Sinister: subject - that's very demanding, isn't it? why try and encapsulate a whole array of thoughts into one succinct sentence, when to do so will inevitably compromise the integrity of what you were trying to say??? i say, fuck and screw the subject fascists!

[ian]

now i know how joan of arc felt.
now i know how joan of arc felt.

kind of hot around the arse and a little bit sweaty.  damn those nylon
knickers!

hello, my dears.  its been a funny old funny old, hasn't it?  we have
chickfactored, some of you have tigermilked, and some more of us have
picnicked (a big HRAY and thanks to those of you who turned up to saint
james's park on a sunny september day.  i won't report back.  the joy was
just in being there, it won't carry over into print).  so far, i have yet to
read a report of the chickfactor ball.  i might attempt one at the end of
the mail.

(note added later on: for those of you who are going to read this for a
review, don't bother, i didn't write one.  sorry, n all that.  perhaps you
could read it anyway, if you feel that way inclined.  you might learn
something.  then again you might not but HEY the world is full of fucking
risks, okay, you don't take risks, you don't LIVE...)
------
err...where was i?  oh yes:


these dark nights encourage introspection.  the window pane throws up an
artificially illuminated me.  suddenly, i stand between myself and the
outside world, seeing myself translucent, and spectral, surrounded by the
softness of night.  there's a strange sort of magic there.  in the window
pane, and behind it, in the darkness.

is it that i believe i could lose myself in the night?  wander out into it,
sink into it, feel the comforting absence and obliterate everything but the
air flowing in and out, in and out..?

maybe.  but, as the buddha might have said:
 'cut the sentimental claptrap, anscombe, its fucking boring'

this is what i'm doing tonight -

i'm staring out of the window at a flickering silhouette.  a nun, raising a
hammer and letting it fall- an image thrown by candlelight onto a frosted
glass window, a woman at work.  a work in construction.  i wish i knew what
she was doing..

that fucking nun is up to something.... i came across her a few weeks ago,
and i told her she could live in my shed.  from what i could tell, she's
hiding from someone, possibly the police, possibly some mutant nuns.  she
did try to tell me, but i was watching 'brum boys bounce best' at the time
and i wasn't really listening.  i remember it involving lemonfresh toilet
duck and some dodgy bodily positions but that's not my sort of thing.  leave
that to the likes of archel playforth.

occasionally, the light of the flame catches the nun's silhouette and throws
it into colour.  if i squint, i can discern the navy of her habit; the glow
of a cigarette; the glittering of a disco ball.
yeah, she's got a disco ball.  or so i suspect.  i haven't seen it.  she
won't let me into the shed.  i've tried to point out that it belongs to me,
but this doesn't seem to make any difference.  says my essence will 'pollute
the aura of tranquility and the spirit of diligence that fills this once
unholy cesspit'

i think she found that severed head under the floor.  i DID try and explain
that..

anyway.  i've asked sister janice (that's her name.  a stupid name, if you
ask me, but the only time i pointed this out she threatened me with a
chainsaw) what she's up to.  i was DEAD subtle and everything...

me: 'hi.  i'm just bringing you a cup of tea, and looking at my garden.  i'm
not trying to look through the windows, or spy on you, and i'm CERTAINLY not
going to run at you when you aren't expecting it, and try and knock you out
of the way.  are you having a nice day?'

sister janice slejj: 'yes.  thank you.  i'm not very busy.  not doing much.
not building anything.  definitely not building a space-rocket, or anything
like that.  i'm just being a nun.  a quiet little nun.  with no plans to
raid your house for components when you aren't there, because that would be
dishonest.  and i'm not.  dishonest, that is.  i'm not dishonest.'

she's a fucking sly one, that one.  i have no idea what she's up to.  i
tried to run at her when she wasn't expecting it, and knock her out of the
way, but she seemed to have guessed my Clever Trick (i wonder if she has
been reading my 'Ian Book Of Clever Tricks'?  dammit, that was the BEST
ONE!).  and when i recovered from the blow to the head, she was back inside,
doing whatever she is doing.

-------------
usually, i'd find other things to interest me, but my jeff stryker dildo
appears to have gone missing.  a lot of things have lately.  sister janice
says she suspects i have Very Big Mice, and that i should leave a block of
the finest jarlsberg outside my house every morning, to tempt them away.
weird.  every morning the jarlsberg is gone, but still the mice steal
things.
i haven't seen one yet, but i'm pretty sure they're there.  watching me.

perhaps i should tell you about other things.  okay, here's a brief
synopsis:

1. i have drafted a letter to the polyphonic spree.  i have told them i am
excellent at playing the maracas, and would welcome the chance to travel
continents in a white robe, singing to all and sundry.  i am sure they will
write back soon and invite me to join

2. i have been completing the rough copy of my book: 'evil space-aliens are
watching us, and they plan to suck our brains out with their nasty sucky
sucky ooh nasty brain sucky tentacles'.
one should keep titles short, and to the point.  see how i do it?  some of
you could learn..

3. i have come to the conclusion that belle and sebastian may not actually
exist, and that they're a Clever Trick (a Clever Trick NOT in the 'Ian Book
Of Clever Tricks', which makes it a Very Clever Trick Indeed), an illusion
manufactured by certain members of this list who work for the brain sucky
nasty ooh sucky sucky aliens to get together certain intelligent, articulate
members of the species and use their powers for evil purposes.

more of this in later messages.  it may be dangerous to let them know i
suspect them at this point..  and one should be very certain before throwing
accusations, or resorting to violence

4. i have sent archel playforth a letter bomb, as she is clearly an Agent Of
Destruction working for...
well.... best not to say, just yet.


oh, and i went to the chickfactor ball.  but perhaps the review should wait.
it doesn't want to be here, not tonight.  its happy to stay in the back of
my head for a while longer.

take care.  the truth is out there.
but probably not where you're looking.

xx
ian




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