:: Mardoux Mardoux... ::

::15.2.04:: MUITAS, MUITAS MÚSICAS Meu drive D: foi pro brejo. Tenho que gravar algumas coisas rápido, abrir espaços. Entendam essa frase como regra geral. É isso aí. Fim de inferno astral. Muito soul, muita música, muita dança. Muitas letras em inglês. So sorry, Culpa do capitalismo americano. Put the blame on McDonald's, mame. Mas essa é o que há, nessa madrugada intensa (já contei que A-DO-RO madrugadas intensas???). Agora parei mesmo, como diz a música. Excrusivi, vou dormir. Chove no Rio de Janeiro. Será que amanhã vai dar praia. Hoje já é amanhã? Automatic Stop The Strokes So many fish there in the sea I wanted you, you wanted me That's just a phase, it's got to pass I was a train moving too fast Didn't understand what to see Yeah, then I got a different view It's you...no. Wait, I'm gonna give it a break. I'm not you friend, I never was. I said wait, I'm gonna give it a break. I'm not your friend, I never was. So many fish there in the sea She wanted him, he wanted me That's just a phase, it's got to pass I was a train moving too fast Yeah, I know you warned me But this is too important Now I got a different view It's you... Why can't you wait? I'm gonna give it a break I'm not you friend, I never was I said wait, I'm gonna give it a break I'm not you friend, I never was. Ninguém entendeu, eu era uma locomotica, rápida demais. Por que você não esperou? Tem gente demais, gente boa demais, nesse mundo. Eu nunca fui sua amiga, nunca fui. Dane-se, entendeu? Já passou. Eu tinha uma meta, era você. Não. Nunca foi, impressionante. E ainda assim eu não dei um tempo para mim mesma. Não me dei uma chance, coisa horrível. Agora eu dou uma chance pra mim. Eu vou me dar bem, dessa vez. Não. Já disse que nunca fui sua amiga? Pois é, não, não. Meus amigos eu amo. Gente boa e linda demais nesse mundo. :: Marcia Furriel 5:07 a.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..::]