:: Mardoux Mardoux... ::

::16.11.03:: NOT TO TOUCH THE EARTH Passei no blog do César, um menino escrevinhador que tem apenas o pecado de ser flamenguista, e voltei com a sanha: liguei o dvd e fiquei olhando para ele, e pensando naquelas coisas. E ouvindo aquelas outras coisas, tipo essa: We could be so good together Doors We could be so good together Ya, so good together We could be so good together Ya, we could, I know we could Tell you lies I tell you wicked lies Tell you lies Tell you wicked lies Tell you 'bout the world that we'll invent Wanton world without lament Enterprise, expedition Invitation and invention Ya, so good together Ah, so good together We could be so good together Ya, we could, know we could Alright! Do da do do do do do bup bup de day We could be so good together Ya, so good together We could be so good together Ya, we could, know we could Tell you lies Tell you wicked lies Tell you lies Tell you wicked lies The time you wait subtracts the joy Beheads the angels you destroy Angels fight, angels cry Angels dance and angels die Ya, so good together Ah, but so good together We could be so good together Ya, we could, know we could :: Marcia Furriel 11:09 p.m. [+] :: ... Comments: Enviar um comentário

[::..perfil..::] "...[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 [::.. perfil sarcástico..::]