1. |
Cuckold Theme
04:23
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What could I have said,
What could I have done?
My own piece-of-work in flesh and blood,
To leave before the wind has changed direction.
He dies before I’ve aged,
In Act upon a stage.
Have you got a clue,
As to what I could do,
To make it otherwise?
Just a touch of blush across the cheeks to make him flustered,
Mascara round the eyes, how waterfalls.
You came into my life as if you’re Mary Poppins,
So you think you’re Julie Andrews? Do you?
Fallen from great heights,
In a triumph over life,
To let you not run wild.
What could I have said,
What could I have done?
My own piece-of-work in flesh and blood,
To leave before the wind has changed direction.
He dies before I’ve aged,
In Act upon a stage
Have you got a clue,
As to what I could do,
To make it otherwise?
Just a touch of blush across the cheeks to make him flustered,
Mascara round the eyes how waterfalls.
lada lada dada,
lada lada dada,
lada lada dada,
lada lada dada,
lada lada dada,
If knowledge were obtained by Jealousy or Envy,
Let us be as thick as thieves could be.
The cuckold, on the contrary,
His modus operandi is differently inclined.
lada lada dada,
lada lada dada,
lada lada dada,
lada lada dada,
lada lada dada,
Lip liner, purple hues and hazel coloured
dimples,
The transformation of a son,
‘T is not a death, but ‘tis a gun that forfeits
happiness.
So if your son is looking North-north West,
Let him dress him up in dress, hide him,
Teach him etiquette, but let him not be fetched,
As now the flower is the symbol of his
Wound.
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2. |
If pt. 1
05:24
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If nothing comes from this everything,
How can I justify means to an end?
When never the ends seem to meet.
If nothing should come from this everything,
How can I justify means to an end,
When never the ends seem to meet?
We’ll never make ends meet.
How can there danced be?
How can I dance til the dernier cri?
Topsy Turvy,
You’re free to do as you please,
And if everything is permitted,
You will still listen!
If nothing gets written,
How can you write with those mittens on?
If nothing should come from this everything,
How can I justify means to an end,
When never the ends seem to meet?
We’ll never make ends meet.
If everything valuable is helpless,
Defend us against ourselves.
But nothing’s defenseless,
Your fable as tall as my tail,
With nothing to gain from but age.
Your Cards by the bedside table,
I’ll need my beauty sleep, if…
everything mortal is animate,
or so you’re inclined to say,
And everything animals love,
In splendid and manifold ways,
Someday will dissipate.
If nothing should come from this everything,
How can I justify means to an end,
When never the ends seem to meet?
I need my beauty sleep.
If freedom means choosing,
I’ll have what you’re having.
Reap what you sow,
As if love were benign,
Settle for the first word it rhymes with.
Bottle of wine?
Twenty-nine?
You will be mine.
My ill-fated Valentine.
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3. |
If pt.2
02:50
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At her royal behest,
Will you come up and see her?
In her twin-prince crest,
Stockings and locks-blond,
Up on all fours of the bedstee,
He’s gagging for her emissary,
And he’s Curled on the far end, enters a member of parliament,
Ass-cheeks departing, like during a lunar eclipse, When the horse-drawn carriage flees from the Winter Palace
At her royal behest,
Will you come up and see her?
No “no” for an answer.
Thou sleeps, dazed dreams, pray drink this elixir.
Slumbers in her lady’s chamber.
And upon the pleasing leer of a lute,
Your humble servant, the narrator, exchanges this Formal shape
Into a long-legged greyhound, finding his
mirrorage,
Sitting beside him ‘pon the cushioned divan,
In the glazed eyes of an audient member,
That is you, dear listener,
You’re always whispering something into my ear.
At her royal behest,
What should I tell the minister’s minions?
What this country needs,
Is a good set of aubergines—the longer and
bigger the better…
No matter the size, as long as the love’s labour
crescendos on a high-note.
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4. |
Boys in Turquoise
06:54
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On porte sa liberté en fourrure,
en hiver, pour faire des courses,
Dans les magasins,
The department store
That you stole from,
That you stole from,
That you stole from,
That you stole from,
Hilfiger, Oilskin,
Miu Miu cardigans in hot pink,
Margiela, Belle chic, Les Six
Wolford collants in English cotton,
Ralph Lauren, Donna Karan.
