::7.12.05::
DIA 8
Dia 8 morreu John Lennon. A tv passa um monte de documentários chatos falando dele e da Yoko. Resolvi não assistir mais, pra não estourar meu saco com as "falas" da Yoko. E a cara dela também, que é uó. Mas o fato é que o cara amava a japa, e isso ninguém pode negar. E escreveu músicas lindas pra ela. Tô nelas hoje, pra ver se melhora o dia...
It's so Hard
John Lennon
you got to live
you got to love you got to be
somebody you got to shove
but it's so hard, it's really hard
sometimes i feel like going
down
you got to eat
you got to drink
you got to feel something
you got to worry
it's so hard, it's really hard
sometimes i feel like going
down
but when it's good it's oh so
good
and when i hold you in
arms baby
sometimes i feel like going
down
you got to run
you got to hide
you got to keep your woman
satisfied
but it's so hard, it's really hard
sometimes i feel like going
down
:: Marcia Furriel 11:44 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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