:: Mardoux Mardoux... ::

::9.3.04:: ...SOBRE O MESMO TEMA Se o Stanley fosse o Chico, e Stella fosse a Gal: Biscate Chico Buarque Vivo de biscate e queres que eu te sustente Se eu ganhar algum vendendo mate Dou-te uns badulaques de repente Andas de pareô, eu sigo inadimplente Chamo você pra sambar Levo você pra benzer Fui pegar uma cor na praia E só faltou me bater, é Basta ver um rabo de saia Pro bobo se derreter Vives na gandaia e esperas que eu te respeite Quem que te mandou tomar conhaque Com o tíquete que te dei pro leite Quieta que eu quero ouvir Flamengo e River Plate Faço lelê de fubá Faço pitu no dendê Sirvo seu pitéu na cama E nada dele comer, ai Telefone, é voz de dama Se penteia pra atender Vamos ao cinema, baby Vamos nos mandar daqui Vamos nos casar na igreja Chega de barraco Chega de piti Vamos pra Bahia, dengo Vamos ver o sol nascer Vamos sair na bateria Deixe de chilique Deixe de siricotico Vamos baby.... :: Marcia Furriel 9:58 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..::]