I've Been Thinking​.​.​.

by AllOne

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    Limited edition run of 100 (Unless you guys rapidly convince me otherwise! You read that right....CASSETTE!!! Pressed through NYC's own Cryptic Carousel.

    The tapes will come with download cards and you'll still get to download the album to all of your favorite devices, but this album just felt musically and aesthetically like it belonged on something odd and nostalgic and a little old school. Plus, let's be honest you don't primarily really use your CD's beyond a download anyway and I needed something quirky and physically enticing! This is my first cassette release and it will be a limited run so pick them up now, only 100 available!!

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    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of I've Been Thinking..., Creative Differences (A Split), We'll Make It Together, The Inevitable Effort, An (EP)iphany, AllOne & The Room, and Coal Aberrations. , and , .

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about

"This album is akin to a walk on an autumn evening catching up with an old friend, all the places and people you'd bring up, all the thoughts you may conjure, the philosophy, the excitement, the nostalgia and the worry that enters those sacred discussions.
The lyrics span the last 2-3 years and are the result of a love for traveling, storytelling, hip hop, poetry, performance and the people and things I/we love. The album represents a struggle with finding who or what we love and holding dearly onto that thing. As the title suggests, this a deep dive into a dizzying mind.
I tried to push my writing and experiment as much as possible while working on becoming even clearer in my work. This project feels like a culmination of almost everything I've learned and employed in prior projects up until now, and in my best moments, we hear my evolution as an artist and overall and most importantly, as a human being!
I sincerely hope you enjoy "I've Been Thinking..." . Thank you KNife and Dope Sandwich for supporting and believing in me and thank you all for listening and enjoying what I do. It's an honor to have your ears, minds and hearts."
-Bruce "AllOne" Pandolfo

The production comes from all around, from the UK to Long Island to California to Savannah. "I've Been Thinking..." is the 3rd full length solo album by Long Island, NY native, Bruce "AllOne" Pandolfo. It is the 6th studio release in his catalog, and his first on Dope Sandwich

credits

released May 3, 2016

Lyrics and Vocals: Bruce "AllOne" Pandolfo
Recorded, mixed and mastered by Franky Bones at Down The Drain Productions,
except recording by:
Paul Faketselis (Roamer, The Case Of Sydney Barringer and Seize In Caesium)
and Austin Sandick for "Cardiac Compass (Path To Preservation)"

Production by Tony Mahoney, Sik Sense, Dope KNife, Tommy Beets, NoOne, Alexa Dexa, Austin Sandick, Wise1 and Hi-Q

Album art by Evan "Attaboy" Bujold (www.evanbujolddesign.com)

Thanks to KNife and Dope Sandwich Records and Tapes for believing in my work and supporting this project.

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about

AllOne

An experimental hip-hop lyricist, performance poet, singer/songwriter, author, beat-boxer. AllOne molds a brain into the shape of a heart and squeezes it onto a page to write thoughtful and sentimental lyrics laced with tight knit wordplay, rhyme patterns and poetic devices. Utilizing any genre and any musical means to make a genuine and meaningful conversation with you, the appreciated listener. ... more

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Track Name: Cardiac Compass (Path To Preservation)
No you'll never live this specific present day again
let your expectations expand,
we lose every day in a flash
create a legacy that will last
affect a generational span
as that may be the only guarantee
of any preservation of man

This town is a necropolis,
an option starved populous,
an economic dark abyss,
Nietzsche's staring contest winner,
gargling tar pit swallowing dreamscapes
and bartering keepsakes for horrible cliches
Sardonic Caufield-esque zombie carcasses
nodding off as I nod along with PT Barnum's hypothesis
(more suckers born in a New York Minute than an octopus)
Still, I love them and pump them with the thoughts of an optimist,
see, I want for them to morph their stress to laurels met.
Believing less in Stephen and Richard Bachman and Herbert West,
and more in Paulo, Richard Bach and Herman Hesse,
needing the teaching the seagull Jonathon
imparted in part with Siddhartha's common sense
been valuing The Alchemist's jotted wit
Although it's arduous,
\ my prerogative is my cognitive inner journey
and all it's daunting depths.
Fantastic Voyager, Finding Nemo in the Nautilus,
regardless of the harmful bends,
I'm out of my mind although I'm lost in my head,
Indy author, I guess I'm Vonnegut,
scrawling this for:
the audience who's applause my aplomb depends,
for those I laud and lost, I lug and log a lot of awful debts,
for all my friends, apologetic for how long I've kept away,
Time's a tick, a parasitic talking wretch I long to stretch,
It weighs on my chest, it's brevity caught my breath
It's time we caught up and I confess my strong lament
for all my wrong neglect, this is for all of us
thus I'm convinced it's for the best.
I solemnly swear I'll never rest, it's true!
I'll stress until I stress the truth:
“you're unlike all the rest!”
Take it from me;
I never estimated I'd invest in taking my dreams,
take flight, a chance and wing to investigating my zenith!
I'll never net a nest egg through speaking,
but I'm dedicated to spreading the message
to spread all the feathers and soar aloft in bliss,
set an example for the sedentary flogged flock,
to set a course departing from the said sad
upsetting setting entering on a quest
from the chopping block of necks to the grindstone,
to fly home into whatever accomplishment meant
whatever your cardiac compass suggests is true north success.
Follow your heart...that's what they mean by “beaten/beatin path” I guess?!

No you'll never live this specific present day again,
let your expectations expand,
we lose every day in a flash,
create a legacy that will last,
affect a generational span
that may be the only guarantee
at any preservation of man.

So you want man preserved?
That's absurd,
sir, you have some nerve,
opening such a can of worms,
as when turned in, we're in caskets, urns,
the planet turns, unperturbed, natural earth,
mother nature can handle hers.
The afterbirth decomposed enhancing dirt,
the candle burns, never waxed, obscured
clock hands emerge, hourglasses purge
as our sand disperses
and we'll never get it back, it's sure.

No you'll never live this specific present day again,
let your expectations expand,
we lose every day in a flash,
create a legacy that will last,
affect a generational span
that may be the only guarantee
at any preservation of man.
Track Name: Zoom In (There's Life Here)
There's life here, zoom into this road map dot,
struggle as sun rays peering through the choked black smog
great plumes of gray fumes the smoke stacks cough
a melancholy mushroom, hunched to hold back God

There's life here, zoom into this road map dot,
it's a frostbitten gloomy little Kodak shot
haunting windows grin those toothy broke glass boxes
when all is food stamps and cold snaps the romance stops.

