voodoomiles

Does it make us or is it?
She is the one "Hello. This is the best REVIEW you have ever read. And it's mine."
And it's already a LEGEND.

I am the old wise barbogio, and the phrase that triggered my response is the following:
"Alcohol, drugs, and psychotropic medications, used as a tool to amplify perceptual states, here bend in function of sound, in search of an alternative world, a parallel universe, where the rules of the dynamics of bodies and luminous radiations are directly dictated by the individual's psyche."
Considering the fact that both uncelebrated and celebrated individuals for their use and abuse have left us their feathers; this stuffing of discussions about music with drugs and the like gives me a vague sense of nausea, at least as much as the term "drug culture," yet free Nes to express himself as he sees fit - and why not.
Believe me, there are far healthier ways to speak directly from one's psyche, but if he wants to vaporize himself against a panzer, let him be, I believe we will probably find him sprawled on the toilet - safe travels.
The time for opening doors and windows to expand one's consciousness is now a mix of crack-viagra-coke, and I agree with you that "we will be the ones to be black."

For an experience that is mannered, filled with leopardian dismay, punctuated by unresolved questions, devoted to an innocent nihilism, the most suitable soundtrack can be found in "the languid verses of all those singers with the faces of children and broken hearts." But since it's not polite to mock the feelings of others in written form, at least the reference disc could be an uptodate Nouns by No Age, leaving aside the much-reviewed bananas. Would a theme like this reach a passing grade in classical high school? I suspend my judgment, knowing you, dear reviewer, are capable of much greater acidity.

Not knowing the album, I wanted to vote for the review. My bad, pardon.

I have a fear of De Lorenzo.
I fear that by reading the review I might overcome my prejudices against him, or at the very least, I might find myself caught up in the usual indecisiveness of the reviewer.
Then I overcome my reluctance and read.
"The election of Luxuria not only restored an image of the left close to every type of minority and distanced from all forms of moralism, but also indicated a possible way out of the identity crisis of the parties of the dissolved communist bloc, promoting a new figure, authoritative in its own right and rich in experiences, symbol of the social ascent of individuals once relegated to the margins."
I quickly distance myself from the impending storm, content with the unmatched nonsense.

Well, the so-called fortunes of visual poetry, decidedly destined for the happy few, will last until 1988, the year when the magazine Alfabeta (for brevity, ref. Gruppo 63) closed, an "heresy" that often hosted them. I had no news about Gruppo 70, congratulations dear Sexy, you are inaugurating the niche review of niche authors for niche DeBaserians. I predict they will tear it apart; you have all my solidarity. 5 because it reminded me of the good times of Alfabeta and the University.

Sure, ECM is a reliable guarantee, and Your personal collection confirms high-quality listening. I don’t know anything about the reviewed cellist. Well done!

My fond memory of The Cure lies in Three Imaginary Boys/Boys Don't Cry and Seventeen Seconds, enjoyed in their early blooming, now signposts of a past sweetened by the memory of happy days.
Today's 4:13 serves only the completists and the bank account of the renowned company.
5 stars anyway to the reviewer because, ramblings aside, THEY BELIEVE.

More than quantifying Italians who appreciate Berlusconi Superman (this is from today), Great Statesman, friend of dictator-terrorists, Excellent Lover, Tall-Haired and of rare Elegance and whatever else you want, I would like to know if there are Italian citizens capable of saying how and in what way their daily lives have improved whenever He has been at the helm of the Banana Republic, excluding the abolition of the Ici and inheritance taxes. The same question obviously applies to the debaserians, who for the most part—and I think despite themselves—are itaGliani, and also to De Lorenzo, who actually knows more about it.

As far as it means, I remember that at Cannes the film was met with boos, jeers, and laughter; yet another typical minestrone from Von Trier that simultaneously delves into themes one could debate for a lifetime without finding sense or agreement: sex, religion, family, feelings, social life, the evil in everyday living, and whatever else you want; our protagonist, in the end, unable to provide a convincing answer on the matter, engages in a sort of self-therapy, even at the cost of offering us gardenias and poop.