::25.9.03::
VAI COMEÇAR...
E o prenúncio de verão passou. Ontem foi escaldante, e hoje já temos umas nuvens cinzas novamente, um pouco de frio e dia escuro. Tudo bem, tá tudo muito bem...Amanhã começa a maratona de filmes, vou direto para o Carlos Saura, encarar um Salomé em ritmo latino. Sábado tem Rocky Horror, ai meu Deus, ai meu Deus! Ainda tenho 10 “vale-filmes” pra gastar, do passaporte, e nada mais do que eu quero foi liberado. Só quero ver se não liberarem The Wall. Vai rolar quebra-quebra!
A ressaquinha das cervejas de ontem já bateu. Meu computador ficou ligado da madrugada de ontem atéeeee às 8 da matina, baixando as musiquinhas. Os gatos dormiram comigo, e foram mais algumas horinhas de sono aconchegada naquelas coisas fofas. Lindos, todos eles.
:: Marcia Furriel 3:02 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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