::4.9.03::
VEM CHEGANDO A PRIMAVERA...
Hoje é quinta-feira, dia prenúncio de sexta, alegria pura!!! Nem sei a que horas vou chegar em casa, mas isso é a melhor parte. Acabei de comer um Lollo, influenciado pela filipeta daí de baixo, estou ouvindo Eric Clapton (From the Cradle), e aguardando pacientemente meus desenhos saírem plotter afora. Na verdade, na verdade, só aguardo mesmo a hora de sair, e encontrar amigos, e em especial meu amigo GUSTAVO, fooooooooooooofo de morrer, top five abraço fofo do sexo masculino, que veio diretamente de Uberaba pra encontrar seus amiguinhos cariocas, por vocação ou nascimento (meu caso). O BG vai ser pequeno pra tanta gente! E ainda pretendo dar uma esticadinha ali pelo Leblon, pra conferir e prestigiar mais uma do DJ, que está dominando a night carioca agora!
E amanhã tenho que estar às 10 da matina no Leblon, mas disso ninguém lembre, por favor.
Ah, ainda por cima amanhã tem Matriz, talvez a Claudinha venha de SP pra cá, pra ir comigo e com a Beth, e tenho good feelings de que será, mais uma vez, uma noite agradável...
:: Marcia Furriel 6:25 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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