Sinister: that's what they expect

[Rachel Playforth]

monday morning/wake up knowing that you've got to go to work...

... and that you will find 8 billion sinister emails, some lovely, but
that you will not remember anything of them apart from idelberry's
mention of wind farms.  now i *know* these are farms DRIVEN by wind, and
yet i still drifted off into an image of a farm which produces wind. 
like a sheep farm, or a fish farm.  it could be good if you could just
farm wind, grow it like corn and distribute it around the earth to do
its work (carrying seeds and whatnot?).  except that today it's really
excessively windy.  stop the production line.

um.

so, i was feeling a bit restless yesterday, and on leaving the house,
felt a strange force pulling me to a part of town i'd never been to
before.  after a while i realised that my feet had taken me to ian's
house.  i knew it was his because of the empty wine bottles, mutilated
shop dummies, broken crucifixes and pages torn from pornographic french
novels littering the overgrown front garden.  i stood there irresolutely
for a while, listening to the dry coughing and occasional incoherent
shouts which interrupted the strains of the magnetic fields drifting
from an upstairs window.

i was suddenly overcome with the need to stop this kind of behaviour.  i
knew that he was in there, drunken delusions of grandeur filling his
otherwise empty head.  words spilling out of his mouth, not always his
own.  so, i left a note.  maybe it was a challenge, maybe it was a
threat, maybe it was just a friendly warning.

i went home and worked on some poetry.  i didn't make the final grade
when it came to those awards, but at least i knew i was better than ian.

luv archel xxx

ps. the 5th may brighton picnic has been postponed, hopefully to be
replaced by another london-based event.  brighton will probably be
hosting the sinister drinking olympics on 25th may instead.  will keep
you posted...




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