Turn over the page. The sinner, the grateful smile, the lone ranger, the fucked up marriage. The man sitting on the next table looks at me as if I was a freak not dress in the usual cotton. I winked a smile and continue my journey of good Rock and Roll literature. I wasn’t expecting much but the words that came out of the magazine where like probers, prophesying future love and wisdom. Drugs on the house, the boat, the road. Music living creatures. The lines written in Classic Times are the perfect example of were our culture has gone. The cover: Pop Music, Art, Rock, Soul renaissance. Reading this you can understand clearly the meaning of Postmodernism. I asked my self how much money I would need to feed myself with such an enormous variety of information. These blogs, the life within are nothing without that kind of knowledge. When should we start to dream about the perfect use of our time. The magic in those words never reveals its consequences. Because there’s work and there’s money, and there’s responsibility and relationship. We should be happy no matter what we dream of. I relish a good and beautiful fucked up story. The life and the lyrics of a great song and the transparent beating of a good heart. Be grateful Rolling Stone.