::20.4.04::
WHEN I WAKE UP EARLY IN THE MORNINGPosicionada com Louvor na terceira posíção da minha lista "os melhores dos melhores discos dos Beatles", descubro hoje que Revolver não só é excelente (redundância) como é feliz e serve para acordar gente bem de manhã.
É disco de não se por defeito, mesmo nas viagens georgeharrisonianas (que eu adoro desde pequenina). Mas a receita é a seguinte: aconteceu de acordar hoje às sete e meia da manhã, sorrindo. A primeira música que me veio foi I'm only sleeping. Ainda deitada, relutei alguns segundos (please don´t wake me, no, don´t shake me, leave me where I am...) mas fui na pilha certa, pulei com delicadeza Taxman e Eleanor Rigby (faz parte, sem menosprezo) e dei o play pra deitar. A seqüência é incrível, e não dá pra dormir, nem ficar triste nem nostálgica. Love You To mantém o wakin' up, e acorda ainda mais, e é de se pensar...
Make love all day long
Make love singing songs
And to lead a better life, Here, There and Everywhere, hora de abrir bem os olhos, ver o dia começando, olhando pro lado e vendo, knowing that love is to share. Depois, reminiscências tão carinhosas, quando a amiga pedia pra eu cantar a letra completa de Yellow Submarine, que eu decorei com muito orgulho aos 13 anos. Dentro da sala, no intervalo da aula de matemática e geografia, sky of blue and sea of green, nunca esqueço, nunca esqueço.
O dia esquentando, as coisas a fazer, a inércia. I know what it's like to be sad, She Said, She Said. I know that I'm ready to leave…
'Cause you're making me feel like I've never been born
Não tem como não ficar feliz com a seguinte. Um GOOD DAY, SUNSHINE digno de Poliana, uma daquelas dos Beatles que não contém nenhum sofrimento at all, até estranho. But, como eles dizem, I'm in love and it's a sunny day. Um cd que contém sunshines, passarinhos cantando (And you bird can sing), submarinos coloridos, sonhos e sonhos. Daí chega a hora da verdade, your mind aches, mas essa contém sim, uma certa dor. Uma das que mais demorei tempo pra descobrir, dentro do meu próprio disco, graças a um menino que compartilhou, certa vez, seus sofrimentos comigo. Cry for no one, a love that shoul have lasted years. Pausa para pensar um pouco. For no One:
Your day breaks, your mind aches
There will be time when all the things she said will fil your head
You won't forget her
Mas well, well, well, I'm feeling fine. É só olhar de novo pro lado, pra janela, pra hora que é cedo, tocando Dr. Robert. He helps you to understand, sabem? Feelin' fine.
I Want to Tell You é a minha cara. Sempre tem alguma coisa que eu quero dizer pra alguém alguma hora,toda hora. Confusa? I don't mind, i could wait forever, I've got time...
But if I seem to act unkind
It's only me, it's not my mind
That is confusing things
E pra terminar, e começar o dia com grande, ENORME estilo,
I was alone, I took a ride,
I didn't know what I would find there
Another road where maybe I could see another kind of mind there
Ooh, then I suddenly see you,
Ooh, did I tell you I need you
Every single day of my life
You didn't run, you didn't lie
You knew I wanted just to hold you
And had you gone you knew in time we'd meet again
For I had told you
Ooh, you were meant to be near me
Ooh, and I want you hear me
Say we'll be together every day
Got to Get You Into my Life
What can I do, what can I be,
When I'm with you I want to stay there
If I'm true I'll never leave
And if I do I know the way there
Ooh, then I suddenly see you,
Ooh, did I tell you I need you
Every single day of my life
Got to get you into my life
Got to get you into my life
É isso aí. Ah, sim, temos Tomorrow Never Knows, mas essa já é a hora em que eu levantei e estava escovando os dentes. Good Day, Sunshine.
:: Marcia Furriel 12:03 p.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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