Mark76

to my life

"Life" to mean a past existence in front of the PC, getting lost in the icons of Renato Zero: stolen from the hairdresser, son of Hermes and Aphrodite? What an hyperbole!

because it’s not like someone like that is original and breaks the boredom,

Is that why every one of my reviews has multiple comments from you? This one alone has eight, and it's been posted for less than 12 hours: almost an intervention an hour. You should find yourself a job: being an idiot in Italy can have many advantages.

his culture

I don’t think I have much of it, actually. I wish I had more: I would like to master at least 16 languages, including Old Norse and Proto-Germanic, liturgical Slavic and Paleomycenean, Pali and Scottish Gaelic. The more something is useless, the more I believe it to be true. Even if that were the case, it would trouble me: culture is leftist, as they say in the infected enclaves of the West. I, much more modestly, have gone on for years living on bread and Evola. I do not regret this: engaging with an author of his stature has helped me understand the reasons of the vanquished, who had their reasons and perhaps even a point. From here, with a hermeneutic leap that might be a bit bold, I've attempted to apply the baron's dictates regarding the history of civilization to the musical, literary, and cinematic garbage that surrounds us.

Sanjuro?

I wrote it this way because I was told that Cohen, like Nik Caiv and the Pinc Floid, also made films (Coen is a pseudonym ["not a single iota"....] and the Coen brothers is a coded reference to the cult of the split androgynous). I was and remain convinced that "The Man Who Wasn't There", a masterpiece aside from two typical Eskimo "grotesque" sketches, was the work of the melancholic Canadian bonze.

Excellent polar, influenced by American noie. Well done!

We don't know these Bushes, but we would like to point out the great Aorster Stan Bush (composer of music for various Van Damme films and Transformers). Now that’s a champion!

The only films that, in my life, have moved me to the point of feeling that classic lump in my throat and my eyes welling up, without my typically Southern male pride being able to do anything to stop them, were "Big Fish" by Tim Burton and "The Elephant Man" by David Lynch.

You're great, that's all I need for this opening. Five, if it were possible I would give more.

They performed the entire album "The Final Countdown." It was touching to see them and so many aging rockers gathered together like one big family, "after all these years"...

We would like to clarify, for our antifascist friend (like a bit everyone, here and not only here) Lector, that "tamarri, phonati e glitterati, strizzati in abitini da fighette" is an expression that applies to glamsters, not to AORsters, who reject, of those, any hyperbolic and clownish outcome, positioning themselves in stark contradiction "per diametrum."
With this, we finally believe we have provided yet another element of clarity, to illuminate an issue so radical within the analysis of the cultural dynamics of the Western enclaves.

To all, we extend Roman greetings.