:: Mardoux Mardoux... ::

::30.11.03:: NOVO COMEÇO Dancei. Não na sexta, como queria, na velha Brazooka de guerra, mas no sábado, e na mesma casa, a da Matriz. A preguiça continuava grande mas foi bom resolver e ir, sozinha (pra depois encontrar os amigos). As pessoas, estranhíssimas, incluindo uma loura de coleira preta (!) que dançava como se estivesse numa cabine de safe-sex. Louvável. As músicas foram surpreendentemente boas! Dancei Placebo, quem diria?! E Black Crowes, e Nirvana, e Doors e Beatles. Dancei Sgt. Peppers!!!! Mesmo sendo aniversário de amigo antigo, e mesmo tendo meu partner LeoN para bailes e afins, a melhor da noite foi poder ouvir e cantar todas essas letras lindas e dançar de cabelo pra baixo, de olho fechado, no meu grande espaço pessoal. Não tava muito cheio (não como uma BRazooka) e dava até pra girar na pista. Dançar de olhos fechados tem a vantagem de se poder estar ali, dançando, como em qualquer outro lugar. Estive em vários, visitei várias pessoas, abracei umas e outras, gritei com muitas e disse muitas verdades para poucas. Foi ótimo descobrir mais uma noite. Ah sim, e ver um ruivo. De barba!!! English Summer Rain Placebo Always stays the same, nothing ever changes, English summer rain seems to last for ages. Always stays the same, nothing ever changes, English summer rain seems to last for ages. I'm in the basement, you're in the sky, I'm in the basement baby, drop on by. I'm in the basement, you're in the sky, I'm in the basement baby, drop on by. Hold your breath and count to ten, And fall apart and start again, Hold your breath and count to ten, Start again, start again... Hold your breath and count your step, And fall apart and start again, Start again Start again Start again Start again... :: Marcia Furriel 10:58 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..::]