STELLYFLY (story-song)

STELLAFLY
Written in 1993 by Ithaka, aka Darin Pappas
published as a short story in: SHORTCUT MAGAZINE (japan 1993)
LAVA MAGAZINE (usa 1994), REACTOR MAGAZINE (Portugal 1996)
And appeared as a spoken word song form as the title track of the álbum, STELLAFY (nortesul-EMI Records 1997)
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She landed like a fly.
She left like a fly.

The apartment across the hall had been vacant for six months, then suddenly without warning became occupied.
She was from the east of Canada,
absolutely beautiful, brains too.
And I told myself at first sight, she’s trouble.
And she was,
more than I could possibly imagine.
A real fireball-motormouth type,
but I really liked that at first,
(I like talkative people).

The third night she was there
we walked down to the New Beverly Cinema,
(which was actually an old revival house)
for a showing of Street Car Named Desire.
And from then on we began calling each other,
Stella and Stanley.

Whenever I’d come back from a job or something
I’d yell up to her window,
SSTTELLLLLLAAAAA !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
But more frequently than not,
It’d be her that was coming home from job and yelling
SSSSSTTTTTAAAANNNNNLLLLEEEEYYYY !!!!!!
She was working her little round ass off,
making about ten grand a week
as a human prop for fashion catalougues.
Didn’t even have a bank account when she first moved in.
What do you do with the money?, I asked her
Well I bought some CDs yesterday
and I got some clothes and.... I got this bag....


The girl spent money like an oil shiek.
And even with her income
was always borrowing from me for food and rent.

One of her biggest expenses was táxi fares.
She didn’t own a car.
Refused to take the bus.
And back in those days LA didn’t have a subway.

Up to five-hundred dollars a day for táxis.
To and from jobs.
To and from stores.
To and from the movies.
To and from the beach.
THE BEACH ?!
Who the fuck takes a cab from Hollywood to the beach?
RENT A CAR !!! I told her.
But she didn’t have a license.

She eventually took all of my advice.
Opened a bank account.
Stopped buying so many CDs
Started buying used clothes.
And bought two cars
(still didn’t have a license),
a big Ford Bronco which she almost never drove
and an old convertible Mustang.

SSSTTTTAAANNLLEEYYY !!!!!!!
She’d yell as she drove down the alley.
SSSSSTTTAAAAAANNNLLLEEYYYY !!!!!!!!!
She’d yell as she pulled into the driveway.
Then we’d make healthy, disgusting-tasting things to eat,
drink cheap wine and talk almost all night
on my big blue bed.

But always in the middle of some deep conversation
she spring to her feet and say sisterly,
Goodnight Stan.
Goodnight Stella, I’d say.
Out my door she went
and into her own across the hall
where she would start making phone calls.


Sometimes I’d hear her talk on the phone
for two or three hours back home to Canada;
to her gingerbread family,
to her old friends...and to her old boyfriend.
You see, I was her only friend in LA
and the phone was one form of communication
she could not live without out
(her phone bill was easily four times more than her rent).

But I loved this little girl.
Miss-nineteen-year-old-motor-mouth-know-it-all.
She loved me too,
but was afraid to admit it
for the simple reason I didn’t look good on paper.
No regular job.
Skin too dark.
Used too many fuck-words.
Unsuccessful as a photographer.
Unsuccessful as an artist.
Whatever would her gingerbread family back home think?
And her friends? And her old boyfriend?
Afterall, this whole charade of a life she lived
was strictly for them, just for effect.

Many weeks in advance, we’d planned to go skydiving together,
but on the day we had reserved at the skydiving school
we got up at four-thirty a.m.
and drove all the way out to Paris, Califórnia
just to discover the wind was too strong
for any planes to go up.
She was absolutely heartbroken,
didn’t say a word the whole drive back.
What’s wrong, Stella ?
I dunno.

The problem wasn’t
that her her long anticipated first jump
had been postoned.
It was that she’d already told everyone in Toronto
that she’d be jumping TODAY
And no doubt they’d be calling that night for a documentary.


What’ll I tell them? she said.
That you’re dead, I said.
THAT’S NOT FUNNY STAN !!

One night not long after,
we’d gone to a big Hollywood Christmas party
and gotten completely wasted on mixed tropical drinks.
We took a cab home.
Then talked for a while on my bed.
She put her arms around me,
stabbed her tongue into my mouth
and climbed up on top of me.
She pulled out my dick through the zipper,
slipped it under her mini-skirt,
around her panties
into her unbelievably hot and tight wetness.

She rode it.
Once up.
Once down
The must have remembered her loving family,
friends and old boyfriend back home in Toronto.
I can’t do this,
She said rolling off of me
standing up and pulling down her skirt simultaneously.
I CAN’T DO THIS !!!!

She stormed out of my door and into her own.
She called somebody in Canada
and began telling them how exciting the party had been.
Eddie Murphy was there, I overheard her say.
He wasn’t, but there was a black guy tending bar,
(maybe they all looked the same to her).

