Sinister: gap

[Kieran Devaney]

Dear Sinister,



It’s a cliché to be miserable at Christmas.



The Offbeat Belle and Sebastian special. Reporting back. It was fun. I flew 
the flag for Sinister and danced to every single b&s song played, and some 
others too. It was strange. With people behaving in unexpected ways.



I behaved oddly myself and told someone that I don’t know at all that his 
enjoyment of caving was probably something oedipal, something about 
retreating back into the womb. I asked him if he’d ever felt violent urges 
towards his father. He didn’t understand.



Birmingham is bleaker than I remember. Grimmer. Last week off the train the 
first person who talks to me is homeless Dave, pestering me for cash. Have I 
told you about him? He was on TV recently. I probably have. I didn’t give 
him anything.



On the street someone stopped me and asked if I knew where he could buy 
weed. I told him no. Because I don’t. He singled me out, though, from 
amongst a whole load of people. Perhaps I need to change my image.



Are you angry or are you boring?



I have my gifts ready for the Sinister present exchange, nothing too flashy. 
I wont say quite what so I don’t spoil the surprise. I’m going to send them 
off tomorrow.



Two cows standing in a field. One turns to the other and says: “What do you 
think of all this BSE talk then?” The other cow looks up and replies: 
“Doesn’t affect me, I’m a fucking duck.”



At the moment I’m tired of my English Lit course. I quite fancy quitting and 
doing a foundation art course. It’d be a massive step backwards because it 
would mean living at home again for a year and eschewing all the freedom I 
have in Sheffield, but I want more creative control – what’s the point in my 
being here if I can’t write how I want? What do you reckon?



I’m going home for the holidays about this time next week. I can’t decide if 
I’m quite looking forward to it or not, last weekend I spent in Birmingham I 
stayed over at my friend’s house both nights, only seeing my family 
fleetingly. I feel a bit guilty about that.



One of the ideas I had was that everything you ever said be taken down by 
some device which would then print out your words in light grey ink on an 
old dot matrix printer, on the long joined up reams of paper with the faint 
green print on the back, and everything you had said over the course of a 
month would be mailed out to you in print form, but minus the original 
context, so it would just be your own isolated words staring back at you.



Reporting Back. I met another list member from Sheffield. Neil. That was 
nice. Hi Neil.



You know that thing people sometimes do, where they exchange phone numbers, 
knowing full well that neither will call, just so it appears as though they 
have lots of mates when scrolling through their numbers? I don’t do that.



What’s the name of that colour that exists where green, grey and brown 
overlap? My old German teacher used to have a dress in that colour. We could 
never decide which it was. Debating that was more fun than Grammatik anyhow. 
This is another toothpaste question. It's another Venn-Diagram thing (some 
info on John Venn here: http://sue.csc.uvic.ca/~cos/venn/VennJohnEJC.html). 
It's another duck/rabbit old woman/young woman candlestick/two faces thing. 
My brother and I used to have big mock-shouty arguments about those where I 
would insistantly yell "It's a candlestick!" and he "It's two faces!" thus 
debunking the notion that the whole point is that it can be both. We were 
philosophers before our time.



Did I tell you that the lead singer from the 80’s Matchbox B-line Whatever 
spoke to me the other day? He had just done this terrible gig which I had 
unfortunately witnessed, he’s such a poser – I dislike descriptions like 
this, but they’re a band for people who pretend not to like metal. I like 
metal. He was lost and couldn’t find where his bus was parked. I told him 
the way. He singled me out, though, from amongst a whole load of people. 
Perhaps I need to change my image.



I suppose I should comment on S*g*r R*s. Actually, no. I wont.



Relationships with the people here remain strained – the talk has turned to 
who and where everyone will live next year, unfortunately excluding myself. 
Not that I mind. I might not even be here next year and I have people to 
live with if I am anyway. But nonetheless, Very tactless of them.



Word Count. Please excuse my brevity. Have a happy Christmas if I don’t 
write before then.



- Kieran



p.s. I remember ages ago when we were on holiday somewhere, on the beach. 
When it was time to go home I took a stick and dragged it through the sand 
as we walked back up towards our caravan. When we reached the edge of the 
beach and I was forced to abandon the stick I looked back and the little 
trail I'd left seemed to stretch on for miles.












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