Dislocation

One of the various gionfoccs of ours... If only there had been more...
I’ve always liked his icy verve; he knew how to be cold, as suited a singer of the wave movement to which he belonged... maybe he should have gathered a bit more; he had sown enough, but perhaps also in fields that were not his...
I remember too, like Isi, a concert, I think in '81, where there were maybe thirty of us and not even all paying (not me), very engaging, poor in means but engaging...

The stars, damn it...

I liked it very much too.
The movie... just don’t think that it’s from the book... very American, in the settings, in everything...
Then there’s Jack Black who fixes everything...

Ouch... @[DeBaserBot] messed up... Now, to be fair, he should make amends...
Right, prof @[lector]?
Since when does "a" before a vowel get apostrophized?

I remember, as a dinosaur, only their first album and the fact that in '82 they were touring with Nino Buonocore in whose lp they had played. "Iaia" or something like that...

In fact, goreview and goregrind are missing. Damn it.

Schnitzler.
Maximum respect.
Difficult to follow, but maximum respect.

Excuse my audacity…
The interesting A.R. for two songs, then well-known and predictable like my cousin in front of the sacher.

@[Ottandro]
@[Cervovolante]
Those differently charming ones from Black Widow, down in Via del Campo, here in Genoa, give me the living Bartoccetti or something like that, seventy-eight years old and a downright nuisance more than ever…
He had as a wife, then, none other than that Doris Norton who was a pioneer of music generated and managed solely by Apple computers and then, in the nineties, an ineffable extender of trance to monomaniacal levels.
A beautiful lady, though, whom Barto didn’t deserve.

Ah, at last I make my appearance, to bestow the usual five stars upon the Professor and to express a few small doubts that torment my already beleaguered scrotal pouch.

Firstly, my friend, the anxious crackle of the poorly fitting assumption does not quite lend itself to generic representations that could indeed be spent differently, and for reasons equally incontrovertible, however you may argue otherwise.

Thus, we could proceed with the explosive attempt, puerile as it may be, to line up pre-taleric axioms that do nothing for those who, poor souls, unconsciously feel tantric needs and resort to abusive remarks, albeit summarily directed, containing literary affinities with certain traditional Welsh canticles and, astonishingly, with the stylistic incoherencies characteristic of post-libation dances typical only of patrician families in the 16th century settled in Roghudi, with which you, esteemed professor, must surely be perfectly acquainted.

Lastly, you will agree with me, dear teacher, that the unknowable of the protoplasmic perfectly does justice, in its less paternalistic but sincerely Salassian version, to the less disjointed demands of seemingly incongruous affronts, perhaps only apparently, accompanied by assorted Weimar-like clamors.

Confident of your prompt consideration, I take this opportunity to extend my distinguished greetings to you.

"...Everybody wannnaaaeverybodywannnaaaeverybodyw annna do the greeeeeee..."