Mark76

The entire Pasolineide -- real, imagined, or surreptitiously prophesied -- belongs to the sewer.

A cleverly phrased question, yours, Mr. demolition expert. The rhetorical answer is: we are indeed, but indeed, sure. The reviewer is right, then: how can we be certain that de André, musically, wouldn’t have been worthy of untying the sandals of the members of the intrepid band, whose work is expertly outlined here? Was the problematic inner landscape of the Genoese "parvenu" perhaps the result of an eccentricity due to an excess of centrifugal drive? You seem, between the lines, to at least consider this innovative hermeneutical incursion.

Sir, I hope that the "incipit" of your text serves as a jest. The "excipit," instead of concluding, opens pristine chasms of absolute relativism: one day, the European who today wades through the swamps of the erotically correct desired great and pure things.

"Hope is the last goddess," affirmed the ancient aioromani: our fathers in the faith of soil and blood. We, much more modestly, add our sincere wish for a good and fruitful night to you, Lord.

The problem with Dylan, often and willingly, is a problem of face. For many artists, putting their face out there is an added value; with Dylan, it’s a choice that can make things worse. Or ruin them definitively.

Perfect, the master of Tao has summarized in a few words the story of the crow from Duluth.

We agree with the title of the work!

5 to the lovely Luludia, an exquisite musicologist.

A suggestive titling, almost Spenglerian: the West (= Europe), defeated by itself, will find within itself — in that minute atom of fire guarded by the Last Watchers — the germ of resurrection.

We carefully preserve, in a display case secured to a complex system of gnostic niches, the deadly "The Transcendent in Cinema," in which the immobility and the ordinariness, typically Japanese, of Ozu's camera are discussed.

Look, the De André/Ghezzi kidnapping took place in 1979, that of Farouk in 1992.

True, in terms of a linear consideration of history: like an arrow, not like a bow. But the bow strikes far, and the club beats down the recalcitrant reprobate. And, upon closer inspection, in the Double R Diner, the prices of the cherry pie change: sometimes they belong to the 1950s, sometimes to the 1980s. Therefore, nature does not make leaps, but history does (not to mention that Farouk’s little cousin, Augusto, was kidnapped twice: first by the anonymous Sardinian, and the second time by Mediaset; it was, in reality, the same event, seen from different planes of being). We remain convinced that, when we are judged, not only the ontic mysteries will be revealed to us, but also the metapolitical ones: what is the radical reason, for example, for the unleashing of the Second World War by the English and the Eskimos?