:: Mardoux Mardoux... ::

::2.4.04:: VIDA LOUCA VIDA Acabo de ser expulsa da cama pelo meu sonho. Três fases, mais ou menos assim: São Paulo, Projac e minha casa. Óbvio que tudo se misturava num grande sonho louco, e incluía as mais diversas pessoinhas. Tudo porque eu preciso achar meu comprovante de rendimentos (que está lá na Curicica esperando pelo meu Imposto de renda). Mas certamente não precisava ir tão fundo assim, e acabei tendo que ouvir umas verdades doídas, não de lá, mas de outras pessoinhas. Óbvio tambpem que não vou ser tãaao explícita assim, não tá pagando a pena. Fato é, a secretária ainda não chegou, eu não sei se vou viajar ou não, eu sei de pouquíssimas coisas na minha vida nesse momento, MAS EU VOU À PRAIA. Nada como um belo banho de mar para tirar minhocas da cabeça. :: Marcia Furriel 10:43 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..::]