::8.12.03::
MR. MOJO RISIN'
Parabéns para o aniversariante do dia, James Douglas Morrison, ídolo da minha adolescência, presença marcante nos meus sonhos e devaneios, poeta, band leader, meu preferido, o amado de Pam.
Hoje ele faria 60 anos, e provavelmente não seria mais famoso...Assim como John Lennon, que morreu na mesma data, os bons não permanecem mais do que o tempo necessário nessa terra, feliz ou infelizmente. Mas o dia não é (nem pode) ser triste, nem a semana e nem o final de 2003. A música de hoje é de Jim, cantada ao vivo em 1970, uma daquelas suas especiais para momentos mais especiais ainda...
Universal Mind
Doors
I was doing time
In the universal mind
I was feeling fine
I was turning keys
I was setting people free
I was doing all right
Then you came along
With a suitcase and a song
Turned my head around
Now I?m so alone
Just looking for a home
In every place I see
I?m the freedom man
I?m the freedom man
I?m the freedom man
That?s how lucky I am
I?m the freedom man
:: Marcia Furriel 5:44 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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