This town's cold nature has given these old faces
perpetual rosacia, weathered and broke neighbors,
the howling wind whistles, whips until your hope melts,
as it to tourniquet your warm soul's wellspring with this snow-belt
It's as though people bound in this petri-town are trapped
the crystal minutes in this snow-globe hourglass
imprisoned in this withered Alcatraz
a rural farmers' almanac
cultivating power-plants
sour glances, bitterness in their faces, red/read
bitter winter, Lake Effect,
overtly drafty strain and stress
overdraft in the negative
break your neck to make a check
to pay the rent and never save a cent
break the bank breaking bread,
the writings on the wall
but it ain't been read
(as the literacy percentages are less
than the frigid obscene temperatures).
Making a living?
it's either a criminal record
or juggle odd jobs for minimal compensation
at literal “mom N pops” with pitiful
improbable odds of making it.

There's life here, zoom into this road map dot,
struggle as sun rays peering through the choked black smog
great plumes of gray fumes the smoke stacks cough
a melancholy mushroom, hunched to hold back God

There's life here, zoom into this road map dot,
it's a frostbitten gloomy little Kodak shot
haunting windows grin those toothy broke glass boxes
when all is food stamps and cold snaps the romance stops.

There's a novelty charm in the touristy parts
but the marveling is sparse at the poverty charts
if not for school founding and student housing
financially they've be through the ground
while locals loathe those SUNY crowds,
swallow pride,
tune them out, they're a revenue source,
they all imbibe
silver spoon in mouth, scheduled course
in life parents off to buy them a new Porsche
meanwhile bouncers close their eyes
from fake IDs otherwise
they're getting the boards,
close shop, nail the X on the door
since the rent ain't secure.
Department stores implement
art of war avariciousness
carnivores in a monopolistic malicious sense
starving artisans and small businesses
peddle edible plastic provisions
sweat shop fabric fashion gimmicks
to a desperate demographic that can't afford Christmas gifts
Thanks to Walmart competition things aren't at all optimistic
although there are promises of jobs for opportunistic
single moms though no one to watch the solemn kids
as the somnolent pops are off dismissive
gone to pop prescriptions or dodge addictions,
through all of this they trudge along,
acknowledging there's something wrong
locked in like a rusty cog
'til reapers scratch their numbers off.

There's life here, zoom into this road map dot,
struggle as sun rays peering through the choked black smog
great plumes of gray fumes the smoke stacks cough
a melancholy mushroom, hunched to hold back God

There's life here, zoom into this road map dot,
it's a frostbitten gloomy little Kodak shot
haunting windows grin those toothy broke glass boxes
when all is food stamps and cold snaps the romance stops.

Don't get me wrong, the summers are immaculate,
stunning and fantastic yet, three quarters of the year
this habitat is crushing to inhabit!
Moreover, addicts battling the ugliest of habits
in morose dilapidated poor prone homes
more over the border of foreclosures
shrug worn shoulders observing as their neighbors kicked out
on the outskirts of town are domiciles isolated by miles of acreage
drive through, take your pick and take a picture,
little story of a rural house,
mountain backdrop with a forest crown
their obligatory abandoned barn falling down
photo bombs the foreground.
But when offered,
the smiles aren't faked a bit,
hospitality and politeness made with childish gracefulness
gruff and earnest dedicated mom n pop services
hardworking over decades endured and heard
the modest monetary amounts moving through their till
mandatory to stop in to know enticing local diner smells
coffee grinds and food on grills, perched on a stool instilling
gossip eavesdropping on rumor mills
social butterfly on the wall absorbs sounds
dialing in the talk of a small town,
admiring it despite the flaws I've poured out
and faults I've scrawled down...

There's life here, zoom into this road map dot,
struggle as sun rays peering through the choked black smog
great plumes of gray fumes the smoke stacks cough
a melancholy mushroom, hunched to hold back God

There's life here, zoom into this road map dot,
it's a frostbitten gloomy little Kodak shot
haunting windows grin those toothy broke glass boxes
when all is food stamps and cold snaps the romance stops.

social butterfly on the wall absorbs sounds
dialing in the talk of a small town,
admiring it despite the flaws I've poured out
and faults I've scrawled down,
astounded appalled how
there's little to applaud now
with condescending piteousness
I marvel amazed reminiscing,
I can not explain the nostalgic aches
when visiting such a city as this.

There's life here, zoom into this road map dot,
struggle as sun rays peering through the choked black smog
great plumes of gray fumes the smoke stacks cough
a melancholy mushroom, hunched to hold back God

There's life here, zoom into this road map dot,
it's a frostbitten gloomy little Kodak shot
haunting windows grin those toothy broke glass boxes
when all is food stamps and cold snaps the romance stops.
Track Name: Travel Baggage (Carry On)
Fill those bags and
build bold baggage,
like Bilbo Baggins,
made for mountains out of hill-hole standards
mountains out of mole-hill-growth status,
shed it! Still-souls? Stagnant!
dragging and pine for thrills roads have when
you hit those cabin-fever-ill-woes maddened!
They say that “you hit roads if nomadic”
and they hit most back, knocked on heels,
imposing a script so grand and
a montage reel film roll action
instilled in flashbacks
in which one is enriched on a trip so classic!
I'm a traveling man every album I hand
out to a fan is a gallon of gas,
but not only that! It's a powerful pact,
an accountable act no doubt it combats
when I'm dowsed and I'm sad
and I'm drowning in baths
of the doubts that I have
when I'm down it'll back me up:
I'm proud of the pounds and the laughs
from the crowds as they clap,
ideally what's profound in my tracks
returns the favor when they prefer to play their
favorite sounds of what resounds from my drafts!
It affects the future, past and present
it also catalyzes AllOne family ties and vast connections
by supplying the aforementioned
gas for rides expands our network
as I drive to meet new fans and friends
and satisfy endeavoring
to fraternize and tether
our compassionate twine,
pleasurably masterminded
and that is why I have to write forever,
this plan of mine I track and try to render
ratify and remind us tenderly
to intend to clasp together

that's exactly what we're meant for!

