::29.8.03::
LISTMANIAC
Coisas que eu quero fazer nesse final de semana:
1) Dançar
2) Dormir
3) Comer...bem.
4) Dar mais beijo na boca (bom)
5) Encontrar amigas
6) Ver tv
7) Dormir
8) Aproveitar o final de semana, apesar de toda a chuva e todo o trabalho.
Coisas que eu NÃO quero fazer nesse final de semana:
1) Trabalhar sábado
2) Trabalhar DOMINGO (fooooooooda!)
3) Andar de carro, em Jacarepaguá, debaixo de um temporal.
4) Ficar de ressaca
5) Ficar à base de drogas, que estão me deixando llllloooouuuuuca de dor de cabeça
6) Me estressar com a rede globo
7) Brigar com TODO mundo lá em casa
8) Ficar deprê, por causa dessa chuva
9) Ficar desenhando mais cozinhas e quartos
10) Ficar gripada
11) Ficar com raiva
12) Ficar desesperada por NÃO ter final de semana (e a coisa só estar começando...).
Agora que eu já desabafei, vou fechar tudo aqui rapidamente, picar a mula e correr para casa. Ainda tenho que tomar mais hormônios hoje, só quero ver o que vai dar a combinação hormônios+cerveja+chuva intensa+brazooka. Ainda bem que vai estar bastante gente lá....
A lista das coisas que eu quero fazer por enquanto impera.
:: Marcia Furriel 8:37 p.m.
[+] ::
...
|
| [::..perfil..::] |
"...[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
|
| [::.. perfil sarcástico..::] |
 |
|
