Penthouse Apartment
Pirlo

In Inter-Sassuolo 2015-2016 (0-1), it happens that Medel guesses a vertical pass with a lob for Icardi.
Stunned by the sensational nature of the event, the Nerazzurri striker - although in an optimal position - shoots too wide to the right of the goal defended by Consigli. The ball goes out of bounds. As if repairing the system after a glitch, or as when in Pleasantville the boys act in the sign of altering a prescriptively destined reality, implying a reaction aimed at restoring the continuum. Where it is the continuum itself that abuses Maurito's inside right foot, to defend itself from free will. We strongly perceived the Matrix.

To say that Thohir is wrong when he declares he considers Pirlo unnecessary because the midfield has valid alternatives in the role. A fast mariomontian maneuver is needed, thus a playmaker.
Alliterations never fail: Medel-mediocre-median. Guarin slaps and serious injuries. Melo life sentence. Kondogbia.
Yaya Touré rhymes with nineteen eighty-three. Sensi seemed an element of prospective interest and Sassuolo took him, then Juventus.

We demand the Architect. The bourgeois ex-Juventus player in a golden MLS exile; his prestigious outfits, limos, expensive shellfish, and beautiful women. We are not talking about trivial transfer market matters: we demand the failed 1998-1999 season, with Zanetti and captain Uncle, the Phenomenon, Baggio, and even Ventola [blasphemy], the favorite of our Dear Leader. On the bench, Hodgson.

Those times and that team, not with the raw ex-Brescia midfielder who will grow, but with the Master at his footballing, artistic, Nietzscheanian peak. We want bread, but also roses. Barrels full of other people's drunk wives. I want the potential and carefree nature of the time, but also today's chronic lack of enthusiasm. Apathy as a Zen key to handling no-look affairs and great deeds.

Pirlo's approach to life.
When the Architect talks about successes and national-popular triumphs, he spares on articulation and air emission, achieving the scratchy-dough effect of a groggy early morning. The expression is frowning, the tension minimal. The interpretation offered in the opening track of Pirlo encompasses a great Zen teaching. The subliminal connection to Neffa's Italian Martian Funk in the title track is Zen propaganda for the youth of the nineties. Brescia is a non-place founded on the slowing down of Vesuvio by the E' Zezi worker group: detachment from childhood places, delocalization of experience, anti-capitalistic folklore. Because the blame always lies a bit with capitalism, even in football.
It may be due to the memento mori that often Pirlo and other sensitive ones, even among the greats of history - let's think of Lil Jon, Maynard James Keenan, and Alberto Malesani - need a preliminary approach to the earth; preliminary to the final one. A necessity veiled by the intrinsic hedonism in the final product of their common work: they produce wines. Vigneto celebrates this spiritual entrepreneurial exercise with E la chiamano estate by Bruno Martino, interpreted by a mutant Mina. Pleasure for pleasure, detachment for death.

We want back Tele+ 1 with its synth bass: Cinque gives it to us. We want back the announcements with Take Five in the background - a masterpiece of counterculture and entrepreneurship - Telecapri, trashy films and TV trash, Adolescenza inquieta, interviews with Pannella when he was still Mr. Hood, the gracefulness of Lady Oscar: we want them back and they are here, in Belle donne.
Demagnetized and whistling, maybe gone, never concluded.
Bionsen - and we urge you to click on it - still makes bath foams. La dolce vita still changes lives, or at least leaves people speechless for a good half hour.

Pirlo makes everything possible with the magical sound of Italian steam, because it is an archetypal postmodern product built on the musical-temporal paradox. Our future, today, is the collection of all real and potential pasts: time is not a vector.