Stella's lyric log

Occupant has crafted 17 hits in the zygote stage: fully recorded yes, but the hit part is very much unidentifiable at this point. Occupant is influenced by anyone who ever drew breath across a shure microphone. Skafish, The Bells, Lou Reed, Kraftwerk...there did we get everyone? MP3s coming soon. Agent Q handles the loins share of the vocals.

A taste:

This is our "Right Said Fred" / "Men without Hats" effort:

Cookie Comes Down

C the cat in black
O where did she go?
S que tu le biscuit avec le chocolat-chaud?
I can guess your name
M tee out my brain
Ace of diamonds Jack be Quick

Cosima is her name


The next one is like Bright Eyes, only younger....

The Next Bus

Lying here on stolen time
Thinking thoughts that aren’t even mine
Some may laugh and I may cry
And this, I guess, makes it a tie

Is misery my best friend?
Is it my mother and my dad?
Is it on the next bus?
Is it all I ever had?

Mold on the mattress
Mold on the bread
The mold that I fit into
The mold that I’m fed

Is misery my best friend?
Is it my mother and my dad?
Is it on the next bus?
Is it all I ever had?
(sniffle)

Next...very experimental very ahead of its time and yet very dada which is quite moldy now, so you get the whirling vortex sensation of being in a pre-cliche state of dyschronic suspension:

The Whites of His Eyes

The whites of his eyesing speak of unique prizing
The Soles of his shoesing/ The Crease in his striding
The Brief in his casing/ The lion in his priding
The light in his windowing/ The clock on his walling
The pearl in his oystering /The pig in his stalling

Influenced and titled by Matty Buddy of Metal Mound (There, you see, we're very porous). This micro opera speaks of themes in the vein of Tommy.

Not alternatively sighted

With a knitter’s eye!
And a surgeon’s touch!
He is Lord! of Billiard Hall!
Acuteness! is the watchword!
He strikes terror! in Cue Ball
Wahh!


Did you know the Beat poets were named the beats because they felt they were beaten down by life? Forgotten, wasted, broken, shat upon, downright ignored? It's not the musical metre: beat. I didn't know that til recently, so I've stopped snapping my fingers. And now, I think they're happy.


Sheets

Fired front brain straight in the Battery pencil in hand like a scalpel Operation sidewalk Slit hieroglyph about Nefertiti’s bladder Ocular unblocks the squares through brown glass/

I taste of eclipsed coffee on the New York sewer streets/

I have a dream about my sheets - watch them through the window of the train but my soul is torrential rain/


Finally, Molty meets Franz Leibkind.

No More Me

It’s ripped to shreds
I threw it to the lions
It beats in the hand of another man
He’s got me where it hurts
And he’s better than me babe
Guess he’s the better man
Here I am guessing when I should know
Yeah, it’s not skin deep but
he’s got the six pack Dude is cut
I gotta hand it to him
I gotta hand it to you too babe
Handin you my heart
I walk like a dead man
In my paper slippers
from the mental home
The Nurse she is kind to me
She’s a little like you babe/Less built
May the best man win I always say
For the betterment of the race
If we are to breed, breed strong!
No more like me
No more of me
No more
No
More