Wanderlust, rolling stone never gathers moss
cabin-fever pressure stress sure has me crushed
dreamer on quick-sand-man-swamp, stagnant pond.
Mosquito -Coastal west denial virus has to suck
carry on....carry on...carry on...carry on..

Wanderlust, rolling stone never gathers moss
loco-motivational speaker, emotion baggage bard
hit the road Jack Kerouac, wick lit with Chris McCandless thoughts
grab your stuff, Houdini routine's clasps and cuffs,
carry on....carry on... carry on...

When I leave for touring the country,
in/outta Doors like a Benny Hill/Morrison party,
I know you mourn my departing like I'm joining the army,
Wishing on the fortune of Blarney
“stop “writing” The Road, you're not Cormac McCarthy”
bicker back, tit for tat, isn't that Laurel and Hardy?
Be assured by me darling:
I know this isn't quite the life, you envisioned/idolized
as a kid watching Disney princesses bribed to brides
by exquisite whitest knights wishing I could buy some time
for us kissing eye-to-eye instead of pixelated “hi” and “bye”
on a glitching Iphone Skype,
By the by,
I'm busy business tripping (drive all night,
arrive on site, social butterfly in sky,
moth to the limelight shine,
push merchandise and rhyme on mics!)
you could have it different,
but at the highest price,
what kind of guy would I be,
quietly submissive to a 9-5?
presence consistent though not quite alive,
stripped of my soul pride
ambition might have died,
want Quality or quantity of time supplied?
If I slide in line and take orders
(replacing of course the courageous course
Spaulding Gray form of my orators aorta
my core would emanate a dead and gray aura

although tight schedules aren't great for us
the more time is special when it's made for ya)

Wanderlust, rolling stone never gathers moss
cabin-fever pressure stress sure has me crushed
dreamer on quick-sand-man-swamp, stagnant pond.
Mosquito coastal west denial virus has to suck
carry on....carry on... carry on.... carry on....

Wanderlust, rolling stone never gathers moss
loco-motivational speaker, emotion baggage bard
hit the road Jack Kerouac, wick lit with Chris McCandless thoughts
grab your stuff, Houdini routine's clasps and cuffs,
carry on....carry on...carry on... carry on...

Whether in the studio or doing shows
cruising roads, going through my notes
in my room composing,
suppose that you should know
you be those who keep me composed
in calm poses
I vow right now I shall never do this faux
cause you're whom I do this for
I'm on the move and go,
due to those who've shown me direction,
beauty boasting the compass in compassion
for that alone, you never are. I love you truly folks.
Track Name: Zoned Out
Friend boat stranded in a friend zone
any romantic port wine in the brainstorm
hang on! We'll get home!
Candle-lit dinner, and the wit and the wick withers
the laughter's wisp and our wind whispers
dance the dim flames' fanciful flickers!
Cupid's gift even to Shoot the shit,
who wouldn't wish on monkey's paws
for this kind of night?
Eye to tiger eye. (Life of Pi.)
I could die!
Things Rocky inside this blind
this tunnel-vision-of-love-boat
your line of stripes I idolize
Cat-walking on a rope, high and tight
thin line divides love and friends,
subtle gestures, time and time again
loving Jester unicycles on a 3rd wheel
hug you tender,through ugly tense struggles
with an ex left high and dry in this therapeutic trend.
Vertigo avert and go through it all depressed
than risk pedaling close pedestal placed apex
and infecting it yet again
as if peeking the pinnacles' peak I could Everest.
Loose lips sink ships
Secrets don't make friends,
but keeping secrets can keep friends safe in the end.
The issue with emotions that goes without saying is:
what actually happens if you go without saying it?!

Every dog has it's day I'll be your best friend,
When spent with you the evening's special
I feel Pavlov trained, love I need to listen,
When, yes: we click on every level.

Every dog has it's day I'll be your best friend,
When spent with you the evening's special
I feel Pavlov trained, love I need to listen
When, yes we click on every level

Friend Zone, Jump ship, overboard friend boat
“loose lips sink ships” Mum though in love SO deep.
Romantic eyeful, Paris tones supple sweet
Downtrodden periscope, pair is gold (submarine).
Synced up, I long to surface just to breath
these souls belong solely on the surface
so, we slowly float to go be on the surf and it's subtleties
never go beyond the surface and it's suddenly
some tidal hint and tab,
suds and tide pool grips and grabs
“but subtitles this and that!”
some tied to...tit for tat
Summarized by tiffs and tasks,
Gasp as I drown in the jealousy!!
Felon, fiend fevered cabin pressure crushed
just the things you loved to bring into the friendship
the S.S. Label came from integral letters in “possession”
and your AMIABLE to-do expression
became “am I able to do what you've expected?”
the risk expensive cant gamble our extensive
perfection for presumptuous preference of connection.

Every dog has it's day I'll be your best friend,
When spent with you the evening's special
I feel Pavlov trained, love I need to listen,
When, yes: we click on every level.

Every dog has it's day I'll be your best friend,
When spent with you the evening's special
I feel Pavlov trained, love I need to listen
When, yes we click on every level

misinterpretations lead to disappointed anger
feeling lead on, weighed down by this appointed anchor
It seems the higher that you rank her
The more a siren's rejection inspires your rancor
looking for any port in the storm and
imagine as women,
specifically talented and gorgeous
Just looking for a friend but everyone wants more and
lothers have ulterior motives
you're a tease or a slut if you're open to closeness
but at arm's length they focus on the shoulder chips
of a cold bitch,
It seems like either way, you won't win!
My point is only this:
What's wrong with close friends?
Why all of this ownership?!
Is it a component of loneliness?
Now I toe the fine line
that you think strings along
towing you when I'm kind
and produces kinks in yarns
spinning yarns like yearning heads
think about it: we put a tag in a place
And that is a label when something passes away.
Everybody is looking for somebody,
But some are just looking for anybody I warn you...
There's a large difference between
"I want you to be happy"
And
"To be happy, I want you"
Track Name: Pagliacci (A Most Memorable Case)
It's been several decades
that I've been a therapist to date
What's that you say?
Oh my most memorable case?
To answer,
there isn't an effort to be made!
Yes I guess it would seem strange...
it was an unprecedented patient
who solely saw me for a segment of a day!
I recall being connected and engaged,
immediately impressed by the exchange,
embedded in recesses of my brain
where it's perpetually stayed
in cerebral crevices engraved,
His expression was so grave,
(I'll take it's memory to the same)
it validates and emulates the famed
the life imitates art etc. cliche
Oh I'm violating a confidence
God forgive the error of my ways can
I justify it as there just might be
a necessary lesson to be taken?