That you stole from
Like a scarf drifting through the department stores,
That you stole from,
That you stole from,
That you stole from,
That you stole from,
That you stole from,
Silk Electric
It’s a McQueen invective,
obstreperous,
And feckless,
In a satin bodice,
For
The boys in turquoise
The boys in turquoise
The boys in turquoise
Makin’ lots of (…) (…)
Like a scarf drifting through the department stores,
That you stole from,
Get on my wishlist for Xmas,
Dress me in velveteen,
Silk Electric, uh uh
It’s a Mcqueen invective,
A dialectic rhetoric,
To insurrect it.
Like a scarf drifting through the department stores,
That you stole from,
What have you done?
The webs that you spun,
All for your crumbs.
I’m not your poultry,
None of this pleasantry,
Get to the essence,
The effervescent.
What have you done?
The webs that you spun,
All for your crumbs.
I’m not your poultry,
None of this pleasantry,
Get to the essence,
The effervescent.
Look it into the face.
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5. |
Gio's Dream
04:08
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I dreamed of a dream.
The sun was in the streams,
The bands were singing, youths in the fields binge-drinking,
Hiding in their beards, kissing in the streets, the vans on their way,
But enough for today.
Constantin, Constantin do you think it was a dream?
Constantin, Constantin do you think it was a dream?
Constantin, Constantin do you think it was a dream?
Hmmm, hmmm.
What care I for ur dream?
‘Tis yours not mine to see.
Keep it sacred and translate it,
But don’t send me to sleep.
The wind was in the seas,
The hairs were wet and bleached.
When the ocean washed ashore,
The Dans were in their shorts,
Sitting in the sands,
Smoking from ur lip,
You kiss me on the cheek,
You kiss me through your teeth.
The leaves were in their trees,
Cut by all the sleet.
Woke up it was done,
Still feels inside my core, heart’s core.
What care I for ur dream?
‘Tis yours not mine to see.
Keep it sacred and translate it,
But don’t send me to sleep.
All the things He’s thinking of but never singin’,
Morality is more than your caprice,
And I’m not drinkin’ anymore.
Constantin, Constantin do you think it was a dream?
Constantin, Constantin do you think it was a dream?
Constantin, Constantin do you think it was a dream?
Hmmm, hmmm, hmmm.
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6. |
Ariadne's Lunch
04:36
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Dramatis Personae
A – FRIEND OF ARIADNE
B – ARIADNE
C – CAECILIA
A
I can’t stand the sound, it’s ringing and it’s constant.
B
<motherly> Put on Streisand’s Xmas album, that’ll drown it out. <passes record sleeve>
A
<looks at sleeve> <looks to audience>
is said that Barbra suffered from tinnitus.
B
Streisand suffers, present tense, my dear…
But this white noise within such a celebrated pair of ears brings me to another pair of ears upon an altogether different lady, which sang a different tune.
A
<snotty nosed> Just because one tune reminds you of another, doesn’t make them alike.
B
Au contraire, mon cher ame, one really cannot have enough reminders.
<Walks away pensively.>
As the paddles struck the water, the klets peteres out into an inaudible drizzle
B
Ariadne remains upon the shore as the prince recedes further and further into the distant horizon, until nothing remains <looks anguished and dramatic>
<looks at A, gets mischevous smile>
A bit like your hairline.
<B looks away from A>
But now that you’re gone, I can finally address you.
Summer passes faster than youth – June, July, then August… <roll of eye> tchh, How I’ve outgrown these roman emperors, before Christ, after Christ, and forever more. <rips cards flings aside to rush over to pick up Xmas record> 1969…. <gleeful, looks up> What a year.
Come Juniper, come Octavian Augustus, come Julius COME yē Caesars, let’s to her music and make the Yuletide gay once more.
I dream of a secret garden, concealed within the weeds and overgrown grass.
And a pond beneath the alcove.
I see her waist-deep engulfed by the waves’ break, the sea-froth over her milky skin as she chastizes absence for its ruthless forgetfulness.
<letter lands upon the sheepskin>
What’s this? A letter? Addressed to?
C
Dear Ariadne,
B
She has some nerve addressing me by my grandmother’s name…
C
I’m writing to you from the well of my sacrum.
This time, from a point of no return, a knot forms within my throat. <scrapes throat loudly>
I swear to her ladyship. Foul thought was not acted upon, his sword lay between us upon the bed, all night, and in the morning it was as if we hadn’t slept at all, such a foul temper betook milord! We sailed furthersome under a cloak of fog. In spite of our mutual thirst, we quenched not.
I’m telling her ladyship, water hyacinths had clogged the river, there was simply no way through!
It had felt like being groped by a stringy set of fingers. Needless to say, the expedition failed.
