Coal Aberrations

by AllOne

/
  • Immediate download of 8-track album in the high-quality format of your choice (MP3, FLAC, and more), plus unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app.

     $6 USD  or more

     

1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
05:30
8.

about

This album features a handful of local performers from the Long Island area whom AllOne "grew up" as a performer around. A unique debut album, in that you can see the versatility of the artist as he collaborates with various musical styles. An effort to pay homage to the scene that nurtured him and the loved ones that came it with. A platform attempting to promote all the respected and talented artists featured.

credits

released 27 June 2010

Performers:
AllOne, Robert Bruey, Michael Korb, Phil Minissale, Gina Tomitz, John Myles, Chris Nicola, Colleen Moore, Craig Atkin, Michael Setteducati, Joseph Patti, Chris Spikoski.
All recording, mixing, and mastering by Michael Korb of Space Debris Production.
Album art by Gina Tomitz.

tags

license

all rights reserved

feeds

feeds for this album, this artist

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

contact / help

Contact AllOne

Download help

Track Name: Desert Diaries
Son, you know the apple doesn't fall far from the infantry,
We crunched the numbers from the schools picked and Benjamin frankly we're appalled,
The benevolence of my army benefits outfitted you since infancy,
And as you know lately the safety of the world has stressed our eagle bald,
Incredibly, the entries' free, no enlisting fee, considering the pride you're supplied instantly,
Our family's story is hungry for defending this glorious country and will lunge to meet any pest with gall,
You're infested with text-book-worms and digested our intricately altruistic history,
So when the freedom dominion's lady liberty bella beauty rings answer the call,
For the army of wonder, the so few that proudly survived to victory,
Recruitment starts now, sign your name on the assembly flat-line come one come all.

WAR MACHINE KEEP IT CLEAN, WALK TOO SOON, GONE BY NOON,

Dear yellow journalist,
A clean war machine is an inaccurate sadistic-masochistic oxymoronic propagandist term
beyond comparison, It's implying virtuous violence can happen while simultaneously acting compassionate and that isn't what this magnificent land is about... or is it now?

DEEP INSTILLED PROUDLY FILLED, SEE MY FACE DUST THE GRACE

Dear Lieutenant,
Our grandson Bruce is a precious human, how could you do this?
If you'd have consumed my two cents, I've alluded to paying his school debts,
troops in previous foreign feuds were prudent, but this is polluted
“accrue crude fuel” crudely fueled confusion,
Those putrid intrusions you've been through
and you've no delusions and approved your son recruited?
You've cruelly doomed him and I've got news for you kid, our relationship's concluded.

OIL FIELDS SEALED THE DEAL, BULLETS FLY TOUCH THE SKY

Dear Dad,
Take a proper gander at the propaganda, TV's low standards
distract you with wild party life goose chases to have you enraptured,
with air-headlines while they're avidly hacking at our
civilian heads like nick burg, I've since heard things whispered
about Francis Scott-Key being fit for John Locke and the contents
of Pandora-merica's box dispersed. I'm disturbed serving this term in war
when it's for incurring more in some CEO's thick purse.

YOU MUST BE CALLING ME, I'M FAR FROM HOME ALL ALONE

Dear Bruce,
It's hard to discuss this but you've been gone six months
and besides your pictures, I haven't been kissed once, I really miss ya,
that's how I know that it's love, But I'm still young and
its tough to live untouched, It's not fair, that you signed up
I'm sorry but I wish you the best of luck,
I'm really proud and all, it's just... this sucks.
Love always,
Marissa