The best and worst fuck of my life.
The Best ,
because I loved that little bitch and had waited
five months for The Dip.
The Worst,
because of its four-second duration
and transformation
of a girl who talked, laughed and ate with me
and cared about me.
into one who only said,
Hi Stan.
Bye Stan.

The next weekend I went up to Ventura County.
When I got home Sunday night she was gone.
No note. Nothing.
Her apartment was unlocked.
Vacant. No furniture. Nothing.
Everything was gone except for the cars
which she’d left across the street
in the Post Office parking lot.

The Bronco was stolen the third night.
The Mustang was towed by the city
about a week after that.

In like a fly.
Out like a fly.

She’d mixed up my head.
She’d driven a fork right through my fucking heart.
She’d nibbled and chewed
all of the self-confidence from my bonés
.....and still ...still had the nerve to call
four months later from Paris...France.

It’s spring here, she said on my answering machine.
The sun is shining.
The flowers have blossomed.

...I miss you Stan.

ESCAPE FROM THE CITY OF ANGELS - lyrics by Ithaka

ESCAPE FROM THE CITY OF ANGELS
Original version from album, Flowers and the Color of Paint (Movieplay Records, 1995) . This is the version that appeared appeared in Colombia Pictures’ feature release, The Replacement Killers (1997). Lyrics: ITHAKA , Music: Pedro Passos, Background vocals: Marta Dias. Recorded at Namouche Studios, Lisbon Portugal. Produced by Joe Fossard.Note: the song was slightly altered lyrically and re-recorded in 1998 with new music written and produced by Joe Fossard. Due to disputes over the original masters, this new recording was released with the title, ESCAPE (Nortesul-EMI records, Portugal).
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People they ask me, Why the hell you wanna leave?
Saying that they’ll miss me, that they’re gonna grieve

This town is number one, we got the Lakers and the sun.
There’s always lots of lovelies, always lots of fun

Why won’t you settle down and stay?
Who in their right mind would ever leave LA?

But I gotta tell you, got to put it straight
still’ve busted out of there busted down the gate

Cuz, I had to get out while there was going to get,
LA was the hunter, California was the net

So I got up, got off of my bucket
Sometimes you gotta say, Well what the hell.? FUCK IT!

Wasn’t around for the riots of the King
But every other night bullets left my ears to ring.

HOSTILITY, the song that LA played
Every single night and every single day.

Walking down the alley, the one behind my house
Came five slang-bangers, it was me they were to roust

They asked me, Where ya going?, said, Not really sure
The next thirty-seconds I remembered in a blur

3x WANT TO GET OUT. HAD TO GET OUT. GOT OUT.
ESCAPE FROM THE CITY OF ANGELS

I tried so hard for years to understand
Why do you find such pleasure in killing another man?

I prefer the simple highs in life
Like a mountain of water, not cuttin’ with a knife

But where I’ve disappeared ain’t confidential
The sky’s still blue, the swells are monumental

And no, I’m not ignoring my heritage
Over the gap, I’m a building a bridge

To learn once and for all that peace can exist
Forgive, forget, bring down the fists

3x-WANT TO GET OUT. HAD TO GET OUT. GOT OUT.
ESCAPE FROM THE CITY OF ANGELS

Five days later, what have I got?
I’m in another place which is sunny and hot


The difference here is that I’m free as a bird
No gun to my head, no blood on the curb

But just then a strange thought overtook my brain
And since that day, it never felt the same

If everybody just put down their arms
To nobody on the planet could ever come harm

3x-WANT TO GET OUT. HAD TO GET OUT. GOT OUT.
ESCAPE FROM THE CITY OF ANGELS

The people of this planet they want explanations
For riots, earthquakes and all “God’s creations”

You got me, I just couldn’t say
I do what I do, I take it day by day.

3x-WANT TO GET OUT. HAD TO GET OUT. GOT OUT.
ESCAPE FROM THE CITY OF ANGELS

Well six weeks later, still don’t know what’s up
Don’t got many friends, still got an empty cup

They speak in tongues I don’t understand
But I look just like ‘em, visually I blend

It’s time to start it up in my new land
Korvorowng’s one and only survival plan

3x-WANT TO GET OUT. HAD TO GET OUT. GOT OUT.
ESCAPE FROM THE CITY OF ANGELS

It took me two years, but now I know for sure
LA ain’t the enemy and goodness will endure

The Seed of Free, my real need
Was right there all the time inside of me


Just a voyage of my mind is what I needed
But now I’m on the other side and deep seeded

LA to LAX in fourteen hours flat.
At home on two shores, but I ain’t living fat

Still plagued by brokenness
It doesn’t disappear when I say, hocus pocus


But grounded for the moment in the city of Lisbon
I’m looking for peace and I’m looking for wisdom

Hooked up with a mastermind named, Grizzly
Formed Ithaka, now we’re rolling busily

3x-WANT TO GET OUT. HAD TO GET OUT. GOT OUT.
ESCAPE FROM THE CITY OF ANGELS

3x-WANT TO GET OUT. HAD TO GET OUT. GOT OUT.
ESCAPE FROM THE CITY OF ANGELS

5x- ESCAPE FROM THE CITY OF ANGELS

lyrics for, "THE DAY WAS HOT"

THE DAY WAS HOT
lyrics: Ithaka music : Arkam Hi-Fi, produced by:Mario Caldato Jr.
from the TEJO BEAT compilation 1998 (nortesul-EMI)
recorded in lisbon, Portugal
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Did you ever kill anyone?
Not exactly.

