::27.11.03::
PÓS-JOBI, 0H DA QUINTA-FEIRA
Voltamos faz pouco. O papo ótimo como sempre, o chope delicioso, o caldinho de feijão com sérias restrições (será que mudaram o cozinheiro?). A Rê leu quase tudo por aqui dessas semanas, e achou que eu estivesse revoltada com a vida, com o menino ou coisa assim. Muita gente acha muita coisa de mim. Eu, no momento, disfarço que dou conta, disfarço (BEM) que pra mim é melhor assim, disfarço que fiz meu melhor. Não fiz porcaria nenhuma. Devo admitir, garotas: eu não tomei a pílula. Não evitei de cair mais uma vez, não evitei, nunca soube evitar isso. Por algumas semanas tive dias felizes, adorável companhia e paz. Desmontei quando me olhei no espelho, e reafirmei que não estava lá. Nem eu nem ninguém ao meu lado. Alone again, naturally. Mas eu nunca vou tomar essa pílula, não mesmo...E nunca vou tentar nada, nem forçar ninguém, a gostar do que eu mesma abomino. Talvez, e apenas talvez, na próxima temporada, a mocinha faça como Janis mandou, e tente, just a little bit harder. But please, please, please, somebody...try a little tenderness.
Me envolvo na minha manta Chet, no calor dessa noite carioca. Esse Chet, por incrível que pareça, só me trouxe alegrias.
It could happen to you
Jimmy Van Heusen
*cantado pelo Chet Baker*
Hide your heart from sight, lock your dreams at night
It could happen to you
Don't count stars or you might stumble
Someone drops a sigh and down you tumble
Keep an eye on spring, run when church bells ring
It could happen to you
All I did was wonder how your arms would be
And it happened to me
:: Marcia Furriel 12:29 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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