Sinister: Date: Thu, 4 Apr 2002 19:10:44 +0100

[rASKol]

hello little sinister-village people i havent written to the list in
absolutly ages, and the reason for that is that the part of my brain that
comes up with all the sinisteresque things to say has been otherwise
occupied in a correspondance with somebody twee-as-fup. And she sucks all my
sinister posts out of my head before they make it to the list.
***godspeed*****
I was wondering has anyone been to any of the GYBE! shows, i just attended
the one in dublin, and although i was spellbinded and knocked into a very
pleasent introspective coma for the evening i couldnt help but notice that
the listening public werent quite as cool as i expected them to be. In fact
they were a mixture bedroom spanking greasy spotty guys and lots and lots of
short men who kept crossing in front of me to get beers and because they
couldnt see. It certainly wasnt a place for spotting nice corderoy wearing
girls. Although one of the people i was with spotted a nice goodlooking man
that he kept finding excuses to pass and stare at. i wont out him on the
list though as he does subscribe. Has any of you heard of an oxford band
called "meanwhile, back in communist russia"?

*** I love my car***
A car has always held an element of wonder for me, this is not due to any
mechanical interest or fetish but more to a fascination with the reality or
universe it creates within its steel frame. A minor reality can be created
and kept from the outside world. To drive on the rough tarmac and stare
semiconsciously and passively at the hedgerows and telegraph poles slide by
in a fluid like conveyer belt motion. To count the poles or cut the trees
with a minds-eye scythe and enumerate the cats eyes. It has this delicious
element of childhood, these little universes of music as we drive, talking
and arguing with my siblings, and parents. Being sad and silent as we drive
away from some place or other, or being quietly happy about some trip, full
of planned out scenarios that in themselves could have been great works of
fiction and unreality.
 I so often see a car drive by me and wonder about what goes on in its
little world. Seeing some brief flash of people, one looking dreamily out of
the window, the others talking or arguing. Arguments always seem worse in a
car. I think it is because there is no escape. In fact it was while driving
me somewhere that my father always saw fit to have a 'little chat' with me
about something or other. Those 'what are you doing with your life chats'
that make you wish you could disembark the hurtling carriage in dramatic
Bond style. But alas once a little dynamic steel framed world is created,
there is nothing to do but wait until it reaches its natural conclusion,
your destination. It is only then that things all seem much bigger, less
confined and more real.
Some of my most poignant and unusual memories took place within these
parallel dimensions. One such memory took place just after one of the
biggest terrorist bombings that ever took place in the north of Ireland. It
was the bombing of Omagh. I remember sitting in the car driving along, with
3 other people. The radio was on and blurting out some murmured news
program. It was on merely as background noise of some routine little trip. I
suddenly became interested in the program, as it was the first count of how
many dead had been recovered from the bombing. The atmosphere of the
broadcast suddenly changed and so to did the voices. As one by one with
excruciating pauses between each and every name of those killed was read out
one after the other. Usually as do most people I adopt the detached 'oh that
's awful' and the head shake view of such atrocities, because although I do
think it is awful it doesn't affect me or my life. If I shed a tear for
every tragedy of the world, rivers would burst there banks and seas would
rise.
After the names were read, a minute's silence was observed on the radio. A
silence is something of everyday life, but radio silence is something so
stark and unusual as to stop you in your tracks. It is not like having the
radio off because there is that expectant little crackle that emanates from
the speakers. A pregnant pause on the airwaves is like no other. Usually a
radio is a device that can fill a car or a house with voices of opinion and
reason, or music and stories. One can rarely be alone when they have the
radio for company. But this channel to an external universe filled our
universe with a profound sadness. No one in the car said a thing the radio
uttered nothing but hiss. Outside people blurred past in oblivious movements
and with smiling faces. As a tear ran down my cheek I felt this unreasonable
anger toward them, as if they should somehow know what was happening in my
little universe. But they couldn't.
Another of these universes was affected by a mobile phone call. I had been
on a trip to see some relatives and had settled into a nice milieu of
atmospheric music on my personal stereo and the sight of the wind and rain
furrowing a fierce weathered brow and building to catharsis with my
well-timed music. I received a phone call from a friend, absolutely
distraught. Another friend had been attacked and murdered and he was ringing
me in the confusion. I hung up and couldn't quite focus on what I had just
heard. We pulled over at the side of the county road, as other little worlds
flitted by in fleeting soulless blur. Had I really heard that? Had the
channel to my movement reverie world been accurate? The wind seemed to be
getting stronger and in a half thought I felt it too fitting for the
occasion and moment. For a second it felt horrifically staged weather, like
some trite movie where someone would say something terribly moving and
comforting. But it didn't happen, we sat by the side of that road in utter
muted disbelief. The music still whirring with the wind in the background
from my earphones a remnant of my now broken reverie. After a minute or so
we started the car again and continued to where we were going. It was too
late to turn back.
Many people have emotional attachments to their cars; they give them names
and nurture them like some kind of life form. Others view them as some sort
of statement, with wide wheels twin enlarged exhausts, and stickers that
utter such statements as 'no fear'. Large bass speakers in the boot and
tinted windows effuse questionable statements about the owners. But a car
for me is a forced reality, a dynamic sub-culture with its own subtexts and
subplots. It will always remind me of the excitement as a child of going on
a trip and the sad punctuations of tragedy, when someone outside the car
will catch a glimpse into another world and shake their head and say; 'oh
that's awful' and go about their business.
****umm something*********
As i walked the other day to the sounds of the new boards of canada album on
my minidisc. I noticed this construction site has erected these huge white
hoardings to cover the buildings. THere was three winos standing there
drinking out of brown paper bags and one had a permanent black marker and
was writing these elaborate trigonometry proofs and pointing out to his
compatriots the certain parts like he was teaching them. It made me think of
a maths genius that lived as a hobo that i read about years ago. I wished
I'd had my camera, iwished I hadnt been too shy to go and talk to them. It
made me feel sad. There was also some graffiti that said slow graffiti.
****jimmycake****
has anyone heard of them/seen them live? they are really excellent. Im
Speaking mainly to dublin people here..

R I C H A R D* raskol



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