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My Playlist # 4 - Editorial

Now, as then

While we are closing this issue we get news that does not that can make us laugh and cry together ... On TGCOM (but not only there) there is a beautiful hustler music product of the year: the disc of the Band T ... You know the three boys of advertising that have battered Tim for all the holidays together with fiammetta ... Well! Someone has seen fit to bring out their "albums" and we suddenly we seem to have gone back to 1984. Remember when

improbable characters came out with a single and then disappeared, or when it was discovered that the singer was just a volot provided the voice of any singer maybe good but ugly?? Here we are back there, we came back exactly the moment when the music has gone from being an artistic form of expression to be a product. We have never loved the '80s, most of us, but listening back to the disks of those years we realized that perhaps was no longer a party that took a critical objective and now that we have closed we are happy to have made this number.

Bigg

redazione@myplaylistmag.it
www.myplaylistmag.it

This How My Period Look Like

Gironi

In the group of idiots

feels a lot more people shouting and screaming

most believed to have

reasons to sell, never give. In Group

cowards

you see no face, only ass in the air

heads that sink into the earth. In the group of

micragnosi

many small children

vie single

toy car whose wheels do not work in years

but nobody realizes it. In the group of misanthropes

there is a lot of people

but you hear a voice, great looks of hatred

and nothing more. In the group of respectable

each one looks, light

and accuses the other

hoping no one sees what he knows

be there to see.

In my group we are few,

everyone believes to be there by mistake

but for each there is a reason

more than valid.

Is 3 Months Baby Small Blister Penis

From 'High

is a time that I watch from above,

not from the heights of arrogance

unmotivated

but from the top of a mountain

as a monk. I look at things

pass

happen

collide and all that remains for me

is the echo of my breath,

quiet,

a natural rhythm,

effortlessly.

Bigg