THE NUMBERS SLOW, EARTH IS COLD, BLOOD HAS DRIED, FAITH HAS CRIED

Dear Grandpa,
I'm beginning to feel like you were right to fight with dad about enlistment
I know he was a lieutenant and in the recruitment business
but pride and the financial interests tend to feel akin with petty penny predicaments
when my kin are missing limbs and I'm missing you on Christmas,
I wish it were different and we could be together and all i got is
coal fossil fuel that aids the firefight in this desert.
Your "great war two" efforts grate on you
so you wont think lesser when I confess for being more upset for
not getting Nanny's sweaters while everyone that serves
gets hurt and sweats in this weather.
Civilians seem to deplore or ignore us,
and act as if a magnets on the back of their
Taurus supports us. I thought it would be glorious.
This is curious, I haven't gotten mail from all ya's
except Marissa, that poor bitch,
while we've imported coffee donations from borders,
as if i want to be awake to take orders to experience these horrors?
I feel the victim of a list of vicious superstitions,
while lady luck has a half empty hourglass figure from extensively purging silt,
Nothing's loving or fair in warfare and the fare for my tour here is expensive murder guilt,
Life is a bitch when you're taking her ilk,
and taking shit as an insubordinate until you get killed,
I hope they'll let my G.I. bill pay cousin brad's loans,
and please respect my will don't show dad these notes,
He'll have a harder time probably
than my nullified body keeping himself composed
when he now knows what his recruitment promotes
when you propose the folded flag enclosed in this envelope.
Track Name: Origami Observance
{Joli}
I paper maché, my world, carefully crafted it like the pages of your memoir left to sit in the armoire of someone with the same beliefs. My heart is made of paper, so fold it how ever you please, go on and leave your crease, crinkle me till I’m worn, I’ll just start anew once you’re done but don’t judge a book by its binding, don’t turn away from the most ragged- those are the ones who have the best story- their pages have seen maximum hardship and minimum glory. Shoved in the back pocket of someone hanging on to its every last word, passed from person to person. And there are notes in the margin- origamied words written to try to break the curse of repeating history. history’s repeating just more twisted and perverse, you can see it in the euphemism of obituaries, creating stick figures out of lives while telling lies and calling it enough.

{AllOne}
I made paper doll chains out of obituaries then suited all my rafters and my visitors call it beautiful
I evoked the image of a rainbow from hostile oil spill pollution mold the pot of gold was the twinkle in my eye since i was enthused and pulled
Out of the earth wormhole of guilty puppy dog eyes that no one tennis-elbow-greased to fetch a cure for its bawling
My head is ringing, a result reaped from reaching out to telepathic-phonic callings,
Teaching others to read into laughter, no matter the chapter, hawking happiness in all things as a busy signal to combat pathetic monotone-deaf tele-marksman-slaughter breeze shooting balk rings.

{Joli}
And my phone sings off key every time the devil tries to arrange another meeting; mocking true beauty, trying to steal the best of me for a dollar and someone else’s dream, when is say no, you might say Thank you Jesus or Allah or Krishna or Buddha but I’d like to thank the ones on the ground for stopping the slaughter, and saving lives. Those gods may forgive but life is hard to stand up to when those who share the land on which you stand cannot find it in themselves to acquit you for the societal sins we all pick apart and knit to create our own safety blanket. But one by one we are hanged with a rope made of upper crust moral criteria rather than internal. Eternally scored for race, gender, sexuality, creed. Well if you ask me that’s nothing more than ethical greed. Ethnocentrism at it’s best and I think it’s time we all take a rest.

{AllOne}
I propose a toasty warm countenance to all the snowman and women
who could use thawing out of their ice-cubicle prison
I raise my half-full glass to grow-up-and-atom-bomb-shelter for anti-hostile post predatory hostel precision Positive postulation Positions
when their nuclearly negative bombs drop and mushroom-service arisen
The table of contentment is cleared of silver spoons grand,
so we grow up personable eating out of the palms of each other’s hands
With the circle of life wrapped around our ring fingers reading "life is a gift so live in the present" on heartfelt paper maché strands,
When mismatch-makers thermally threaten, remember metamorphoto-shop-uplifters like obituary to decorative plans

I swear I'm not preaching,
I'm just breathing out with persistence my active reason now.
I swear I'm not preaching,
I'm just easing out what existence has lead me to believing now.
Because Gods may have made my smile.
But one has yet to make me smile.
So you may think me a daunting simple heathen.
But i praise those who caused my dimples breaching.
I don't thank an entity in the heavens.
But the sanctity of my brethren.
This isn't here for beings as impressive prayer
for an omnipresent in the air.
But heirs for being there and implementing their
love, friendship and care.
Track Name: Will She Ever Change?
AllOne's Verse:
Since settling for settling down with you
its been a smoke and mirrors setting
which chokes and is reflecting of a neglecting demeanor
got my mind roped and pirouetting around your
circus vanity wall paper
whose purpose was insanity but called savior,
encouraging me to grabbing and flinging a milestone
and shatter these unflattering portraits majorly
doing myself a tall favor, and i realize regardless I'll still feel
appalled greater when you've horribly made sure
I'll be cursed with regret when recalling this 7 years later.

