Sinister: twee idol

[ian]

the sun shines weakly, on a humdrum town.  a thousand thousand identical
roofs warm slightly to its touch while those in the buildings beneath stare
into the street, wondering why things aren't right yet, after all this time.
after everything.

further into the town, a larger building - somewhere full of people.  full
of young people, many of them pretty.  not a nightclub.  not that soulless.

or, perhaps, more soulless still:

'but why haven't you picked me?'

'we don't think you're right for this'

'but can't you see how marvellous i am?  can't you SEE i'm going to be
FAMOUS and RICH and HAPPY?'

'that's nice.  next'

one by one, up troop the hopefuls, all willing to give everything they have.
all knowing that this time, this will be that breakthrough, this will be the
one.  full of self-belief, they're completely aware that they're something
special, more
special than any of the others.
the judges smile, and offer opinion, looking firm bodies up and down and
doing mental bank-balance calculations.
they'll use you up, and they'll throw you away, and you're asking them to do
it, because that's your dream.

i can hear this happening in the room nextdoor.  the blue light from the box
fills the room and entrances my partner, who is doubtless watching the
screen for pretty boys.  i can't be around it.  i can't hear it.  partly
because it makes me so very sad, and partly because i'm scared i'll end up
watching it too, getting pulled in by it, laughing at the people who can't
sing, in the same way that everyone else laughs.  like people laugh at me
because i try to sing because, let's face it, anyone who dares put their
head over the
parapet deserves everything they get, don't they?

watching it hurts me.  i feel like i'm betraying something important in
myself.  it feels like i'm being unfaithful to my spirit, and yet i could
still go and sit there, and let it fill me.

-------------------------
that's the modern world.  that's fame and fortune, its a cruel game and
we're all chasing it.  maybe we'd all be on that television, given half a
chance, being loud, being 'interesting', trying to be noticed.

thank goodness our heroes are different.  thank goodness we like different
things, which makes us better than the rest of the world.  thank goodness we
aren't taken in by the likes of that.  oh... but don't some of them look
pretty?

i hide in here, with my computer.  i want to put on kathryn williams
records, or, better still, leonard cohen albums.  i want to listen to
scottish indie, and pretend i'm so far away from any of that.  any of that
idol worship.  any of that addiction to fame.  i won't think about my 'buffy
the vampire slayer' box sets, or about those early episodes when xander
looked so beautifully toned.  and we won't talk about the porn.

no... i'm better than that.  i value people for what they are, not as
commodities and -
god, he looks nice in a tight top.


no, no NO.. i don't think like that.  i'll find that book on
meditation...now where
was it?  oh yes... right here, under the tv guide.

perhaps i'll pick up my copy of 'if you're feeling sinister' and
conveniently ignore the fact that, just maybe, being famous is something
belle and sebastian wouldn't mind all that much, either, wouldn't mind being
adored by the people listening at home, by the people watching on the telly,
by the people listening at home.

oh, there's a layer of irony in those lyrics, but its defensive irony.  its
the irony
of someone who is aware that they're partly charmed by what they're trying
to stand away from.

---------------------

i like the fact that we're different here, that we're not like the rest of
the world, that we're so gorgeously twee that we never think about bel ami
boys, or sex-toys, or holding someone closely to you as they---

no... i never think about that.  i'm far too fluffy.

far too fluffy...fluffy...
fluffer...fluff...buff...butt...hmm...butt...hmm...

no, where was i?


okay, i'll come clean ---

i wasn't singing 'i'm a little tea pot' to my pussy cat.

you see, being twee doesn't render you senseless to the world around you.
it doesn't make you a better person, although it may, if done sincerely,
make you a kinder one.  it doesn't stop you being a human being.  it doesn't
even, really, get rid of that part of you that wants to watch simon cowell
spout his destructive, self-glorifying crap in the name of building up his
own celebrity status at the expense of other, more fragile beings.
because, let's face it, its poor television but its compulsive, if you allow
yourself to become a part of it.


sometimes, i wish it did.  time away from the world around you is a good
thing.  time away from the crassness is great.  if tweeness is your retreat,
then i'd like to join you for a cup of tea.  herbal, naturally.  with one of
those nice biscuits with a cow on it.

if being kind, and sensitive, and soft, and perhaps a little precious is
your way of facing the world, then good luck to you.  you're going to need
it.  its a hard world, too hard.  full of pop-idol people who know they're
better than everyone else (that isn't a dig at anyone around these parts,
incase there's any paranoid vibes floating round) and, when a hard thing and
a soft thing collide, its easy to guess what might crumple.

no, we can't hide from the world completely.  we need it.  we're raised in
it, and we've absorbed some of its ideals.  the need for recognition,
affection... maybe even s--e--x.

  and guess what kids?  its true, perhaps, that there are
people out there who won't shag you.  probably quite a lot of them.

it might be because you're a girl, it might be because you're a boy, it
might be because of the colour of your skin, or tone of your voice.  it
might be because of those clothes - don't you know that crew cuts and
trainers are out again?  it might be because they're celibate, or bored, or
they want something deeper from life.  it might be because you're too hard,
it might be because you're affected.  it might be because you're too
sensitive.

it might be because you're twee.
a shame being soft doesn't stop you wanting to get laid.  doesn't take away
the disappointment of not getting what you want.  doesn't heal those wounds
any more quickly.  doesn't get you a boyfriend, or a girlfriend.

not straight away, anyway.

but you know what?  if you come to terms with that, if you stop trying to be
hard, if you show your sensitive heart to the world then amongst all those
people queuing up to stick knives in it, there might be someone you weren't
expecting.  someone else with a sensitive heart, someone else who wants to
feel safe, and warm, and needs someone who will handle them with care - the
care that only comes of knowing how it feels to be easily bruised.

it won't stop you hurting them, of course.  it won't take away the pictures
of naked men and women that titillate.  it won't stop sex selling
everything.  it won't protect you from the cruelty that passes for saturday
night entertainment these days.  all of which, together, make staying
together and making each other happy a terribly difficult task.

but, you know what?  it isn't a bad place to start.

and, sometimes, when that soft thing crumples, it forms a wondefully new
shape.  something strange, and unexpected, and never seen before.  something
really original.  its never the hammer that's the work of art, always the
sculpture.  always the new shape, formed from something more malleable, less
easy to define.

so be twee.  or be hard.  be whatever you are.  and don't be ashamed.  and
don't worry about not getting laid.  you'll get used to it, as i'm sure you
are already.  that's life.
life is cruel.
you don't have to be.

and i'd tell amy linton that her music is twee, gladly.  although i wouldn't
just throw out the word.  i'd explain to her what that meant to me, and how
special and important it was, and maybe, just maybe, she'd understand.

i'm blowing you kisses and waving a wand.  and i'm sticking a big kiss,
particularly, on the head of mr. casarotto who, i'm sure, would never stick
a paddle up someone's arse.  not really. (you've got something that would
work so much better than that, dear).

and maybe i'll catch the end of pop idol.  it IS compulsive television.

xx
ian



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