Nothing's black and white,
Never easy fixes
much to our surprise
we're our own elixir,
nothing's as perceived
when we feel confusion
easier to give than receive
advice, we might be our solution

Oh I'm violating a confidence
God forgive the error of my ways can
I justify it as there just might be
a necessary lesson to be taken?

You could technically label him a “walk in”
though more it was a stumble
I offered him a smile, chair and question
“what's the trouble?”
his face bore familiar signs of a struggle
pockmarks bored complexion
deepened lines sunken sleepless eyes, subtle
bleach-white salt seeped inside his stubble.
Accent had thick undertones European to the utmost,
He sat next to my vast desk with slumped shoulders,
poor posture.
Before he unloaded dirty laundry warned me:
“little I can afford doctor”
Cordially assured him:
“this is more a service than a business,
for now forgo the financial burden of the visit
later we'll work out payment,
first the symptoms, let me listen.”
He thanked me languidly, smile turning to a grimace
explained he's been pained to paint a purpose of existence
he's a traveling artist, lately work feels like a gimmick
it's a joke, he's anguished at the world, it is so vicious!
Despite the crowds, solitude discouraged him and distanced
he pressed on, depressed for close to thirty minutes,
if the world's a stage, he's wishing
to close the curtains and be finished
flushed and sweating, blushing red
he paused and caught his breath
he observed me sternly like a critic,
I presumed I knew his solution,
it turns out I surely didn't.

Nothing's black and white
never easy fixes
much to our surprise

we're our own elixir
nothing's as perceived
when you feel confusion
easier to give than receive
advice, we might be our solution

Oh I'm violating a confidence
God forgive the error of my ways can
I justify it as there just might be
a necessary lesson to be taken?

After that emphatic monologue we sat tacit,
melodramatic sure of course I empathized as is my job
I thought and concocted my best advice to solve
the tragic state of mind in which he's caught.
“It might seem odd as you're nomadic,
perhaps the answer's a change,
get off the stage, have some entertaining interaction!
I know! Yes that's it! There's a traveling circus in town,
the show the perfect distraction get immersed in the crowd,
animals exotic, impossibly strong men,cannons bursting men out!
The popcorn, the hotdogs, the music is loud,
the colors, the action, the mirth and the sounds!
Main attraction is fantastic, I heard it's a clown,
Pagliacci across the world he's renowned,
the man will have you laughing, belly aching, knee slapping
the exact thing to pick you up when hurt and down!”
That's when my visitor gasped,
“but doctor!” he stopped me dead,
started sobbing, responding
“I'm lost my friend” with an ambiance of dread
“you see, I perform in the tent,
I'm the Pagliacci you referenced”
I dropped my jaw, he dropped his head
into his palms and promptly wept.

Nothings black and white
never easy fixes
much to our surprise
we're our own elixir
nothing's as perceived
when you feel confusion
easier to give than receive
advice, we might be our solution

Oh I'm violating a confidence!
God forgive the error of my ways!
can I justify it as there just might be
a necessary lesson to be taken?
Track Name: Therapy Sessions
Therapy Sessions
I know what you're thinking,
That you know what I'm thinking,
well I want you to know,
that you know what I want.
And I want you to think,
that I think that I want you.

Her young limbs are sleek,
save for scar bumps scissors leave
I deceive, dismissing these as uninteresting
and keep on kissing,
her tongues flitting like something slithering
the bulb's flickering,
nearly blackout drunk binging
before jumping in the sheets
but she insisted in lusts divulged whispering
who am I to come in between her and I?
Come satisfy her needs and size her up,
I rush in between thighs to indulge instantly,
it's dark, I feel the passion, incisors bites, grips,
but can't see the point or who I'm with.
I feel like she changes when the lights dim,
My wits no match for hers
when that fire flicks in her iris,
feral force of a feline,
but her canines pinch my skin when I'm in.
Can't help but feel slightly sick
at the implied crime's PTSD
hiding deviously like
landmines in her violence,
incessantly sensing she's in love,
who am I to deny it?
It's nicer than silence,
I admit I kinda like it.
Burgeoned motions, simply sex with
burdened senses, synesthetic
blurry motives, sympathetic
birds and stone, sin aesthetic
burn emotions cinder ethics,
ascetic, alarming, pathetic, cathartic,
especially when she, in ecstasy bends and screeches
when she peaks, pleasured, forgetting depression,
relieved of sexual tension, everything's better
and I leave alone sweaty and scented,
with perfume chemicals and her pheromones
My head is prone to pensively messy messages
collecting cold dubious thoughts for me on an autumn eve,
after another of these oddly successful therapy sessions.


Well, what do you think? I need to know.
Well, what do you know?! I want to need.
Well, what do you think? I want to know.
Well what do you know?! I need to think.

Well, what do you think? I need to know.
Well, what do you know?! I want to need.
Well, what do you think? I want to know.
Well what do you know?! I need to think.

He isn't exactly the type I'd categorize as my fantasy guy,
But examining, he looks at me like he's captured a prize,
I flash him the bedroom eyes, spread my thighs
room is spinning, swig the whiskey, drink me blind.
Dim the lights, he begins to try to protest,
Muffled, as I bring his lips to mine.
Isn't the party hardy fitness guy,
naive, pretty nice, funny I let him in my life,
the one part he hardly fits inside.
Listen, I don't mind kiss and tell,
but you tell so much we'll never kiss!
No offense but kid, I don't need a therapist,
You're no knight in shining armor, I'm no damsel in distress,
lit the candles, vicious sex,
though at times we're on a couch, no need for analyst attempts!
Nor will I candidly confess,
yeah you scan my skin and wince.
are you here for bed or conversation?
I've had better conversation.
I bet our conversation's hollow ain't it?
Sex is our arrangement:
make your entrance and then enter and two exits,
friends with benefits without the benefits of friendship
Sure the closeness I seek refuge in,
it isn't love by why refuse it?
I keep using the word cause
he's dependent and needs to feel he's rescuing
He "wants to help" oddly condescending,
talking for a length and drops a lot of questions,
before he probes me, probes me 'bout depression,
All it takes to get him off my case, I hardly say a sentence
silence is a springboard for philosophies he's kept in
for all his intellect, lacks awareness that he's starving for attention
here to volley for affection, I bring his body to attendance,
lost in lasciviousness, giving this miss
mustered luster lust for, mister skivvies amiss
a mask of mussed hair a mist of musk amidst a mess
bringing him in close so he can bring me closer
witching hour full moon...I'm liking that for me!
I am beauty AND the beast (lycanthropy)
bite scratch and screech, snarling out the tension
partly out of breath, coital carnal carnival intentions
get on the ride, I'm charging for this session.
As the door shuts closed, I shudder from the autumn cold,
his body scent lingers, he wore cologne,
Therapy session over, what's he thinking as he's walking home?