When we met I meta-morphed and met a morbid
horrific version of the former terrific person i had once been
slapped my happiness with cuffs and steroid adjusted my
insecurities hurtfully adding up that I had amounted to nothing
calm, busting what was fortified you mortified my sordid eyes
sheepishly i wore their hide, masking i was absorbed in lies.

Yet still i faced imprisonment legitimate uncomfortably,
because if somebody in front of me is damaged
I'll bandage what's ravaged despite it taxing my canvas
and for some savages brandishing manic life tree branches
it leaves them no choice but to take advantage at all chances.

She kept altering shape, but one facet remained the same,
those manipulative ways, so it seems insane to claim
that she'd ever change. I'm kinda glad to know though,
that blood won't flow from a stone's throw,
but your Medusa poker face has made me prone
vulnerable and immobile.
I guess that explains your insensitivity
to these injuries, considering your abrasive delivery
when tossing me around deliberately is just rock
skipping and glee.
Track Name: Intertwining Storytime
Intertwining Storytime

Ken:
Life is just an intertwining story time and starting ending all the time,
it's never ending in my life is just an intertwining story time
and starting ending all the time its never ending in my life
its just an intertwining story time and starting ending all the time
its never ending in my life, its never ending in my life.
and you are waiting for the ending never want to miss the ending
but the next beginning comes before the end don't miss the next beginning.

AllOne:
Life is simply existence dense with constant events,
complex only in that everything in that label is able
to produce and duplicate permutations infinitely definitely
intertwining, winding, finding action and reaction compliments
to the constant complex of flexible creatures
proximity, abilities and interactive compatibility,
from billions of amoebas bumping and bouncing
to hundreds of thousands of militant ants to grand plants
to man's hands wrapping axes issuing hatchet slasher's durability
tests to trees bark to arc creation to waking dingos
going to the opening racing in the wake of fat actress
operatic blasting in an attic where rats startle panicking
wives picture dusting and reminiscence rummaging,
Lives are all intertwined, kind of akin to a twine spun
and time's just a way to date and weigh events created
satiating and catering to our homo sapient craving for shaping
a colander to tunnel vision, funnel instants allowing housing
for the memories we harbor indefinitely charting our sands on
a calender, lending a defending armor and determining the
deterring terminal moments we burnt our hands as the twine
we're trying to grasp ran through our clasped digits,
paradoxically fidgeting constantly trying to define
a phenomenon now known as time. In our high on
pattern verity, we dare to speak vocabulary
pretentiously, casually, decisive "divinity" devices,
pathetically but for the meaning we're athletically weakly
seeking weekly our interest peaks and as I'm speaking
sonically ironically, my minutes keep ticking brief!

I yearn to cut what we know to spite the face of a clock,
and as it's hand's wave ticking me off, enraged I yell "STOP!"
yet it continues as it will do until my chamber's cease pumping
"Take your time!" so speaks someone! "but time takes my aims,
and seconds play these games, and the minutes like to race"
but the hours are ours to manipulate
as a way to map and play what has and hasn't yet taken place.
And philosophizing on the topic is swallowing clock ticks like Peter Pan's
croc did, I'm well aware of this. But I dare to give my time
and share all this to say "beware of carelessness" and the most
poignant line, no time to stall:
"Recognize when we have the time of our lives we rarely have the time at all"
But regardless of what you draw from this, entertainment,
epiphany or cautiousness this reading, performance or recording will affect
your story as well as mine.
Fast forward or rewind, in time we all intertwine!
Fast forward or rewind, in time we all intertwine!

If life is a story I'm writing chapters with exciting sentences full of
suspenseful sentimental elements with actions acting as pencil.

If life is a story them I'm penning novel times, reminding me cloud
minded kin to judge the binding by the silver lining.

If life is a story then I'm illustrating the greatest things with pigments
and ink from the figments and inklings of my thinking.

