Hora Lunga

Biography

Rode through the south italian desert on a Peugeot fuelhorse. The Autogrill is glowing greasily in the image's background. An awkward spaghetti western unfolds as a melancholy fantasy. A sort of coming of age spaghetti movie, cause your lips are painted with canned tomato blood. You're in between times. The old hero is dead, but we stole his guitar and seven rounds of ammunition. Premises: decadence hot, defeatism only for the old - if you say eclecticism, you cough letters around and I usually say: huh? No one lying by the swimming pool, but wind. And Lana Del Rey gets her Hollywood chewing gum supplies at the 24-hour-shop at the Langstrasse. It's all true because it's immortalized on Mini-DV, we'd only need to edit it.
Hora Lunga had time. Said farewell in order to start with this and that, catch unaccompanied pictures, unaccompanied tones in melodies cloud up at the blue synthesizer apparatus. And he almost got through with this on his own.