Well, what do you think? I need to know.
Well, what do you know?! I want to need.
Well, what do you think? I want to know.
Well what do you know?! I need to think.

Well, what do you think? I need to know.
Well, what do you know?! I want to need.
Well, what do you think? I want to know.
Well what do you know?! I need to think.

I know what you're thinking.
That you know what I'm thinking,
well I want you to know,
that you know what I want.
And I want you to think,
that I think that I want you.

I know what you're thinking.
That you know what I'm thinking,
well I want you to know,
that you know what I want.
And I want you to think,
that I think that I want you.
Track Name: Roamer
R for the ragged, rash romantic
O is oh so like the cycle he ran in
A paints an anxious anti-social artist
M marks a mellow man, miserable, misanthropic
E eases the exhausted defensive eccentric
R returns for rough reactions, regret and reticence

Slide silent in the night to try to find a canvas way late,
has a plan, bag in hand, combat his trashy lame day,
grab a cam, mask, his jams, caps and cans of spray paint
revamp a drab random freight train into a Faberge egg
few things in life he can control,
so when he writes with aerosol,
this damaged soul likes the can control.
And he goes...
writing cursive on night excursions
fights inner him like Tyler Durden
the high's alluring, island searching
introverted, inadvertently anonymous and famous
responsible for “Roam” like Romulus and Remus
ironically he's great with the words but can't possibly explain it.
Father is an artist, so it's obvious he's painting.
Get into a trance, he's got it in his veins,
sketching in a pad, puts his head into the task
conquering his pain whenever he gets mad
heading to the tracks, scrawl it on display
bombing all the trains like terrorist attacks.
You might see the pieces and think “that's worthless!”
But I added beauty and dimension to a flat surface
As it happens, that's what happened
to my life that lacked purpose
When finding this art form and that's perfect!

R for the ragged, rash romantic
O's oh so like the cycle he ran in
A paints an anxious anti-social artist
M marks a mellow man, miserable, misanthropic
E eases the exhausted defensive eccentric
R returns for rough reactions, regret and reticence

In emotive moping mode he's most motivated
to mold a mobile MoMa in a moment's motion.
Eyes raw?
Cry, lost?
Krylon.
Ipod
(my songs)
“bye Mom, I'm gone!”
Ride on it then write on it. RIGHT ON IT!

Appropriate, he's “COPE”ing when
he's zoning, Roaming, always growing,
going Bombing when he's pulsing slowly
almost exploding. Goes out then GOES IN!
Hoping he won't blow it.
Lone wolf...his only “pack” is a box of smokes.
Sober, somber, he holds his hard-earned token,
his only drug is a pot (of Joe).
Take a Drag n Smog like the Hobbit, Tolkien,
Find a fence and hop it! Talking only when he's prompted.
Problems? So pissed. Process Pro pics.
Scrawl it. So sick. Pops had told him:
Jot it. Quote it, if you Got it? Hone it.
Flaunt it. Show it. Honest, dope shit.
Bomb it. Boast his...style so:
Night stroll, sidetracked,
mind roams, finds tracks,
writes roamer, signs that...
sublime soul 'til light shows
when sunrise glows, run right
when 5-0's brights strobe,
Always keep it "5 0" twice holmes.

R for the ragged, rash romantic
O is oh so like the cycle he ran in
A paints an anxious anti-social artist
M marks a mellow man, miserable, misanthropic
E eases the exhausted defensive eccentric
R returns for rough reactions, regret and reticence

People think he's a rebel or a vandal,
really he's a modern day Renoir or a Van Gogh
his palette is a can and his canvas is a blank wall
Nomad with a Jansport that'll rattle
in the night at a train yard as he travels
dignified with a vision and a craft grown
misting out a cap hole,
lisping as it whispers scripting
artful vivid pictures on the metal
the car's panels take a piece of his
and give peace within,
so he gives each of them
a piece of him he channels
to the mobile gallery
to carry him to where he can't go.
And so scary...
the sick line-switch to grim times in a grave arc
from "sick lines!" with lip slides at the skate park
to sick lines of sniffed white that breaks hearts
to sick lines with thick type at the train yard!
Spray on! Thank God!
It brought him back. Like a séance,
the great art of graff':
Anonymous autographs,
breath a little artful stamp, on the artifacts
off the bland blueprints in your auto-CAD.
All you cats ought to tag,
he tags it in to tap into an automatic assist,
a tactile tactic to tackle panic attacks, intact,
facets: tacit, idiosyncratic and enigmatic...
and fact is well, that's it.

“you don't know me? Fine, yo, I don't either.
When I Roam, on my own, that's my soul/sole research.”
emerge with a racing heart, play a part,
put a halo over these characters,
Make a mark and make some art,
'til there's a halo over this character.

