Sinister: Rinse: Repeat

[ian]

Last night, I had the strangest dream..

A GRATE BIG corridor, lined with evil shoes and chocolate cake.  I am
being chased  by Dimitra Daisy, Stephen Hewitt, and Archel Holland.  I
run until my feet turn to leg-warmers, and eventually I reach a
marmalade fountain, and I know I can run no further.  They wave at me,
one by one, screaming:

"say something INDIE, ian!" and they cackle, like
whelks do when nobody is looking.

I know they won't be impressed by anything I can say.  Perhaps I can
fool them with Barry White... no, Dimitra has an extensive knowledge
of music, and an effigy of Barry White in her cupboard, where she
thinks nobody can see it..

Only one thing springs to mind.."err...love is like a bottle of Pimms,
but a bowl of chips is not Mike Love"

It is at this point that I realise I'm not wearing any clothes, and
we're standing on a bridge two thousand..


- Oh okay, that's all utter bollocks.  I thought it might be nice to
come back with some sort of half-arsed story and gimmick.  It was
nice, once upon a time, to have a gimmick here.  I don't know why I
needed one so badly, whether it was some reluctance to ask you to
accept me, or whether it was some attempt to stand out, in a place
where one of the best things was that I didn't stand out, that I felt
there were people around me, albeit in a strange computery and
occasional picnicky way, who just accepted me.

My that's a long paragraph.  Remember when it was the done thing to
write in really really long paragraphs that just went on and on and
talked about peas, and ditches, and scratching one's arse.  I
scratched my arse this morning.  My fingers still smell.. no, stop it
RIGHT THERE.  I am actually very clean.  Well, reasonably clean,
anyway.

Perhaps it was knowing there were 890890483908430983 people out there
getting the email, and even if 8908439084390843908 of them pressed
"delete", that still left someone I'd never met in Nova Scotia, and a
group of shepherds in Milton Keynes, who I had only known that one,
brief time..

See, Ian, you're at it again.  Just get to the point, and fuck off.

Well, I miss you lot - and even if life got kind of
JIOJAIORJEIOJFAEIOJFEIOJEFIO, as it does, I still wondered what a lot
of you were doing.  The weird thing about meeting internet chums is
that you've already offered so much of yourself before you get to
"know" them in a conventional way.  That either means the barriers
come straight up, or, if you're lucky, you can have less of that crap
that we do when we first meet people, and we can just, vaguely,
attempt to be honest.  Through the power of cheap alcohol, junk-food
and dancing, of course.
Maybe that's why you can feel so attached to people you've only met a
few times, and you don't have to see them that often to feel that you
have very real and important friendships.

So, erm... that 10th birthday picnic sounds great.

This wasn't quite what I meant to write.  I wanted to write something
clever about people going off and having sex and not posting on
Sinister, which seems to be the current theory.  It would be nice if
it were true.  Perhaps it has something to do with...whisper
it...Belle and Sebastian being less important to people's lives - not
only because NU-B&S don't seem to sound like anything other than nice,
clever pop whereas once they sounded like someone that I knew, but
also because, at some point, we accept a band isn't going to change
our lives.  Not without a bit of our own input, at least.

I still read the posts quite a lot, and I wonder about things like
Butcher Boy - whether I should be happy, or even care, that they got a 
good review or
not.  I even thought about entering Ken's karaoke competition (is it
still going, ken?) - but its not the same as being here, is it?  Can
we just come back and not talk about Belle and Sebastian?  Thinking
back, did we ever actually talk about Belle and Sebastian?

Hey, someone post about something completely random, and we can have
one of those conversation thingies.  Hey, why shouldn't it be YOU????

Finally, I met two very Famous Sinister List Lovelies at a BIRMINGHAM
PICNIC the other day.  Sort of a picnic.  In that there were more than
two people, and we ate and drank.  So that's a picnic, innit?  I
wanted to take them somewhere very exciting, and more bangin than a
box of squirrels on drugs, but couldn't think of anywhere.  We did sit
in a place that served strange cocktails (they burn the skin of the
orange a little bit, then float it on your cocktail... I've never seen
that before - is there any point to it?) and played CLIFF RICHARD
videos.  Also, it was in gayville, and the gays are always exotic,
aren't they?  Like papayas.  Strange, dancing, papayas.  Oh, such
juicy goodness.
I guess that's reporting back, of sorts, haven't done that in a
while...don't even know if Starry and Lixi are reading, but if you
are, it was nice to see you, dears.

We should do more Sinister things, and post, and stuff,  because,
like, it was sort of fun, wasn't it?

yeah
yeah
YEAH TYEHATETAH!

So, no more making up crap about dreams.  Not even that dream where
I'm being chased up a totally different corridor by Ally Cook and
Robin Stout, and they're holding...

no, not that dream.

come back to sinister, lovely children.  Let's celebrate each other.
Celebrate yourself while you read.  Did you know it was the FEAST OF
DIONYSIUS today?  So that involves goodness, at least.

Have some nice goodness.  Take may good care.  I love you all.  I kiss
you.  Twice.

Structure is over-rated.

xx
Ianjamesanscombe
And is it too late to ask how one gets to play at Tigerwanking?  I 
miss that musical masturbation.


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