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'Ladies and Gentleman, a very good evening. Snow fell and everything froze.' Through abandoned cities, decomposing masks of a remote past not so distant, when everything collapsed around us in a world of pigs. 'We've abandoned the moral compass for half a dozen ducats,' continues Bosco, sadly unable to speak. Instead, Luigi Bosco speaks to you in his thoughts, in front of the camera. And this moral compass that, well, for spiders, it rotates between I don't give a damn, Maybe, Don't Even Think About It, Fake News, One Day, Maybe, If It's God's Will and it rotates. It circles around, endlessly ...
'Ladies and Gentleman, a very good evening. Snow fell and everything froze.' Through abandoned cities, decomposing masks of a remote past not so distant, when everything collapsed around us in a world of pigs. 'We've abandoned the moral compass for half a dozen ducats,' continues Bosco, sadly unable to speak. Instead, Luigi Bosco speaks to you in his thoughts, in front of the camera. And this moral compass that, well, for spiders, it rotates between I don't give a damn, Maybe, Don't Even Think About It, Fake News, One Day, Maybe, If It's God's Will and it rotates. It circles around, endlessly rotating in that moral compass of yours that no longer adds anything else other than lies to the plot. Theory, plot and lie.
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