R for the ragged, rash romantic
O is oh so like the cycle he ran in
A paints the anxious anti-social artist
M marks a mellow man, miserable, misanthropic
E eases the exhausted defensive eccentric
R returns for rough reactions, regret and reticence
Track Name: Rush Hour '98
It's 1998 and I'm ten,
crunching mouthfuls of m&ms,
Twizzlers and some Zours with my friends
watching Rush Hour in the Cineplex,
we were in stitches giggling
Pretty much from the title right up until the end.
A couple scenes had stuck with me,
including the snippet when Jackie Chan
had said some word beginning with an N
And then the dude in the clip got super pissed
and They had the fight doing cool moves with the pool sticks
At that we at that we laughed
Returned to school sincerely happy to have some
Gags to share during and after lunch foolish,
Class clowns just acting dumb trying to be cool kids,
Recess that Monday at Jericho elementary was treated like a talent show,
We ran up to every kid on the field
Reenacting classic knee slapping quotes,
Especially the one with the "N" word, hadn't known
what it meant sure but we laughed like dopes.
Got outta recess and the teach' was in a bad mood
hollered my name I was grabbed rudely by the collar,
enraged, she dragged me to the doorway
and who's that classmate standing ashamed in the hallway
But one of rare few black students,
Tears cascading down his cheeks,
I asked why she had been so mean
when forming this sad group and why we had to meet!?
The teacher scowled incredulous
Asking if I had said some crass expletive
That I'd like to say "sorry" for,
Ingenuous,
I asked if they could clarify or
Help me understand the crime I was called outside for
(All the while he just sobbed and cried more)
He recalled the story of our exchange, eyes sore,
when I repeated the Rush Hour line of course
(The one with the N mystery)
I didn't get it so I said this and
Timidly admitted I quoted it indiscriminately,
and no one else exhibited misery,
then they Explained the significance to me.
I felt like a troglodyte,
Honest, I apologized which moderately mollified his melancholy solemn eyes,
I walked inside locking eyes on the hard tile floor horrified and unnerved
With sickened wonder
That my soft and bright tongue turned on me
and could do so much hurt with one word.
And with the bane of ignorance
I tainted that little kid,
Our exchange gave him
His first racist experience
And I wonder decades later
How it resonates across the years he's lived.
Track Name: The Case Of Sydney Barringer
The year was 1958
Los Angeles the cityscape
Seventeen was Sydney's age,
the motive was a quick escape
he simply hated
his parents Arthur and Faye,
could hardly wait to get away
whatever way the wind would take him.

See,
Mr. and Mrs. Barringer
were simplistic bickering characters
disinterested in it's bearing on
their kid, they'd hardly cared for him.
Tight budgets and too tight quarters
might cut their fuses' light's shorter,

tense, turbulence, tend towards testy cursing fits
that steadily worsen to render the term “domestic disturbance”
to “tender attempts at encouragement”

Arthur, was a worthless lush,
Mother, was a termagant,
her words would rush and work him up
to, sure enough, a hurtful drunk,
he'd redden quick, clench his fists,
leave her eyes with purple lumps,
she'd threaten him, a deadly risk,
her screams aside, preferred a gun.
So said Syd' “this settles it”
he devised a terminal jump.

He felt like a lost son,
beaten down more than brought up,
seemed slaughter was all they want done
in the long run,
then Arthur cut his chore funds off just
to afford more gut rot?

That was the last straw,
plucked from a haystack
whose needle is Mom's love.
These thoughts rush on while
he's loading the shotgun.
Then scrawled a note describing
why he'd climb to the 9 story
tall roof he'd choose to take
that fatal fall from.

Not even a week elapsed
the bonds that were weak collapsed,
we could ask “why?”
we've seen the classic “good and evil” clashing
inner demons battle inner peace in eons past
if only powder kegs
that sparked the heated flash
arguments in that apartment
would thaw the frigid shoulders
their titanic seething madness
would inevitably be crashing
perhaps the tragedy
wouldn't have even happened.

The Barringer's bicker back and forth,
tit for tat of course, this and that endured,
“bitch” and “bastard” roared,
pissing match procured,
brick-a-brak has soared,
Syd just grabbed his mournful
disturbing note and fled,
a whisper out the door,
enraged from that violent portal,
meditating he'd preferred to go
ascend to the diving board roof,
fight escalated as he's curling toes,
in no way is this child support!
trembling vertigo,
never saw down that 9 before,
his place just a third below,
despite his suicidal thoughts
terrified to build courage to go,
but when he heard them both,
this pushed him over the edge,

as he stepped off the ledge,
his father's back was pressed
against the wall on the same side
from which his son just stepped,
Fending off Faye's firing squad impression,
an unprecedented accident,
the gun kicked back and by awful chance
the bullet missed Arthur and
hit Syd, ripped apart his chest
as his body plummeted,
this was the cause of death,
since in a believe Ripley or not event,
had it not been for the shot connecting
Sydney would have fallen yes,
but been safely dropped into a window washers net.

Since he loaded the shotgun you'd guess
the suicide was a success
forensics figured it Fayes' fault and said
Sydney was an accomplice in his own end.
Track Name: Unbelievable
I was raised a Roman Catholic, but it never sat that well with me
Going to parish, as a tyke at Sabbath, I, stealthily, dwelt beneath pews
distracted as I yelped and screeched I'd pilfer mom's purse
for gum and tubes made for toothpaste whose tasty gel I'd eat.
I'm traditionally baptized, communion and confirmation,
My saint namesake is “Peregrine” based on the falcon that's my favorite,
I guess that says it all, I'm more appreciative of nature
than all the faith-based strange ways that appeared primitively pagan.
I don't identify as “Atheist”, as that's belief in itself!
Who am I even to tell, if there's an afterlife heaven or hell?
I just believe in myself and encourage people as well,
Never preach it or sell it, just keep to myself unless there's need, then I help!

Yes, I know I'm hypocritically sharing in this music's instance
but there are gathering spaces for superstitions,
I wonder what friends I'll lose who listened
just for being skeptical of what seems to me to be untrue religions

I won't buy bull from a Bible
Won't run my core on the Koran,
Won't tour a Torah,
Won't tote a Totem I'm crucified to.
They lie that they'll immortalize you,
Do you find that it organized you?
If you ask me what moral code
I prescribe to my kid?
“We don't get a long time to live,
let's get along, time to live!”

Whether Monastery, Mosque, Temple, Bindi, Turban
Mother Mary, priests in churches, Deacon, clergy,
repeatedly rehearsing preaching sermons,
it seems we're all asleep and lured in,
while they're counting sheep they're herding,
if you need an evil lurking, Eden serpent
beastly burning demon creature feeding fervent fear within you
plus some Jesus/Virgin scheme or deity to worship
just to be a decent person, doesn't that defeat the purpose?
Shouldn't goodness be a predetermined feature?
An intrinsically urgent need to serve the needy people hurting?
Random acts of kindness? Now that I applaud,
but when it comes to chapel assignments, I'm finding it odd,
kind of appalled you required a Lord to ingratiate,
a fraudulent lie to be lauded by as you sought a prize,
that sort of prying, just to find warmth, to be nice in your heart?!
All this mythical orchestration to gratify what you've done,
isn't acting nice as you touch others' lives satisfying enough?

