i no longer like this city's streets i walk. i liked this city best when it was the one we knew and loved, the city we drank in one night back in 78, while sitting on the sidewalk with starlight burning our eyelids. can't forget the day you woke up and the sun was up and shinning -- the neighborhood children sang outside, in our front law, happy childish songs. coffee aroma was all around, sounds of jazz spilling from the rusty vinyl: Nina Simone poured her soul and my ears were delighted. the song's lyrics went like this: "Sinnerman where you gonna run to Sinnerman where you gonna run to... and your entire body shook with energy as you danced to the sound of music, turning around and around, twirling. your lips, like ripe red cherries, were parted, singing the lyrics with the heart of a gospel choir. your torso was bathed in sunlight, your sandy hair shone bright. your hands, up in the air, clapped in the rhythm and you raised your voice, letting all the spirits out, waking up the long lost, asleep feelings inside my heart; you sang and sang, even if your high-pitched voice can't really carry a tune. you were not minding. you were lost in your moment. your eyes were shut and your voice was like thunder in that early morning. it went through me like a lightening bolt, an powerful discharge of joy, as i sang the lyrics too... "So I run to the lord Please help me lord Don't you see me prayin? Don't you see me down here prayin? in that moment you opened your eyes and smiled widely to me. you came to me and took my hand and we danced all the hours of that early morning, nonstop, to the sound of old jazz beats ¿ all my records, like Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie... we danced like dead souls had taken over our bodies, demanding to dance like the living once more or like lovely, devilish puppets of sound. but now we can no longer sing and dance: our song is over, Sinnerman, we've lost our moment. our morning is just over and our (your) actions made us grow apart...

personal soundsparanóia
só faz o mal. me arrependo do que escrevi ali abaixo, mas não apago, só de pirraça! é minha teimosia que se recusa a me deixar caducar de vez, deixar tudo pra trás. guardarei até as lembranças dos maus momentos.