Sinister: curiosity killed the kerouac cat

[Christine Irene]

so i was just reading my netscape news. this one story
i found particularly horrid.  it seems that some punk
ass kid called the family of an army soldier and told
them their son was killed in Iraq.  Of course, the
family because hysterically upset (duh) and, upon
calling the army to get the details, found out it was
some sort of sick joke.  they hadn't heard from their
son since january so it seemed to be logical to them. 
whomever they spoke with at the army office assured
them that their son was safe and sound and that, in
the event of a casualty, all branches of the military
notify you in person of the situation.  then they
arranged a phone call so that the family could hear
their sons voice and be assured.  what a sick fuck. 
who would do that?  i mean, i have a weird sense of
humour, but it would NEVER occur to me to do something
like that.

after reading that, i went to see what words my phone
number spells...nothing interesting.  something like
"me 87937 o" or similar.  lame.  

ah well.  the sun shines brightly in chicagoish today
and here i sit, for the 9th day in a row, with a
fever.  afer spending 2 hours at the park this
morning, my charges (and i) are ready for some well
earned sleep.  

just found out about a new U2 dvd that will be
released soon.  a sort of history type thing.  i'm tre
excited.  also read that the new radiohead album will
come with a re-mixed/arranged/mastered copy of pablo
honey.  hmm.  

my apologies to my posse....i have been soooooooooo
bad about replying to email.  sorry :o(  

see, i had nothing to say really.  just felt like
saying hi to all of you....and telling you about that
rude person and thier "joke"

grr..


my latest favourite song follows....

~stine

my twentieth century

i woke up this morning,
dreading the thoughts of another, dull and boring day
hey! woe is me.
i go out on the streets, northside of the city
i see the steel, the fading rust
and the fields i used to play in....
my friends are famous and all my foes live happy
loved by lycra, fooled by velcro
and fucked by what they need.... 

but who am i to criticise? my pointing finger
backfires
i hang my head down low. 

i once believed in jesus,
now i can't believe in rock 'n' roll
from baptism to alcohol, in a land suffocatingly green
hey! the myth is magic, do you know what i mean?
the politics of sin and of sex
suffer the fools, pawn our jewels, will it ever
change? 

but who am i to criticise? i've made my bed, i lie on
it
and hold my head up high 

my disbelief. my fake redemption.
my twentieth century.
my holy war. my self indulgence.
my twentieth century.
my human flesh. my sad dependence. 
my twentieth century.
my apathy. my big decision.
my twentieth century. 

  




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