::7.1.04::
I CRIED A RIVER OVER YOU
Eu amo essa música. Eu já chorei vários rios, sobre váaarias pessoinhas, várias noites, vários motivos e razões. Engraçado é quando vc não tem nada e nem ninguém pra fazer um Cry me a River, e a vida fica até meio besta. Falta de amor é um tipo de amor? Não sei, mas parece que 2004 resolveu me pregar essa peça: fiquei sem vontade. Sem vontade de chorar um rio, e isso significa (na cabeça torta da escrevinhadora), ficar também sem dar sorrisos largos e longos suspiros apaixonados. É o pacote, vocês sabem. Só que andei me irritando tanto com ele que, por enquanto, tá esgotado e não se sabe quando volta para as prateleiras.
Quem sabe eu não resolvo procurar então um novo produto, daqueles diets em que só venha escrito: use SEM moderação. Ou então: use e abuse, e sem efeitos colaterais. Ou melhor: faça bom proveito, depois amasse e jogue fora, em lixeira especial para romances inacabados. O amor que estiver disponível. Porque, como já dito (e sempre), eu acredito.
Love
John Lennon
Love is real, real is love
Love is feeling, feeling love
Love is wanting to be loved
Love is touch, touch is love
Love is reaching, reaching love
Love is asking to be loved
Love is you
You and me
Love is knowing
We can be
Love is free, free is love
Love is living, living love
Love is needing to be loved
:: Marcia Furriel 12:02 a.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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