::23.6.05::
Como de praxe, o blog continua às voltas com os dilemas musicais, porque eu GOSTO. Roubei do colega Arlindo, mas já anunciei o furto.
Volume total de músicas em meu computador:
Trocentos e cinquenta. Nunca contei, mas só aqui no trabalho
tem 228. Meu hobby virtual.
O último CD que comprei foi:
Não comprei, ganhei. A coletânea "Miguel Falcão best moments and greatest hits".
Música tocando no momento:
Fleetwood mac - Say you love me. (é rádio de internet). Outro hobby.
Cantores que ultimamente tenho gostado muito de ouvir:
Sempre, Stevie Wonder. (tá no carro).
Músicas que, de alguma forma, significaram muito pra mim:
"Preta Pretinha", Novos Baianos. "Wish you were here, Pink Floyd. "Insensatez", Vinicius e Tom Jobim. "Acontece", Cartola. "Oh baby, I love your way", Peter Frampton. "Oh Darling", Beatles. E muitas outras.
Como isso é tipo uma "corrente"musical, quem quiser pode pegar e responder.
:: Marcia Furriel 11:21 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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