:: Mardoux Mardoux... ::

::17.5.04:: FINALIZANDO O FINDE Final de semana cheio de emoções, a começar pela chegada de Pops no Rio. Tudo bem que só nos vimos no domingo, mas as metas eram outras, anyway. Outra emoção foi voltar na Casa Rosa, sábado, depois de um certo tempinho e um MEGA trauma. Não é mais aquela coisa, a gente sabe, mas foi divertido e eu me satisfiz em dançar muito, como não fazia a (é "a" ou "há"?) tempos, e ainda rever aquelas carinhas conhecidas de sempre. Destaque para o Dr. César, que havia sumido dos nossos encontros absolutamente não marcados pela noite do Rio (na verdade, fui eu quem sumi). Destaque também para os coraçõezinhos inflados que pairam no ar, e pro sorriso no rosto de todo mundo na rodada de Master na casa da Rê, e para o Solzinho tímido que abriu no domingo, alegrando a amiga que mais uma vez tentou em vão pegar uma cor, hahahahahaha. :: Marcia Furriel 7:51 p.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..::]