::22.10.03::
BENITO E EU, EU E BENITO
Depois de uma última ronda, e comentários longuíssimos deixados nos blogs dos amigos, vou dormir com o BENITO DI PAULA, quem diria????? Agora mais uns 3 dias pra tirar essa música da minha cabeça! Comecem a cantar baixinho pra ver o que acontece...Só sai com lavagem cerebral. Culpa do moço DJ que começou com esse papo de Benito.
Charlie Brown Benito di Paula
Eh! Meu amigo Charlie
Eh! Meu amigo Charlie Brown, Charlie Brown
Se você quiser, vou lhe mostrar A nossa São Paulo, terra da garoa Se você quiser, vou lhe mostrar Bahia de Caetano, nossa gente boa
Se você quiser, vou lhe mostrar A lebre mais bonita do Imperial Se você quiser, vou lhe mostrar Meu Rio de Janeiro, nosso carnaval
Se você quiser, vou lhe mostrar Vinícius de Moraes e o som de Jorge Ben Se você quiser, vou lhe mostrar
Torcida do Flamengo, coisa igual não tem
Se você quiser, vou lhe mostrar Luiz Gonzaga, rei do meu baião Se você quiser, vou lhe mostrar
:: Marcia Furriel 1:07 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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