::8.7.03::
EVERYTIME WE SAY GOODBYE
É uma droga quando vc vê alguém passando por uma barra pesada, sem poder ajudar, sem nem saber como começar...E o pior, sofrendo por alguma pessoa que não vale a pena mais gostar. Eu passei por isso, twice, com a mesma pessoa, o mesmo cara que eu amei tanto, amo tanto. Mas tem horas que a coisa tem que acabar, e o lance é andar pra frente, tentar enxergar o inimaginável, a sua vida feliz sem ele. Mas não existe tão pouca gente assim no mundo, nem um só momento de felicidade. Chorar pra quê, não é? Um beijo pra minha amiga Raquel, que nem sabe que esse blog existe, mas sabe certamente que eu estou pensando nela, e esperando que ela se sinta melhor algum dia desses, ao menos assim como o Chet Baker cantou:
I get along without you very well
Chet?
I get along without you very well
Of course I do
Except when soft rains fall
And drip from leaves then I recall
The thrill of being sheltered in your arms
Of course I do
But I get along without you very well
I've forgotten you just like I should
Of course I have
Except to hear your name
Or someone's laugh that is the same
But I've forgotten you just like I should
Whata guy, what a fool am I
To think my breaking heart could kid the moon
What's in store, should I phone once more?
No it's best that I stick to my tune.
I get along without you very well
Of course I do
Except perhaps in spring
But I should never think of spring
For that would surely break my heart in two
What's in store, should I phone once more
No it's best that I stick to my tune
I get along without you very well
Of course I do
Except perhaps in spring
but I should never think of spring
For that would surely break my heart in two
:: Marcia Furriel 12:50 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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