::28.3.04::
MAIS OBSERVAÇÕS SOBRE O MESMO.Ontem foi dia de mais uma sessão: Mardoux & Cia. assistiram Secretária, o filme que deu a redenção ao James Spader. Finalmente, um papel de neurótico-obsessivo-compulsivo-sádico-e-coisa-e-tal, tudo que Spader merecia. Foi uma daquelas surpresas interessantes que a gente tem quando vai na locadora, não demos muita coisa pro filme mas ele ainda assim superou as (não)expectativas. Interessante também parar pra pensar nessa coisa de causar e receber a dor, num relacionamento amoroso. Às vezes física, muitas vezes não.
E a musiquinha da hora primordial do Hanky-panky tem tuuudo a ver, e é uma das que eu gosto há tempos também. Com vocês, as bizarrices de Leonard Cohen: (visualizem o James Spader com sua cara de tarado).
I'm Your Man
Leonard Cohen
If you want a lover
I'll do anything you ask me to
And if you want another kind of love
I'll wear a mask for you
If you want a partner
Take my hand
Or if you want to strike me down in anger
Here I stand
I'm your man
If you want a boxer
I will step into the ring for you
And if you want a JEWISH doctor
I'll examine every inch of you
If you want a driver
Climb inside
Or if you want to take me for a ride
You know you can
I'm your man
Ah, the moon's too bright
The chain's too tight
The beast won't go to sleep
I've been running through these promises to you
That I made and I could not keep
Ah but a man never got a woman back
Not by begging on his knees
Or I'd crawl to you baby
And I'd fall at your feet
And I'd howl at your beauty
Like a dog in heat
And I'd claw at your heart
And I'd tear at your sheet
I'd say please, please
I'm your man
And if you've got to sleep
A moment on the road
I will steer for you
And if you want to work the street alone
I'll disappear for you
If you want a father for your child
Or only want to walk with me a while
Across the sand
I'm your man
If you want a lover
I'll do anything you ask me to
And if you want another kind of love
I'll wear a mask for you
:: Marcia Furriel 11:42 a.m.
[+] ::
...
|
| [::..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..::] |
 |
|
