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Yesterday I heard a story of crisis, the story of a thirty-five young engineer.
M. is the first of ten children of a pastor in the American immigrant Italy in the 70s to bring the word of God [sic] , studied engineering in Lombardy, but his family, for reasons apostolic [sic] , lived throughout the country. My father hired him in Nokia in the late 90's, graduate and full of hope: his career, according to my father's ascent was meteoric. Since then, many things changed: a few years later my father left that company, and a couple of years ago he founded a company with some friends of photovoltaic systems: so, after a decade, M. showed up to ask my father a place in the new company. M. Today, thirty-five, has six children ("a gift from God" [sic] ) and look for work after dismissal from the Nokia-Siemens, which, incidentally, has increased from 3500 to 800 employees: another gift from God . Amen.

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A little time as space

I get there with my time, almost two years after its publication, when in the meantime has released a new album ( "Heavy Metal Fruit" ): "Little Lucid Moments" is a crazy hard, in true sense of the word. He took all the facets of rock music from the sixties to today, Motorpsycho not repeat, but continue the discourse analysis against synthetic surface against depth. Let me tell you.

"The Alchemyst" begins with the anguish of "One Of These Days" and the sounds of "Shine on you crazy diamond". After leaving to settle those astral sounds, through a tunnel openings Beatles and you're inside "Teenage Riot": Motorpsycho want to reiterate the concept, pounding hard on that style and those harmonies, as if Sonic Youth had left something open. Here comes the chorus: CSN & Y are, revived and cleaned up, you push back a moment and then resume from Sonic Youth at the hands (stupid song format and its illusions of eternity). A pause, an arpeggio and a bass line and drums that stood at an increasing rate of roaring engines and "Born to be wild" and that is that the guitar is back with thunder frippiani to remember that, after all, a song full of ideas will never have enough time to develop their potential if not let dwell enough (and this should be mentioned in the sub heading Treccani "Motorpsycho"). Warning, it is not progressive rock, this is Wagner: in fact, here again there the tunnel called "A Hard Day's Night" - ringkomopsition , leitmotiv , or any other lemma Germanic that comes to mind - just not quite the same because in the meantime you have been owned by Salvador Dali that you have messed up perceptions and memories, and see, no indeed, I hear Sonic Youth copulate wildly with the residual image information of what you just heard for twelve minutes. And then, while still groggy, the song ends with grace Scandinavian.

Wait till I go to read the subtitle disk: a discourse on Transmutation, pennies dropping & the luminiferous aether . Exactly, I was right.

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And therefore we gridiam Salvador Dalí

This video is so good it deserves to be here reminds me of something Paprika, which has a Japanese animation is more properly the stretch of Disney and, especially, in the "camera movement" and as a director. Going back to 1946, the project would be right to do a job on the philological journals of Dalí that (apparently) inspired Roy Disney in the completion of the short film (2003), to understand any external debt.
Then there would be considerations on the cinema, but I lack the basics: do you so I will just nod. Here a brief history of Dali-Disney thing.

Okay, yes, coming seven years late, but what I am facing eternity *?



(via Cozla. )

* This sentence me Ratzinger has suggested leaving the synagogue in Rome.

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However hard I tried

I'll try to update this beautiful blog, I try: I have a piece there, almost ready to quotations, not to mention that I worked out this morning on masochism, and then there music that is boring for interviewing a guy too cool to be taken seriously. But every day it happens one: first this, now this one.

Let me greetings, beautiful people.

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Jay Reatard and things

As they do in a few, because you were not Paul Newman, Patrick Swayze and were not (thank God) were not Michael Jackson, I salute you.

After publishing this thing on tumblr, and I Samoa we wrote two "crocodiles" almost simultaneously . To say that I do not update more much here because I'm participating in a project organized and very serious. What can you do, we men of today are so, gently bungling.

Meanwhile, it seems that the newspaper, that big bad that is in Milan and on the titles of which I have often joked, I will grant to publish the article on the famous Duomo di Monza etc. When updating and dehumanized. Unless a catastrophe happens in Lombardy in the next 72 hours, which normally I would hope.

