Rita Pavone can give you diabetes. Especially at nine in the morning when you're singing her stuff with a dumb look of happiness on your face. Perchè tu, perchè tu sei l'amoooore mio, lalalalaaaaaaaa. There is no transfer of meaning from the music to the person. There are no projections of the self. No olfactive mystery to trasnscend the experience. Just a bewildering cold now. Me and him, it's pure magnetic levitation.