:: Mardoux Mardoux... ::

::4.12.03:: CONTINUANDO A SÉRIE... A de hoje quase, mas quaaase, me tirou pra sambar ontem. Fiquei no ímpeto, mas na verdade eu tenho é vergonha. Não me dou muito bem dançando junto com alguém, e morro de medo de pisotear meu par. A não ser que ele seja tão ruim quanto eu. Sem Compromisso Geraldo Pereira/ Nelson Trigueiro Você só dança com ele E diz que é sem compromisso é bom acabar com isso Não sou nenhum Pai João Quem trouxe você fui eu Não faça papel de louca Pra não haver bate-boca Dentro do salão Quando toca o samba Eu lhe tiro pra dançar Você me diz: Não Eu agora tenho par E sai dançando com ele Alegre e feliz Quando para o samba Agradece e pede bis Você só dança com ele E diz que é sem compromisso é bom acabar com isso Não sou nenhum Pai João Quem trouxe você fui eu Não faça papel de louca Pra não haver bate-boca Dentro do salão :: Marcia Furriel 12:50 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..::]