Valeriorivoli

vortex, thank you! I went on YouTube to the link you posted and rewatched myself... I precursed the Finleys by 10 years! Your exception confirms the rule that... you are just one among that million monkeys working twenty-four hours a day on a million typewriters, and they manage, if not to write Shakespeare, at least to formulate some coherent sentences. AH, I ALMOST FORGOT THE RADIOCAPOCCIA copied the guitar intro of Gianni Morandi's UN MONDO D'AMORE word for word with STREET SPIRIT. Try it to believe it, big guys!

stunning

but what musical levels are you rambling about, you are and remain a cojone, you hit the wrong chord and you have to live with it, before judging learn to play a bit, musically you are a broken condom and you are deficient in everything, from culture to education to vocabulary. you are the classic regular type from 2007, superficial, spouting sentences, wants to have a say on everything but can't do a damn thing. then that fake, feminine greeting of yours, trying to be all nice and friendly, keep it for your little castrated friends, cagoja. a more calm and Olympian rivulet than you think, pelasgic spirit.

ahhhhhhhhhhhhn it's you again, what a great blog... pss listen, do you really have nothing better to do than think about me,... go back to playing with your playlists, do you think I make music to sell? to put myself at the public's ridicule for foolish parvenus like you? what's written is that the difference between me and you is that I don’t give a damn about going on your web spaces, if you have any, and you even bothered to drop the chords, which you also messed up - clear out your ears from that cone hat, you unhealthy fatty, those aren’t the chords. See how incapable and pretentious you are, your bitterness even takes away that little bit of ear you should have if you pose as a beach strummer... obviously, you're used to replaying your own flatulence. Then you act all brotherly "I would really like to tell you a lot of things, buy you a beer and send you for therapy" but I don't give a damn about clichés with ready-made phrases ctrlc-ctrlv like change sport: life’s not for you dimwit, I really don’t see it. That string quartet... but what have you ever done or composed to judge, since you even messed up the easy chords of my song, think about how deficient you are, and space oddity is in a different key... it’s not an F but a G7+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ + idiot. Your reaction is completely unreasonable, you see I’ve never had any pretensions except to show myself, but you’ve never done anything, you can’t do anything - not even find a chord and don’t call me that hairy way my friend, because... you’re just one among that million monkeys working twenty-four hours a day on a million typewriters and they reach, if not to write Shakespeare, at least to formulate some coherent sentences

Alright, alright fluorescent bitch, you haven't forgotten me since you still respond. And you have fun with little. Get to work because it's time. Little shit.

I keep messaging the being that speaks behind such a barbaric nickname... BUT I'M TALKING TO MYSELF, since I don't know you as a biological entity. Listen, elementary school regular, I’m not here for a virtual interrogation with you where I have to climb the walls; you sing your own praises with your little bourgeois "better education": leave your pedagogical roots at home, since you just showed up on debaser, unless you’re a fake: you spit out judgments and then hide your hand... I don't like your vile comments like "You're really super nice" - in the fake “let’s be friends” tone... with the Chinese giggle dripping from the face of someone who has the onanistic arrogance to think they are superior but is pale in body and mind. NO! I’m sending you, Roman-style and virilely, straight to hell where you came from, since you started with insults, and you should really review the logical analysis of your predicates... your superficiality annoys me, your argumentation is shallow, therefore, and what’s more, I don’t like you, hence you’re getting on my nerves... oops, sorry madam, that’s not politically correct, but you’re so British, you will understand. And I hope this time the message has reached you free of corollaries and postulates. Screw you.

the auxiliary verb is implied for you, who make grammar ad usum delphini and don’t act like an exegete and a philologist that you don’t have the arguments—I like all my songs..neophyte debaseriano, limited and stupid, go away you and the nanogay

the accent... the accent in this setting from someone who starts with "fantastic infantile regression... ah silly, are you on the phone with me? You fed the verb to the cat. If this language is a phone call, after all the modem runs up the phone line, look at your own counter of expressive abominations.

Well done, you know-it-all. Have you seen that menacing and mafia-like bunch of prejudiced individuals that roams around here? Too bad I don't have to write a thesis in sociology on the true moral and cultural level of the scholarly Italic youth, of which Debaser, through the medium of popular music, is the thermometer.

to these last 4 idiots: I'm not complaining, shit returns to the sender, I am not a servant of this little theater, but the protagonist... mine is a new language, judgeable by a passerby, not by drunken speech therapists like you... I CREATE, mine is a FUTURE linguistic work, you mumble lip-service, spelling of dead fish on the shore... you articulate two or three clichés without giving anything, just talk and a badge - Karma police, that’s deep, right? clumsy foreign language addicts, spineless, you have never been born, stopping at punctuation with limited offensive protozoa like you is an irreparable insult to my intelligence. I KNEW what overwhelmed me with the radiogaga, but THIS is writing, this is creating, this is Valerio Rivoli, from the online period woven with epic greatness to the little songs for madame beautiful and strong like a Greek god, the verb of Zeus strikes your asinine ears. I leave you in the land of toys with the emmEPITRE.
ps one day rivolerie will be synonymous with reverie, of continuous streams of linguistic, sonic, and cultural outpouring, witnesses of a stellar neuronal level for syntactic, onomatopoeic, musical connections... of you, nothing will remain, gray office-class of the web
sine ira...