::12.7.05::
ASSUNTOS CORRENTES
Voltando ou não voltando (para o blog), a vontade de escrever fica maior depois de acontecimentos como os da semana passada. Não bastasse o Roberto Jefferson, as bombas de Londres, Londres para 2012, dólares na cueca, o show do Live 8...O maravilhoso mundo da televisão me faz ver cada vez mais o quanto estou certa nas previsões: realmente, não há muitas chances para o mundo após 2057, considerando esta como a data limite. Não sei se vai ser tsunami, bomba no metrô, bomba na cueca ou pragas biológicas, ou qualquer outra coisa além do que sonha minha vã cabecinha neurótica. Só espero, de todo o coração, que acabe tudo num BUM só! E que, de preferência, o Bob Jefferson esteja sentado em cima dela.
:: Marcia Furriel 10:28 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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