:: Mardoux Mardoux... ::

::26.2.04:: DAS COISAS QUE NÃO ENTENDO MESMO O nosso secretário de segurança acaba de dizer, no RJTV, que o BOPE está proibido de entrar na Rocinha, e que, EXCRUSIVI, ele já tinha proibido essa entrada no período do Carnaval. Enquanto isso, durante as atividades momescas, os caras sem noção entraram na favela e escolheram três rapazes, para dar um exemplo (será?) e para dar uma "limpada" na favela. Segundo Dona Lídia, a nossa amiga que faz faxina aqui em casa todas as quintas, os meninos estavam no baile, dançando, enquanto todos os outros que vendem cocaína e fazem "ponto" na Rocinha estavam todos no mesmo lugar, um dia após a chacina. Vem cá, como neguinho pode ser tão ESTÚPIDO assim???? Não é possível que até EU saiba que eles não eram traficantes ou ladrôes, e que nenhum (inclusive os que estão vivos ainda) merecia morrer...Vou orar pra Jesus, pra ver se pelo menos entendo a cabeça desse Garotinho... :: Marcia Furriel 7:10 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..::]