Please, your ladyship, think upon me lightly, forget-me-not
Yours sincerely truly, and deeply,
B
What’s the use of this wetness without a crew to make jokes with, to rediscover boundaries anew, and instead have my body boarded by these little men.To whom a vessel is perhaps entirely meaningless.This vessel. <gestures to body> What does it mean? A vessel of meaning? Then what meaning! A vessel of wine? A ship? A friendly ship? My ship !?
<changes tone to angry>
Stay away from my friend’s ship, you whore! Go find a ship of your own and leave me out of it! I’d rather die by my own devices, fashionably late.
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7. |
Hot Man Cold
05:23
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It was clear what transpired the aforementioned date,
An insufferable headache had me thinking straight.
What a bummer to be indoors all day,
When I wanna see my boyfriends down by the lake,
with their lovers’ havin’ supper from their
tupperware plates.
I’m sorry,
I can’t understand anymore:
The pages you’re on,
Are we at an impasse? I know—we are.
The last time,
What was I thinking?
I couldn’t be thinking enough.
I said ‘Oh mein Gott! You’re breaking apart at the seams.
Just one nightingale it don’t make spring begin.’
When the hot man’s cold on a Saturday night, Not a single sound from his electric bike.
The freshman girl boards a daytime flight,
with a 1-way ticket from a cottage in devonshire. Spring-time never falls far behind, Remember your ill-fated valentine,
Whereas autumn aspects let ye stare, unbind your unaging wavy hair.
Oh, what a feeling.
Oh, what a feeling,
Oh, what a feeling!
In Sarphati Park.
Messenger sends me a coordinate
He wants to meet in a darkish place
Cus’ the summer is a lovely time to cuddle and play,
But it’s not what went down.
The canary cries from the mines you rake,
The human heart is the nutmeg you grate.
The swans’ parade in a violent grace,
And if the fates should know how they’ll grow irate.
The last time,
What was I thinking?
I couldn’t be thinking enough.
I said ‘Oh mein Gott! You’re breaking apart at the seams.
Just one nightingale it don’t make spring begin.’
When the hot man’s cold on a Saturday night, Not a single sound from his electric bike.
The freshman girl boards a daytime flight,
with a 1-way ticket from a cottage in devonshire. Spring-time never falls far behind, Remember your ill-fated valentine,
Whereas autumn aspects let ye stare, unbind your unaging wavy hair.
Oh, what a feeling,
Oh, what a feeling,
Oh, what a feeling,
In Sarphati Park.
Not a single sound,
But the corset-bound,
Breathing.
In the Angel-gown,
Under pear trees found,
Not a single sound,
But the corset-bound,
Breathing,
In the Angel-gown,
Under pear trees found,
Not a single sound.
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8. |
Idiot Glee
05:36
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I wanna burn that ville I wanna rob that till,
I wanna make it with an ATM machine.
I wanna 3D lover in between my covers,
wanna cum cum cumma wanna suck my thumb,
I wanna gun gun gunna deep in me for funna.
I’m a menace to my own self and everybody else.
Whenever we play the field I'm dazed by the brute cold-hearted man
With their bold, uncouth harassment,
Wears his heart on his sleeve and there's never strings attached
I need a man that's sassy as the Messiaen who can crawl on all four feet,
Who can kiss me, lick me, purr, and miss me,
Or like the Cheshire cat, his head detached, never beheaded be!
let me off the leash
as we’re dancing in the streets
Safety first, are you killin’ me?
Well can I sit upon the backseat?
take me where ya need to be,
Then give me Idiot Glee.
You've got the colourless demeanour of a rank-and-file officer,
And it may sound quite obscene, huh?
Is that a truncheon underneath your center or does authority become ya naturally?
let me off the leash
as we’re dancing in the streets
Safety first, are yiu killin’ me
Well can I sit upon the backseat?
take me where ya need ta be?
Then give me Idiot Glee
You crucified the aesthete, expect the rainbow queen to come for thee.
Oh boy,, he was smart and sassy, gentle to me,
He offered me his sovereignty
let me off the leash
as we’re dancing in the streets
Safety first, r u killin’ me
Well can I sit upon the backseat?
take me where ya need ta be,
Then give me Idiot Glee.
Forgive my idiot glee,
Forgive my current seat,
would you have me on my knees?
So eager to please,
your majesty, the cuckold queen!
Forgive my idiot glee.
Il fait beau dehors, veux-tu sortir avec moi ?
My pomeranian accomplice,
Tout le quartier est au courant.
C’est bel et bien, mon cher,
C’est bel et bien fini.
Forgive my Idiot Glee,
Then give me Idiot glee.
