want to be left
alone. What I really, really want, is to meet another person who is of
the same sort as I am: not a nurse or a mother figure: not a sister or a
brother: not a girl or a guy: just another person like me.

I can't send this to the sinister mailing list, of course. It's
indulgently personal, inappropriate and rather scary. So I won't or,
will it connect somehow? The stock response to a declaration such as
this is, I suppose, 'what do you want out of this? what are you getting
at?' to which the answer is 'it's an irrelevant question'.

That new B&S cover is wild. Very nouveux-old. As usual with their stuff
it's full of rib-prodding.. religion? bah! I'll give you a tickle...
Cleopatra? anyone? anyone?

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