::14.6.03::
FLAMENCO SKETCHES
Pois é, Miles Davis. Afinal, é graças a música que eu estou feliz, pleno sábado de sol, trabalhando. Pelo menos estou praticamente sozinha aqui no prédio, sem barulho, gritaria e gente chata. Vou daqui direto pro Canecão, ver o Ney Matogrosso cantar Cartola...lindo!
Essa semana anda cheia de surpresas agradáveis...
E hoje é o casamento da Miriam e Viola. Eu gostaria de ir, mas eu acho sacanagem "poluir" um ambiente de tanta felicidade, esperança e amor com sentimentos não tão nobres em relação ao padrinho. Nem é raiva nem nada, mas não ia ser coisa boa também. Fico feliz de verdade em ver mais um casamento de amigos, as pessoas se empenhando SERIAMENTE em construir alguma coisa, sem medo de dar errado, sem medo de sofrer, sem medo de pagar pra ver e sentir essa coisa bonita de ficar juntos pro resto da vida...Quem sabe, um dia?
:: Marcia Furriel 4:41 p.m.
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"...[R]eturning to the Red Drum for sets, to hear Bird, whom I saw distinctly digging Mardou several times also myself directly into my eye looking to search if I was really the great writer I thought myself to be as if he knew my thoughts and ambitions or remembered me from other night clubs and other coasts, other Chicagos--not a challenging look but the king and founder of the bop generation at least the sound of it in digging his audience digging his eyes, the secret eyes him-watching, as he just pursed his lips and let great lungs and immortal fingers work, his eyes separate and interested and humane, the kindest jazz musician there could be while being and therefore naturally the greatest--watching Mardou and me in the infancy of our love and probably wondering why, or knowing it wouldn't last, or seeing who it was would be hurt, as now, obviously, but not quite yet, it was Mardou whose eyes were shining in my direction, though I could not have known and now do not definitely know--except the one fact, on the way home, the session over the beer in the Mask drunk we went home on the Third Street bus sadly through night and throb knock neons and when I suddenly leaned over her to shout something further (in her secret self as later confessed) her heart leapt to smell the "sweetness of my breath" (quote) and suddenly she almost loved me--"
DO LIVRO
The Subterraneans
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