They say the chosen boys’ swimming team searched for the golden fleece,
Now the modern bores will settle for any old department store,
And truth be told it saddens me, the quality of fleece.
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9. |
Poseidon
06:28
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I admit that at the time I was uncertain what
constituted a consummation.
What does constitute a consummation?
Oh, I’ll have you know that my intention was
entirely therapeutic,
Well at the time, I was entirely trapped in a well,
The well from which all rivers meet, those very sacred rivers.
His love was like the ocean, like the roads around a traffic island.
He rode a chariot led by dolphins and amongst him were those pearl-pale nymphs at all times.
As a child, I was quite taken by the little
Mermaid sylphy thing and all her waverings,
His trident left behind, he cut a stately figure.
As a child, I was quite taken by the maritime,
You know well at the time, I was entirely trapped in a well.
Only you can hear the sirens,
When he finished I was silent.
Darling, why don’t you lay down with me? You know you cannot have an identity crisis before coffee.
Darling, you’ve got something in your eye,
I can help you, I went to medical school: I’m a doctor.
I’ll always remember you in your pink tweed
jacket, with the sleeves turned down so bravely.
-Asseyez-vous!
Are you also a student here? I’ve never seen you here before.
I always think about those times,
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,
Verse so soft, oh lord I miss
Your sweet.
While
You I more than like,
And think of all the time
As I think it’s right,
So lovely to have met you.
Though
You’re only just a babe,
It’s through you I came of age,
I pass no judgment, for this smiling army of fools.
We mustn’t dwell on hist’ry, quarter past our
curfew.
In these brazen heels, it’s rather hard to feel
Let alone to breathe,
In the corset of the future with each other.
Set some tea,
Put on a movie,
Bring me snacks,
Feed the cats!
If
We would meet again, in a future tense,
I would have a bone to pick with you.
We’ll spread the time like maple syrup dripped Across the crêpe.
Nothing but a simili,
It’s made so easily,
But if needs be.
Don’t tease me, please!
Like a fresh slice of orange after lengthy soccer practice,
So we will be replenished.
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10. |
Maastricht Gardens
05:46
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<Changing to pink for these thoughts>
We went to Maastricht in the heat. It rained there, so humid. Having bought an umbrella at the station I sort of thrust myself under it, taking it from you as you slid your arm through mine. I felt so guilty as your furthest shoulder got wet, but it was so pleasant as we walked through the various gardens.
How is your grandmother? Oh, Geraldine ! What a dear!
It was just like Les Parapluies de Cherbourg in your trench coat, and I kept telling you I held myself accountable for your wet shoulder. Once we arrived at the academy I circumnavigated your wonderfully coiffed hair which had not been damaged by the rain whatsoever, this provided me at least some consolation. [dramatic pause, synth movement]
While I think of you I wonder if things were any different, if we had been true to ourselves would I still feel this burning lack, round about here?
Isn’t the idea of fidelity a terrible egoism, really, as appalling as any other human concern?
My heart is fey. The end of the affair, as trite and petty as the passing of the seasons. Is my love really no more than a passing glance, over a rain-soaked shoulder?
If it wasn’t for the cinema of memory, I would dare to consummate and penetrate my glance, not linger like so much cake dipped in tea, and invite you to the hermaphrodites’ for a swim? Argh,, you don’t swim in these disgusting waters, I should have known, really. But really, perhaps you would do me the favour, if only to let me put on my favourite white bathing suit that I’ve been so keen to wear all summer.
I love you. I need you, petal. Your truly devoted nectar. Kisses from a thousand lips to be rogered in manicured thumbs of entry points i want your tongue vowels vibrato to speak your sentence backwards so as to have better time to chew upon your consonants.
Darling I’m saying these things because I couldn’t possibly say them anywhere else but upon a stage in my pumps.
Lest my critical capacity fails me,
And now in this hour of need
When I need to be needy,
Exchange critique for my wanting,
A drink, or a toke of something.
To take the edge off, cut the corner,
Take a little edge off, cut the corner… ah, ah, ah, ah, ah
The enemy lacquer ‘pon their glistening sun-baked heads,
Burns not in the burning sun!
Lest my flesh extract be spooned on toast,
For this burnt out beatnik bunch,
That I sob for nightly.
All these mystic, kitten-litter coddle-rogers.
If I wasn’t such an octopus!
Take the edge off, cut the acorner
take a little edge off, cut the corner
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Cold in Church Amsterdam, Netherlands
based in Amsterdam
artrock, artpop, experimental, performance, chill
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