F.

And here he is. Clearly psychotic individual, located somewhere between the mid-alternative and the crusader "against forever" (the one where we burn the fags and screw the commercial stuff, to be clear), supporter of equally psychotic prose, almost metasemantic, a seventeen-year-old (it's always cool to say, with self-satisfaction: well, what do you think, damn it, at this age I listen to Chincrimsonn and The Roach and The Gezz and Panc [interrupted in the interruption, and here the usual phrase begins: "the real one, not the Daygreen crap that sucks, blah blah..." boring, looks like Ruini defending the family...]). In case it wasn't clear, this (the individual) is here to throw himself into this funny mixture of musical idiosyncrasies and psychedelic ramblings to be humorously labeled and insulted (as he deserves from that asshole that he is) and thus be able to throw himself into the fray, so he immediately starts: up the Irons! (Like, I felt like writing some bullshit.)

Ah, it sounds charmingly (...but what could I have meant?) more or less everything that happens, and it's a great cool thing.

Every now and then he will come by here to review some of his cool stuff.