::14.9.03::
DE CHICA PARA CHICA
Vagando pelos blogs, de olho quaaaase fechado, me deparei com um post que poderia muitíssimo bem ser escrito por mim, palavrinha por palavrinha, há alguns meses atrás. Mulher rancorosa, quem de nós já não foi? Não leva à nada, de verdade. Ahhh, e depois passa. Mas eu sempre me lembro dessa musiquinha quando desejo vingança...E colo aqui a letrinha para essa menina latino-americana que mora num blog muito legal.
Goody Goody
Matty Malneck
* cantado pela Ella Fitzgerald *
So you met someone who set you back on your heels. (Goody Goody)
So you met someone and now you know how it feels. (Goody Goody)
So you gave her your heart too, just as I gave mine to you
And she broke it in little pieces. Now, how do you do?
So you lie awake, just singin' the blues all night (Goody Goody)
So you think that love's a barrel of dynamite (Goody Goody)
Hurray and Hallelujah! You had it comin' to ya
Goody goody for her. Goody Goody for you.
And I hope you're satisfied, you rascal, you
So you met somebody who set you back on your heels. (Goody Goody)
So you met somebody and now you know how it feels. (Goody Goody)
So you gave her your heart too, just as I gave mine to you
And she stuck it in his collection, section 92.
So you lie awake, just singin' the blues all night (Goody Goody)
So you think that love's a barrel of dynamite (Goody Goody)
Hurray and Hallelujah! You had it comin' to ya
Goody goody for her. Goody Goody for me.
And I hope you're satisfied, you rascal, you
:: Marcia Furriel 12:19 a.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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