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Picture this. It's 1951 - I come back from the shops only to discover that those rascally boffins have invented MIDI. So I pull up a chair to write my very first tune.
Then the dream I had the night before comes flooding back and I can see that house on the clifftop, the one made of bamboo and rice paper. Pristine and gleaming except for one black spider under the eaves. But it's OKAY. When I turn around, Girl Seven is with me.
So this is the first one, this is the clean one - the ethereal House of White Paper.[attachmentid=1602]
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It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that...er,....
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Dec 16 2005, 9:50 AM
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