::28.12.03::
Uma música fofa.
Dava até pra pensar em alguma historinha fofa, mas hoje é domingo, sabe como é: dá uma leseeeira...
Amanhã começa tudo de novo, mas pela última vez. Panos limpos, panos limpos. Anotação mental: lembrar de deixar tudo limpinho pra quando 2004 chegar.
12:51
The Strokes
Talk to me now I'm older
Your friends'll do cuz I told her
Friday night's a bit lonely
Change your plans and then phone me
We could go and get forties
Fuck going to that party
Oh really, your folks are away now?
Alright, let's go
You convinced me
12:51 is the time my voice
found the words I sought
Is it this stage I want?
The world is shutting up for us
Oh we were tense for sure
But we was confident
Kiss me now that I'm older
I won't try to control you
Friday night's a bit lonely
Take it slow but don't warn me
We'd go out and get forties
Then we'd go to some party
Oh really, your folks are away now?
Alright I'm coming,
I'll be right there
:: Marcia Furriel 11:05 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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