::8.1.04::
HOW INSENSITIVE
Um dia, ou melhor, uma noite, eu cantei essa música para um amigo. A idéia era ele entender o que significava as músicas dos filmes da Marilyn para mim. E que isso para mim era muito mais excitante do que a Dança do Maxixe, ou etecétera. Por quê??? Ora, porque....vejam a foto acima.
Claro que com a minha SUPERBE interpretação, ele não entendeu nada. Certamente, eu não sei cantar. Mas putz, how insensitive.
Let's Make Love
(não sei de quem é, mas os cantantes são a Marilyn e o Yves Montand, no filme de mesmo nome, aqui traduzido como Adorável Pecadora. Adorável título, não acham?)
"All the gentle lot of conversation is deader than the dead sea scrolls
We've become the mutest kind of nation,
we're uncommunicating souls
Noone talks, noone talks!
It's something we seldom ever do
Noone talks, noone talks"
Noone talks but...you
Here we sit and we chatter
What are we thinking of?
Let's not make with the patter
Baby, let's make love
If you roar like a lion, I could coo like a dove!
If your song may inspire, baby lets make love!
No, don't turn TV on,
instead just turn me on
I'll light up like neon
Just a tiny section of your affection
in my direction will do, ooh
You'll just love my embraces 'cause they'll fit like a glove
We'll be off to the races maybe...
Kiss me baby, let's make love
Don't just lay there.. honey do something..
Don't just contemplate me
prove that you don't hate me
Come on, ask you, late me...
Kiss me baby, let's make love
Let's make love
:: Marcia Furriel 6:02 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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