::17.11.03::
SAUDADE
Estou sentindo saudades do meu pai. Ontem teve BrasilxPeru, eliminatórias da Copa, e felizmente deu empate. Oitenta mil torcedores no Monumental de Lima, será que meu pai tb estava lá? Meu tio Lucho certamente...Foi dele que eu ganhei a camisa e o estandarte do Alianza de Lima, que deve ser o meu time limenho, da 1ª. Divisão. (Nota-se daonde puxei minha vocação para sofredora, meu pai torce pro Municipal de Lima, 2ª. Divisão peruana).
Quando estive lá, todos me acharam com cara de brasileira. Maior orgulho. Quando aqui, quem sabe que eu tenho metade das coisas de lá, me acha com cara de peruana. Não tanto orgulho assim, mas acho que deveria ter mais. Uma vez ganhei do meu amigo Raul (faz tempo...) um cartão de aniversário lindo, todo desenhado por ele, e ele foi uma das poucas pessoas que me disseram gostar mais do fato de eu ser 1/2 peruana do que 1/2 brasileira. Ele gostava do que nem eu mesma gosto, até hoje, e do que eu me recuso a enxergar quando me olho no espelho, ou quando olho as minhas irmãs, meus dois espelhinhos. Como diria a salsa do saudoso Semente, “soy latino-americano, y nunca me engano, y nunca me engano”.
Vou ligar para a casa hoje.
:: Marcia Furriel 3:38 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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