I won't buy bull from a Bible
Won't run my core on the Koran,
Won't tour a Torah,
Won't tote a Totem I'm crucified to.
They lie that they'll immortalize you,
Do you find that it organized you?
If you ask me what moral code
I prescribe to my kid?
“We don't get a long time to live,
let's get along, time to live!”

When behaving like a caveman, ironically caged in
by antiquated fables in ancient texts,
(pagan attempts, to solve and explain what escapes him)
no wonder you've resolved
to believe we've never evolved!
No tailbone or backbone,
looking to absolve,
abs all marigold as pages of that old biblical tome,
at fault, fearing a reaper will seek what you've sewn,
it peeves me to no end to see these burgeoning “born again”s,
evil people that feel the need to atone,
barging in, bargaining, fraudulent faith,
afraid the havoc they'd wreaked will be shown
to the audience, of Saint Peter, at golden gates,
or the big “G” in the throne, unbelievable!
To go from “on the fence” to “Godliness”
to gain favor with “God” now, and say prayers as a cop-out?
I'm privy to the function of religion as structure,
societal, and also as a primitive crutch,
and coping mechanism with living amongst
infinite wondrous, if indeed frustrating mysteriousness
of which we have a limited understanding,
but why not with our wisdom will an empirical clutch
as opposed to traditional hunches for an instant of comfort?
Conviction in a derivative and rigid stubborn strictness
despite the relevance of it being none,
and an inevitable spiritualist trust and egotistical cover
leads to rifts between cultures that are different to “us”
and thus the spilling of blood,
all to defend a misinterpreted message
that initially forbid us to judge!


I won't buy bull from a Bible
Won't run my core on the Koran,
won't tour a Torah,
Won't tote a Totem I'm crucified to.
They lie that they'll immortalize you,
Do you find that it organized you?
If you ask me what moral code
I prescribe to my kid?
“We don't get a long time to live,
let's get along, time to live!”


When you're having a sour day,
do you bow and pray to have the storm cloud of gray
moved out your way? If it changes, you'll proudly praise
a force for reinforcing your founded faith, and if it doesn't,
you'll no doubt just say “it's just a test of our strength!”
“their power can't be grasped by our brains!”
It seems to me,
coincidence and chance in incidences cast
in circumstances is attributed
to mysticism and not just randomness or evidence at hand.
You don't think a typical strand or chain of events
from a tangible arrangement has lead
sequentially to affecting your day in the end?
Why are we playing pretend?
Are you afraid of your death?
Are you in need of making amends
for who you're ashamed to have been?
I don't deny that possibility of spiritual events,
and miracles there-within some biblical texts,
but I'm a practical man and in the absence of facts to be had,
I accept accountability for my missteps and successes when
I encounter all them!
This isn't in interest of dissin' and disrespect,
its an attempt to get us to open our minds and hearts to the present
and our lives and arms to pleasant human connections,
instead of just relying on a trending divine cathartic ending!

I won't buy bull from a Bible
Won't run my core on the Koran,
won't tour a Torah,
Won't tote a Totem I'm crucified to.
They lie that they'll immortalize you,
Do you find that it organized you?
If you ask me what moral code
I prescribe to my kid?
“We don't get a long time to live,
let's get along, time to live!”
Track Name: Seize In Caesium
Been avoiding the mattress, try to live life tireless,
Instability, no traction, slide and skid when tireless,
I suggest cleaning up my act,
as I'm a mess,
maybe don't have an “act” to clean,
be yourself, don't be quite as stressed!
Every morning when I get dressed
and face the day,
Inquire, stretching “hey, what time is it?”
Sigh reminded I can make the statement
“although there's life in it, Time is death”,
I take a great lungful of air
fear with no comfort aware it all fades away.

Someone out there will make the claim,
“we have forever and a day,”
but we're forever getting chased
by our ending day,
at a neck breaking pace,
its a breath taking fate,
and it's several steps away!
I'm less afraid of
attenuating
progressive age,
heaven's gates,
or devil snakes,
and more petrified
of when I've left my life
I never lead my life
and let my life get defined
as collected waste
and never paved a legacy I left behind
to justify the months that I took up space.

Watch an atomic clock go on and on,
yet it never stays, nervousness, I stress and say
“I'm in a deficit and I've got debts to pay.”
I listen to my pocket watches' mocking “tock”
definitely set to detonate,
chronological bomb, but all in all
Life is not so hard, walk along
decorate it with the friends you make,
“Box of chocolates” Forrest thought,
life is sweet,
we are teeth, (we enjoy it then decay)
But I'm alarmed, life's a Wonka bar,
Some got tickets: the rest just ate.
Incessant ticking and in my restless days,
I long for eternity, like a resting 8.
but there would be no urgency
with time in an arrested state.
If seeking Elysium, see that “seize” is in
“Caesium Atom”s phonetics arranged
See us up and at em searching for peace,
Certainty and ease,
certainly uneasy
sure it's brief,
but life is worthwhile
I'll rest my case,

but I'll wrestle with this evidence displayed,
like:
“the value of anything ever gained,
is directly related to the effort made to attain it”
Consider the rich of you of lesser strain,
who only see your silver spoon of special grade
as an instrument or tool in a leisure state,
but those whose homes are tenant based,
in section 8 attending grades at an inner city school,
feeling miniscule would then be grateful,
to pawn that for a little food,
see how the perspective changed?

The minutes and seconds
we're given are precious,
presented with a finishing end,
that is set in stone,
is a fitting attempt
at a grave memo
to optimize life and accept that we're blessed so
I'll consider the grandfather clock's pendulum a metronome
supplying a rhythm
for my life decisions
to rhyme right against it,
wow, when that metaphor mind state's depicted
...I could start to like all the ticking,

As father time in a quantum court decides
the quandary of slovenly squandered life,
the qualms with sloth qualifies as chrono-crimes
He';; calmly wipe his minute hands across his eyes,
quartz watch design-framed face cauterized cogs combine,
roman numeral columns bind we columbine,
and he'll chuckle as he'll watch us die.
Drowning fast in an hourglass pitcher,
picture our quicksand it is dripping,
struggling in intangible physics,
cement in which we're frantically fishing,
rubbing this hurricane lantern persistently
counting back and wishing desperately,
to rewind this lamp/urn cistern of sediment,
no buttons, we're not on the set of Click,
getting younger, like we're Benjamin
but indeed, we'd be behind in a sense
indebted to our age as we're wiser and better,
experience fortifies until time has us rendered
senile and decrepit,
Alzheimer's // dementia all types of ineptness.
I hope I'm immortalizing benevolence,
successfully providing my genesis,
given guidance and lessened,
hurt, shed a light with my lessons,
perhaps be effectively resurrected,
survived through the memory
of an audience member
and then kept alive through my lectures.

