::16.8.04::
EVERYBODY NEEDS SOMEBODY TO LOVE
Espirais de Stevie Wonder na cabeça, assim como a capa do "Songs in the Key of Life", dele, 1975, 1976? Cantando várias, lembrando de algumas, anotando o nome das outras para não esquecer, tenho que achar na internet. Lembrei pelo menos de pedir um dvd de natal pra minha irmã (esse e um do Barry White). Na tv, o documentário, Stevie imitando o Barry. Eu e minha dor de garganta gememos de emoção. Eu imaginando que ainda posso ver. Ainda posso cantar junto " I believe when I fall in love with you it will be forever". Eu acredito, pelo menos algumas vezes ao dia. Como disse, todo mundo precisa de alguém para amar. What the world needs now. Todos dizem "eu te amo". Mas assim, entre aspas, porque é melhor pra copiar e colar (ctrl+c/ctrl+v), adaptável para qualquer um, ou apenas um? Oh so long, for this night I prayed...Já, já começo a repetir as letras, ouvindo as mesmas velhas músicas antigas, vão dizer que são tolices, que podemos ser felizes...Agora passou uma Gal, mas já passou. Lately, tenho pensado em coisas absurdas. Como tirar as aspas. Assumir a gravidade, tirar as aspas é como bungee jump, mas não se sabe ao certo se a corda vai agüentar. Voltam as espirais, volta a Dorothy, ou seria Scarlet sofrendo por Ashley? O melhor de tudo, agora, é não pular as alegres. Digo, as músicas. Ohh baby, here I am! Vontade de pular da cadeira, nem a dor de garganta é tão ruim assim, e afinal lá se vai já algum tempo...Hoje é dia 16?
Mary wants to be a superwoman
But is that really in her head
But I just want to live each day to love her
for what she is
Mary wants to be another movie star
But is that really in her mind
And all the things she wants to be
She needs to leave behind
:: Marcia Furriel 2:00 a.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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