Sinister: Lord of the Corduroy-Fellowship of the Flares

[Corduroy Boy]

(Dispite the light-hearted title this post is too long so skip now to save
time)
Hello, you sinister people.
This morning I succeeded in slaughtering my academic future by (inevitably)
failing my physics paper. It felt like the worst I have ever done in an exam
and my gibbers of hysteria and panic were most definitely audible in the
exam room.

But I cannot be persecuted, because be there a rule banning mobee phones and
cheat notes, no restricting measures have been taken against gibbering.

My friends, you are free to gibber.

[As my glazed eyes showed no conscious thought, the sound of my black
fountain pen nib scratching the paper was louder than any other. Those
behind me look up, knowing from the motions of my arm (though they could not
see what I wrote) that my paper is being filled with a bizarre mixture of
scribble and cryptic symbols.

The finishing bell rattles, and the other candidates file out in a quiet and
controlled manner.
One would think they would have found my situation and  the subsequent
facial expressions comical, but their expressions are humourless, showing
emotions of pity and concern above all else.

As they walk to the back of the hall to awkwardly collect their coats, bags,
umbrellas and thoughts, my solitary figure can be seen to walk bouncily to
the front to converse with the invigilator (with whom I am on friendly terms
through a shared enjoyment of rock climbing).
He smiles as I clutch my paper, look round as if searching, and relay to him
my lucky escape from an unclassified grade...
"That was OK, wasn't it? Shall I let you in on a little secret? I couldn't
have answered one of those questions correctly, but luckily as I grew
hysterical (and started to gibber, Tom, don't forget the gibbering...) a
small Incan monkey god descended to my desk and whispered the answers to
me."
As the invigilator gives me a quizzical look, he notices the relief of the
symbols and scribbling on the inside page of my paper. He looks at me with
the same concern as my fellow candidates...
"Now all I have to do is find someone who can translate his beautiful
language..."]

No, unfortunately, that was not real. No Incan monkey god came to my aid, so
I will definitely have failed. Moving on.

I have acquired (through honest means) a copy of "Careless Talk Costs
Lives". It is quite acceptable as music magazines go, and as music magazines
go *today* it is quite edifying. However, as you would expect, some*
(*replace
with much or all as you see fit) of it is self indulgent to the point of
being masturbatory. Also, one of my pet hates in pretty much all music media
rears it's butt-ugly head...

Why oh why, why why why do they hand even ONE of their pages over to some
bloody cretin whose only qualification is that they know where the asterisk
on the keyboard is? This allows them to speak in solid obscenities right the
way through and bypasses the need to make any sort of logical, rational or
even intelligent statement about the bands/artists in question.

This is not some rant against offensive-ness or people expressing themselves
through language, it's the complete lack of any new slant or descriptive
opinion on the music.
Fair enough, some musicians need a good slating, but no decent and well
reasoned abuse is used to the point that-however shite the band- any
judgement against them is lost and thus the sharp rocks of literate people
are not thrown.
NME has the "Angst" page in the back, which to be honest consists of letters
sent in by the public, but Swells doesn't inspire intelligent comment so
they reap what they sow with that one. However, the boring
trying-to-be-offensive material referred to in CTCL is not the opinion of
the general public even if a new guy does it every week (I can't remember
who writes that page) andso unlike the back page of NME does not even
provide the odd chuckle.
The most excruciating fact is that I'm sure the guy writing it is probably
doing it with tongue in cheek thinking, "boy, this'll really offend and
shock people!" Yeah mate, about 25 years ago, GROW UP. You've had your fun,
you've made people blush, time to think of another idea, this time one that
*no on else has done.*

Well, that's what I think anyway, I may well be wide of the mark.

Aagh, this has turned into a bit of an epic, hasn't it? Sorry.

Sorry.
Tom
XXXXXXX

P.S. Props to ian for his consistency in making me uneasy about life with
his posts to archel for reminding me about the poetry parrot I suspected him
eaten by ken  to the guys whose names elude me but who have been keeping us
posted on the radio front Mr Moore and Neil I think and to Kirsten for the
last subject line (don't let him eat the flower though, best draw him a box)
and for keeping up the required level of sweetness and to vel even tough she
hasn't posted in ages and HELLO to all the nice new people that have joined.
Sorry.


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