Einstein addressed it
Despite a finite perspective
Of a pint sized
Pie slice percentage
“Time flies” it's said
That Timeline
skyline is endless
The minds eye's intense:
Hindsight presents
Highlights remembered
(Prime time events
where the lime light was shed and
the lifelike blight recollected,
fight nights regretted)
No eternal sunshine experiments
for your crimes or cryogenic
Sci fi inventions,
for the right price invested.
Just a lifeline that's ending
with the twilight of death.
Irate, mesmerized,
“There's no time” “it's depressing”,

I write, memorized:

“There's no time like the present”

Time's of the essence,
THERE'S NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT.
Alright, repetitive!
but I'm terrified that I might forget it,
TIME'S OF THE ESSENCE
THERE'S NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT!
starving for a taste of life:
I'd like some seconds...
Track Name: Youthtopia
I think one of my favorite of all phrases,
Is: “ladies and gentleman, children of all ages”
It's a reminder that number's just what an age is
and spirit isn't limited within bodies that contain it
back in the day, we were manic about skating
crazed antics, frantic to discover what wonders engaged us
we've since turned our back on those days,
panicked, practically so ashamed,
sadly “satisfied” by static lives
casting aside supposedly “old phases”
we saw it all clearly, loved the image which was painted
the “green horns” are the untainted who aren't jaded?!

From friendly fresh meat to teens that act up
to stressed sheep since wrestling with rent week distracts us
going to “meet our ends” to “make ends meet” that's a fact 'cause
necessity incessantly asks us to “clean our acts up”
and “act our age” as if a set path is paved?
so we put our masks on, trapped/betrayed act on stage
afraid, we trade our passion plays for vapid trades
and rapidly cascade this latter-day masquerade.
WE CAN'T ESCAPE!
Giving up on what revives us
that is saved for Saturdays!
“too old for that” unless it's work assignments
mortgages and tax to pay defines us
exhausted to be nine to fivers
benign survivors, beehive providers.
Realize there's a such thing as a “mid-life crisis syndrome”
since it stings and strikes us
we've signed up to an un-fulfilling system.

all most of us aim to do is regain our youth
the key aspect of that is to retain what's you!
Examine the grander canvas.
Repaint the hues:
let's say life's a mural you only have ONE palette
don't you feel it's moral to choose the colors dabbed around it?!

I know I'm an idealist, I've lived a life of privilege
but I'm realistic. I realize the need to provide for children
selflessly sacrifice to have a slice of that apple pie
American given standard of living!
Let's analyze that a minute. Let's examine THAT...
WHAT living standards do we ACTUALLY have?!
What values do we lose to lure luxuries or fads in ads?
A massive pride, a classic ride, a pair of Nikes a Mac device.
Cast aside our plans devised and past to find an advertised
Paradise, that “provides” a mask designed to a mass disguise
valued by a plastic hype that just might run counter
to our golden gilded goals.
As we “adapt” to times that tantalized
to fill our condos with consoles
to calm and console our conned souls.

Parents: we've gratitude for the path that battered you
to pass us chances to advance but saddened for your passions too!
Backed into a corner broke your backs in two
contorted to afford and grant us that which you
hadn't had but truthfully:
the attuned aptitudes abandoned to do that
were intuitive attributes of who you ARE.
Now we a humbled husk of who you WERE
and ask if that's what you really had to do?!
The tragic truth is, we rarely want to shadow you and
live the sacrificially scary example you set.
In the shadow cast gloomily then, follow after your footprints
planted of canceled roots upset, trampled by stress and regret
we mean no disrespect
you played the cards you're dealt, and really Dad I'm blessed,
you drew your hand, you took a gamble sat and bet,
despite that you knew life had clearly stacked the deck
and the house is always ahead, so the head
of the household's always in debt.

all most of us aim to do is regain our youth
the key aspect of that is to retain what's you!
Examine the grander canvas.
Repaint the hues:
let's say life's a mural you only have ONE palette
don't you feel it's moral to choose the colors dabbed around it?!

I've heard it said “youth is wasted on the young”
so you're saying we're given useless tools once we've begun?
We only know to utilize our youthful lives once an adult is what we've become?
As though the trouble with youth is, we're imbued with blueprints,
but fumble befuddled unable to constructively use them?!
If “wisdom comes with old age”
and “ignorance is bliss”
then YOUTHTOPIA could be defined
by naivety when we were kids.
Is knowledge an accomplished advantage?
“the more you think, the less you know” goes the adage
we've become backseat drivers that think in abstracts
experience breeds wisdom, life is an act to be practiced!
something's absent, living isn't achieved through armchair abstractions.
Or sterile experiments in labs had or diagrams to be glanced at.
“time flies, you'll see, wait til you're older”
like physics insists that life in the cradle was slower?!
Time doesn't accelerate you've just nothing to celebrate
since you've succumbed lamely,
to the mundane and unmemorable
when you're reminiscing,
your notes are non-existent or simply just forgettable
it's not filling boxes on calendars and collectables
it's fulfilling thoughts before you fill a box at the end of YOU!
That clock's detestable gears grind, it really grinds my gears.
It's not the years in your life but the life in your years!
Stop peering at time...spend time with your peers!
We're a culmination of everything we've loathed and loved
is there really any such thing as “growing up”?!
We're all of our ages, sewn of what we've known and done.
So caught up and brought up on labels like old and young.
What if the fountain of youth
was a foundation found within you?
Or a cheat code placebo effect
effectively born out of a mood?!

all most of us aim to do is regain our youth
the key aspect of that is to retain what's you!
Examine the grander canvas.
Repaint the hues:
let's say life's a mural you only have ONE palette
don't you feel it's moral to choose the colors dabbed around it?!
Choose the colors dabbed around it!