Sinister: A Cockroach on the Wheel (l. cohen)

[toy stephen]

Infidel and Hope on the Meat Wheel
-----------------------------------
At work on Easter Sunday (which is unholy enough), I
think I'll fill out my tax forms. As I poured coffee
into my mug, I saw the dead cockroach belly-up on the
floor and had an epiphany: if I dare to do my taxes on
Easter Sunday, I'll either be reincarnated as this
beastie here, or suffer being cast as the evil one
ejected by Jesus from the synagogue when history
replays itself.

I'll post to Sinister. That's holy, that'll help my
soul progress on the quivering meat wheel, won't it?

sex sex sex 
-----------
I don't observe Easter Sunday really. It's an
important day, I think; it might be one of those few
days left that inspires --gasp -- reverence in people.
The ritual of spring affects me more now than the
memories of Sunday school Easter bible stories. 

the resurrection of the wine god. youthful stirrings.
and everywhere you look in Nature, sex sex sex (unless
youre lookin into my bedroom window which, by the way,
if you are, why not come in? I've been watching the
mating dance closely and I've got the steps down: I
shake my rump feather, and flit away, you chase me, I
squawk and chirp, you don't give a damn, and you try
some more, with a persistence that's not ashamed of
itself -- Nature gives you license). 

Belle and Sebastian Anonymous -- Can I see some flesh?
------------------------------------------------------
Apart from my one friend Rachel I don't know any
blood-and-flesh B&S fans. I mean, I'm sure you all
really have blood-and-flesh, but none I can see.
Rachel tries her hardest, last night she made
impressive use of a broom, a jug of laundry detergent,
the plastic softening ball for the washer, and a
cutting board for melody while we danced to Sinister.
As I walked her home, I resorted to an amplified
squawking of Sinister songs, hoping to see the
head-jerk reaction of a stranger who recognised such a
foreign language. It feels like that sometimes:
running off a few lyrics as if they were words of your
native tongue that no one seems to understand in this
oasis. Sigh. Does anyone else strategically drop
lines, like say, when passing a girl walking in the
opposite direction? 

Well-wishes for the lucky concert-goers
--------------------------------------
Buon divertente to the Edinburgh Sinisterines seeing
the show tomorrow. I'm sure with Monica Queen you'll
get a perfect version of Lazy Line Painter Jane.
Remember too April Fools Day. Maybe you should dress
Goth-like, long black trenchcoats and loadser dark
mascara, and give the Belles a start by chanting 'Nine
Inch Nails! Nine Inch Nails! before they come on. Just
to take the piss like. Like Ken enthused, it's good
practise for the release of Storytelling. 

Tony Blair as Jesus Christ?
---------------------------
Sad to hear the Queen Mother died. I cynically thought
for a moment that they faked the death, so PM Blair
could stage some kind of Lazarus resurrection in time
for Easter Sunday, and rescue the faltering PR machine
of New Labour. 
I'm definitely going to end up as that cockroach. I
know it.

resurrections and pease,
t.s.

p.s.: your haiku dose:

A combo: mud and 
Snow -- the young girl is perplexed.
Memory. Desire.

p.p.s.: has anyone read Niall Griffiths? I finished
_Grits_ yesterday and loved it. Very much like The
Perks of Being a Wallflower.

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