The day was hot, too hot for fun
Ninety-eight in the sun, One twenty-one in the sun

Boarding down to a job interview
Unemployed, no that not new

At red light, Pico/Fairfax
Laid homeless drunk in my path

Wrinkled face, big beard and belly
Peacefully passed out, kind of smelly

Dinosaur-breath, lion-like snore
Dreams all night liquor stores

Roasting like Christmas turkey
Soon to become a stick of hobo-jerkey


THE DAY WAS HOT THE DAY WAS HOT
THE DAY WAS HOT THE DAY WAS HOT
THE DAY WAS HOT TOO HOT FOR FUN
NINETY-EIGHT IN SHADE, ONE-TWENTY-ONE IN THE SUN
COULD’VE SAVED HIS LIFE, KNEW THAT I COULD
SHOULD’VE SAVED HIS LIFE, KNEW THAT I SHOULD
BUT SOMEONE ELSE’LL HELP (WHO ) GOT TIME TO KILL
GOTTA GET THIS JOB, GOTTA PAY MY BILLS
THE DAY WAS HOT, THE DAY WAS HOT

Meeting for 3:00, was 2:15
Time (enough) to be Samaritine

Don’t get involved, (I) thought, ain’t my business
It wadn’t my fault, god be my witness

Could’ve dragged him out of the sun
Into the shade of some nearby shrub

Someone’ll help (who) got time to kill
But got to get this job to pay my bills

Light turned green, I’m on my way
But for big-belly drunk not a good day

The job, the job, the job had been taken
It’d been for nothing that I’d been baking

THE DAY WAS HOT THE DAY WAS HOT
THE DAY WAS HOT………
THE DAY WAS HOT TOO HOT FOR FUN
NINETY-EIGHT IN SHADE, ONE-TWENTY-ONE IN THE SUN
COULD’VE SAVED HIS LIFE, KNEW THAT I COULD
SHOULD’VE SAVED HIS LIFE, KNEW THAT I SHOULD
BUT SOMEONE ELSE’LL HELP (WHO ) GOT TIME TO KILL
GOTTA GET THIS JOB TO PAY MY BILLS
THE DAY WAS HOT

Hour later, back at the corner
Now taped off in yellow border



In the middle man still asleep
But now his snores and dreams ceased
He done run out of his life’s lease

And while I dazed in confused thought
They put him in a truck and hauled him off

Like a dead dog with no tag
Nameless, buried in vagabond rags

His old leather face I will never forget
Another debit on my karmic debt

THE DAY WAS HOT

Missed my cue, life to save
For big-belly drunk not a good day

THE DAY WAS HOT

THE DAY WAS HOT THE DAY WAS HOT
THE DAY WAS HOT THE DAY WAS HOT
THE DAY WAS HOT TOO HOT FOR FUN
NINETY-EIGHT IN SHADE, ONE-TWENTY-ONE IN THE SUN
COULD’VE SAVED HIS LIFE, KNEW THAT I COULD
SHOULD’VE SAVED HIS LIFE, KNEW THAT I SHOULD
BUT SOMEONE ELSE’LL HELP (WHO ) GOT TIME TO KILL
GOTTA GET THIS JOB, TO PAY MY BILLS
THE DAY WAS HOT, THE DAY WAS HOT

lyrics for SLEEPDRIVER

SLEEPDRIVER song #11 from album, FLOWERS AND THE COLOR OF PAINT (1995)
lyrics:Ithaka (written 1991) music: Pedro Passos, produced by Joe Fossard.

La to Pheonix in Six hours straight
Is he awake or is he asleep
Drives all night in his GTO
To see a squaw he’s left by a red rock
SLEEPDRIVER, SLEEPDRIVER
Maybe it’s love maybe a death wish
Not sure himself in his state of despair
Fourteen hour days, five days a week
All for a squaw he’s left by a red rock
Sleepdriver drove to be on the big screen
But the star became a grip (non-union)
for not much pay
A little is better than none,
He sends the checks home he sends her to school
SLEEPDRIVER, SLEEPDRIVER
And every Friday by eight
He’s on the Ten heading east…for love and home cooking
But by Sunday at six, he’s on the Ten heading west
He’s got to get back,
he’s got an eight a.m. call
All the way in Valencia
SLEEPDRIVER, SLEEPDRIVER
The Sleepdriver drove back and forth for years
Through dust storms and rain
and degrees of a hundred and eight
The Sleepdriver drove
Dozing off and dozing on
Reflector hypnosis a trance-like state.
SLEEPDRIVER, SLEEPDRIVER
The sleepdriver drove the whole night straight
But one night, he just plain fell asleep.
And he dreamed of his great grandfather
In a feather headband and a pair of moccasins
…young as a buck
And he was in a new land
Even farther from the squaw he’d left
By the red rock