Lice Medicine For Pregant Woman

geezer

Marina, with a cut'n'paste classificone from my year-end:

The character is rather odd, and apostrophizes me with irreverence - There Is Love In You - my astonishment is liquid, even sound.
We are in a room, crowded background of abrasive guitars and accordion gypsy, Litany trip-hop vocals and terribly grim.
My friend, the new queen of black music, is the trick to bounce back in the bathroom and left me alone in this fluid space in progress, where people change every second, all seem a solitary creatures and impossible to categorize.
But this is different, fear is alienated and disturbed, sometimes even paranoid, because his eyes look at you but does not really seem all you see, who knows how awesome vortex of psychedelic sounds and tangled his mind. Her clothing you might call naive and bucolic, but resigned rather gloomy indeed original. Does not stink, and this is already a story in this place. Why are we in a place out of reach, the city center is far away and if I look out through the windows a bit 'dirty I see a contemporary landscape alienated and alienating, in front of a shopping center with its beautiful park and next to a car wash, beyond a tangle of the highway, behind the hosts are left to imagine the endless terraced houses. We ended up here in search of the last queen of lost love, she falls in love often, moreover, in its way with freshness and immediacy, then takes forever in the ass, but without fear of contradiction we can say that in his stories never fail to intensity and originality, never a power cut or style.
I beg you always find a subject cicinino a less claustrophobic and tense than that with which it mates usually even more sophisticated and melancholy. But she did nothing, his stories are born and die into a kaleidoscope of emotions always pure, and almost never beautiful emotions.
And now what the fuck she is doing in the bathroom that does not come back, while my new friend does not think to even move from my aura of life, but then thinks better of it and goes on the shelf, Pallet Strap on a guitar and an impromptu riff, is inside all but above all that we are never appeased anger, and a scratchy sound, and fucking brilliant passages. And I was not the object of his love, I do not see even more lost in his world. Too bad.