[porkmarras]

Ok,assuming that you add 2 to 3,we all know that you end up with a 5.Stare at it long and hard and it might start looking like a real 6.The number 6 is a problematic one.It generally implies that there is sufficient interest and no need to drag the whole thing down or push it up and end up in a permanent state of confusion.Subtract a 1 and that is when the problems start(assuming that we are referring to something we are meant to love).Why did you do that in the first place?

[sonicl]

I'm sorry. There was no food in the fridge. I was malnourished.

[porkmarras]

I hear.

[sonicl]

It's okay now, I went to the shops at lunchtime and got a Mars bar.

[porkmarras]

Good.

[sonicl]

How's life on the South Bank today?

[porkmarras]

It's nice.The weather is nice and i always love looking into the river and at Somerset House when i'm on a break.How could anyone possibly hate that view?

[sonicl]

I used to live in Portsmouth, and when I came up to London I'd always catch the train into Waterloo, then walk over Hungerford Bridge to get to the shops and stuff. I never really used allow myself to get excited about being in London until I was on Hungerford Bridge and looking down the river towards St Pauls. To this day I still get a thrill from that view.

And I reckon that the view looking across the river from the South Bank is one of the best urban river views that the world has to offer.

[porkmarras]

Originally Posted by sonicl

I used to live in Portsmouth, and when I came up to London I'd always catch the train into Waterloo, then walk over Hungerford Bridge to get to the shops and stuff. I never really used allow myself to get excited about being in London until I was on Hungerford Bridge and looking down the river towards St Pauls. To this day I still get a thrill from that view.

And I reckon that the view looking across the river from the South Bank is one of the best urban river views that the world has to offer.

!!!!!

[sonicl]

Originally Posted by porkmarras

!!!!!

?????

[porkmarras]

And I reckon that the view looking across the river from the South Bank is one of the best urban river views that the world has to offer.

Agree.

[sonicl]

Oh. I was hoping for a more punctuation-based reply.

[sonicl]

Is the NT doing all sorts of outdoor events again this year? I keep forgetting about that stuff until way into the summer and end up missing loads of things that I would otherwise have loved to have seen.

[porkmarras]

Yes.The Watchthisspace outdoor events are starting pretty soon.There's always something interesting going on in this place.Where else could you bump into Alan Bennett and say hello with nonchalance?

[sonicl]

Cool, I'll try to remember to keep an eye out for it this year. If I make it down I'l be sure to pop in and leave a drink for you behind the box office desk. Campari and soda?

[porkmarras]

Whiskey & coke,thanks.Ice and Lemon please.

[sonicl]

Okay, I'll remember that.

I'd better log off and do some work, I suppose. Enjoy the rest of the day.

[porkmarras]

You too.Take care.

[alyasa]

Now that I think of it, Rather Ripped does have a Dirty feel to it.

[cagedbird]

After the revolution, Sonic Youth put out a Christian song
that was a real song to the public and a real good song to
Conor. They played with their alternate tunings a song about
parades called Do You Believe in Rapture? to move the rich
The hoary quartet that was Sonic Youth caught Conor's lights
and threw them in a thought, full of money and electricity, they
were old instinctual lights, thought they were ancient, looking
for some airfare, a big house and a lawn the English had created
when his parents were exiled legless in New York, looking at
the stage as the culture grew and parceled out the sky, like
a president he thought, Sonic Youth had sold and the manager
had bought, they had no soul, and they had created suburban music,
muzak, rock n' roll, the rhythm-a-ling, commercial jingles,
jangles, plastic arrangements, which was a svengali tune,
the fans screamed, it was the best, it was a hypnotic tune
was a piece of music that was propaganda that was perfect for
the masters out in the verandah or deck or patio
and the poor instinctual lights were caught by this arrangement
wave forms undulated and scored on by a bunch of long hairs
dimmed by the composition but pale as powder
little bit for the baby's behind, a Rauschenberg photo print
watched by an unassuming NYC crowd, they were General Electric too
and quartz if you know what I mean, diffuseness straightened out into bright clean lines, finding themselves in Philly by the Liberty bell
Con Edison
Con Edison was a child's toy, a night light, a gumdrop
a guide
and a ray of sunlight, SunRa and Something
schizophrenic silicon motherboard
at a Chelsea jukebox. They shined on the United Nations, shined on the Ivy League
But then the Electrician called the wattage and the frequency and appeared in the thought and a contract released them because Sonic Youth was afraid
And they were free to run past heaven and earth. Thought the Prophet released them. Fast and furious
Fast blinding instinctual lights, masking good will
Brightened wars and conquests found the Sonic Youth time siganture and played it like a game until Sonic Youth really came
Till the Animations freed them
no longer the old instinctual lights of Conor
in thought
released on Sonic Youth and the presidents who weren't really presidents cried
ju ju
and Sonic Youth sat with the song across from the evil of jingles and glistened with evil like holy pain.
They played and played and he turned but he was never the same.

Even then when he was free from the thought of electricity
the Animation sent a doctor wearing the pink and grey
of Edna St. Vincent Millay, oh Renascence, oh Animation of Television
of fur
of higher feelings, oh flash with only three milliseconds of life
in time,
in the light's world. an Hungarian, so old
was set, no sat, and the doctor
beautiful creature of the town's language, his religion
like the dimmmed light, was love
not an ascendant church. "Who is that handsome young minister?" asked the Electrician's nurse. Electrician not immigrant. No How. Music is the chain of the toilet.

Was there Jenna there looking into the Electrician's eyes
following him inside death with the stories of
fire with the clothing?
Like the switch divine, the poet's Gwo'quan sitting there staring at the once instinctual issue, like a cartoon from a radio tower covered over with leaves
oh, agent of the beginning, oh wife of the electrician
oh, Lover