::7.10.03::
OTIS AND I
O sono vai aumentando, agora já estamos nos 50% de sono acumulado. Mas, apesar de tudo, estou animada com essa semana, o aniversário da Mama, os filmes que faltam pra ver. Very hard to handle.
Hard to Handle
Otis Redding / Allen Jones / Alvertis Isbell
Baby here I am
I'm the man on the scene
I can give you what you want
But you gotta' come home with me
I have got some good old lovin'
And I got some more in store
When I get through throwin' it on you
You gotta' come back for more
Boys and things that come by the dozen
That ain't nothin' but drugstore lovin'
Pretty little thing let me light your candle
'Cause mama I'm so hard to handle now
Yes I am
Action speaks louder than words
And I'm a man of great experience
I know you've got another man
But I can love you better than him
Take my hand don't be afraid
I'm gonna prove every word I say
I'm advertising love for free
So you can place your ad with me
Boys come along a dime by the dozen
That ain't nothing but ten cent lovin'
Pretty little thing let me light your candle
'Cause mama I'm so hard to handle now
Yes I am
:: Marcia Furriel 3:23 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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