::8.10.03::
MELODIA
Estava pensando em uma música...Não sei qual seria, mas eu queria ter uma música hoje. O Marcelo fez o favor de me roubar a música de ontem, a última que eu escutei no rádio, quando chegava em casa:
E eu quero tudo, tudo...
No próximo hotel
Por mar, por terra,
Ou via Embratel
Ela é um satélite
E só quer me amar
Mas não há promessas, não
É só um novo lugar...
Sempre achei que essa música do Cazuza era a melo dos relacionamentos virtuais, hahahaha. Mas não é o caso, não é a música, foi apenas um momento. Essa palavra, inclusive, se faz presente cada vez mais em mim: momentos.
You know she's there waiting
Just anticipating
Things that she'll never, never possess
No no no
But while she's there waiting
Try a little tenderness
Eu fico por aí, nesses versos: quero o meu carinho, meus beijos doces e minha atenção. De resto fico feliz de estar feliz. E continuo no esforço contínuo de parar, olhar no espelho, e ser absolutamente sincera comigo. Enquanto estiver sendo, i’ll keep trying. Trying a little tenderness.
:: Marcia Furriel 6:31 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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