::15.2.04::
Oh dear, is it really all true?
Did they offend us and they want it to sound new?
Top ten ideas for countdown shows...
Whose culture is this and does anybody know?
I wait and tell myself "life ain't chess,"
But no one comes in and yes, you're alone...Chego em casa, nín-guem. Volume máximo (danem-se vizinhos), meu cd piratinha dos Strokes. Deu saudades de São Paulo. Nega não sabe, mas foi o amiguinho paulista que me apresentou o cd novo dos caras. Eu adoro ele todo. O cd, haha. Não tenho a menor noção de como faço para inserir fotos aqui agora, senão colava uma capinha. Fiquem na imaginação. Com um sorriso nos lábios (odeio essa palavra, lábios), canto o iniciozinho:
I want to be forgotten,
and I don't want to be reminded.
You say "please don't make this harder."
No, I won't
YET
Ainda não, ainda não. É o meu melhor sorriso. Quase uma gargalhada.
:: Marcia Furriel 4:39 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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