But no, way, because there is the famous former showgirl who seeks me by the end of February here, the cataclysm, if you like you can reach the day when I get my first erection in the office. Got God? Let's keep in touch.

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Hi my giggly hey neighbor! Nothing changes



(via magazines on FF)

Birthday Thank You Wording

New Year celebration is a useless and rather stupid , it also says Francis and it can not be wrong to give: change calendar will never have a beneficial effect comparable to the change of underwear, so to speak. Nevertheless, the tradition is to celebrate paying too much to hear from dozens of € vocalist dressed a wish for a 2010 full of dicks "(in practice, you pay more than that is going to do every Saturday, is not it big boy?).

The dinners are a mystery: for some reason you astrological Gorge of smoked foods, salted, greasy with the common denominator of taste pronounced. He says, "are those dishes that I never eat in the year" in fact. The guests of the dinner, then, are a very special race worthy of study: dressed up and pulled a shiny (but mostly cocaine), you know them in their worst moment (because if you dress for a party and you pull a shiny but mostly cocaine, because only about to begin the month dedicated to the god Janus, then you are at the worst time of your year, fucked all this rhetoric of ' New Years ... all year) and you can not despise them for that end. The girls, however ...

No, no girls, because if you're me (a rare case, but lucky), do not you care label, and attack the food is too tasty to be referred to as a veteran of the Russian campaign, and it seems that girls love the label enough to flinch every time you fall pieces of potato salad from the nose (to me it never happened, but it would be nice). Imagine if, during a friendly game you happen to suggest that once you have simulated orgasm: girls keep us, Stanislavsky orgasm, they consider it their prerogative post-feminist, and Your ability to simulate an orgasm during the evening fade as the approval ratings of Charles Manson at the club, "ex-wives massacred by Roman Polanski."

to say, is yet another New Year celebration that puts on display the ineptitude for alcohol, a dangerous mix when combined with any expectation that require sobriety and skill: the point is that

full of expectations and we all go out there to get drunk as a camel can bear to be with others, because we spent the late autumn and early winter cold immersing deeper and deeper in the TV Guide, and now we should be genuinely revel in the vicinity of these revolting lumps of humanity. And so naturally the resulting horrific scenes. *

So, I think next year I placed next to my friend Attilio with a couple of boxes of six and a kilo of lychee, and we look together the final episode of blob, just to feel inept in a world of spasticity.

Felice prostate year to all.

* (Lester Bangs, reasonable guide to the most horrible noise, pp. 392-405)

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Almost forgot

While I was finishing the year and another four hippies we got into his head to open a music blog collective boring music is his name, because boredom is the fun of ten years (segnatevelo, even if in the end he said it already Caparezza) (here, I mentioned Caparezza: so tonight I'll come out of hemorrhoids). Unfortunately, the chapter "noise" crater will suffer gravely nothing that can not be resolved with a moderate use of psychotropic drugs.

It is expected the arrival of three other subjects, but for now I present the current noiosoni:

- Paranoise : future doctor of celebrities, has perfect pitch (I I've only ablative, lucky him), knows a slew of groups with names such trigger-happy and invented a subgenre of Grind a day, once we played "Paranoid" and not just because we knew playing

- Samoan : already famous and celebrated guitarist and eco98 My Silver Booster, is known for his passion for the pedals and the music loud and powerful, but are also known drifting dangerously close to pop it a hybrid between Rick Rubin and Finley

- electroplasticbox (aka bobby nava): niche photographer famous for inventing the style of severed heads, keyboardist and noisy My Silver Booster is capable of listening to a tram if properly electrified and hate the drummers

- commentone : future engineer of the future, multi-instrumentalist in the aforementioned band The Rubik's Cube Monochrome and occasionally in his living room, where became famous for a line of percussion played on pots, loves music boring as long as it is fun

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Instead, then ...

Not that there's nothing to say, not that nothing happens in the world round. The fact is that the bullshit already written to the other and I steal all the ideas. So let talk about my friend Conrad.