If life is a story then I'm inviting you to read my log and write along
because language was invented for dialogue to be implemented
to the development of connections

If life is a story, need I reminds we're all authors alive, infinitely
contributing to new beautiful books we write?

If life is a story to be written and read, pick up your pen, intersect
and intertwining prior to your ink time and lead running empty
hence THE END!

Ken:
Life is just an intertwining story time and starting ending all the time,
it's never ending in my life is just an intertwining story time
and starting ending all the time its never ending in my life
its just an intertwining story time and starting ending all the time
its never ending in my life, its never ending in my life.
and you are waiting for the ending never want to miss the ending
but the next beginning comes before the end don't miss the next beginning.
Track Name: Twilight Blues
AllOne's Verse:
Street veterans with no heroes or heroins, just the one they're peddling
and inject in them, as they morn the absence of dead heroes that protected them.
In the wreckage left of this haggard urban
compassion abandoned gangland babylong-gone
tots nimbly naively hopscotch in father figure faded off chalk shapes,
Where mothers hope to keep their daughters safe,
and son's are lost of they're caught going on the train the wrong way
or were engaged in ball too late, where girls just grown are awfully raped,
old enough to want escape young enough though to recall a game
of jump rope with caution tape,
synchronizing steps with symphonies acquired
by the wolf-gang war near gunshots fired,
while you can barely hear the distant diabolic whining
of dominantly dirty cop's sirens,
The good ones are frightened
and the bad ones are frightening
and frankly its tiring
the plethora of reports teen orphans call in,
about how often reports reap poor brothers fallen,
we all wish it would halt, yet don't help stop it,
the only offered caliber education at a constant,
obtained is retaining what the stock of a glock is,
and if you don't have a quick draw kid you'll retain some lead,
you can bet they wont be quick to draw your shape on the cement,
As the days event's of drug hustles remain swept
under the rug smuggled, laying it over blood puddles
for the white white collar numbskulls,
who've never succumbed to struggle,
to get offended or become puzzled.
By the image of a human skull imbued with slugs,
We just damn up the flood of the damned so they're comfortable
In their monochromatic leave it to beaver lives,
don't want em to panic, grieve or be surprised,
So they continue producing products to keep us enticed
Including the kids killed commanded in streets each night
by coveting veteran gang's leaders to fight
for colors more important for them than stars, stripes and eagle's flight,
that floats above most of us that seem to like to believe we're all alright,
but come down to our town and see some sights,
observe some of these evil plights,
Your views of peace just might
change if you can escape and leave with your life.
Track Name: The Awakening
There is no salvation, there is only hell
No identification, there's no sense of self.
Only trepidation, in this lonely cell
Barren devastation, you know no one else.
Deaf Dumb and Complacent, what have you to sell?
Get them while their baking, swallow nothing well,
Life is what you've paid in, now an empty well.
There is no salvation there is only hell.

The difference between the living and the deceased,
Is that the living's appreciation for their position can decrease.
Despite seeing peace at a brief glimpse at existence,
With experience you'll meet the epiphany easily that this
globe overflowed with creeps is a post apocalyptic beast.
Paranoia, narrow views, hubris,
Mistrust, disgust, disillusionment discussed,
bus stops operate in poverty optics
appearing appallingly apparently as opportunity for mansion expansion.
Pan-opticon, conservatives, con artists,
preservatives, active in all available,
barely edible products of garbage,
politicians dishing out silver spoon lip
dinner bullshit charming with
quote unquoted harmless motives
Votive candle light vigil, vigilante,
anti-working man, manipulation,
shun the peace, piece of Jesus,
shoved at me subliminally
substituting sustenance supposedly,
the needy now are nuisances,
the greedy gluttons gather uselessness
with Jacked stock trade climbing like
jacked pot games for diamonds spades and aces
don't spare but strike and heartlessly club and spade the vagrants!
Happiness poisoned and displaced
jaded by this place's ugly faces.
You've come to the realization, there is no salvation.

There is no salvation, there is only hell
(There are revelations, heavens combat hells)
No identification, there's no sense of self.
(Only in isolation, does one find oneself)
Only trepidation, in this lonely cell
(Promote elevation, rise inside your cells)
Barren devastation, you know no one else.
(Through communication, you'll find someone else)
Deaf Dumb and Complacent, what have you to sell?
(In your pride's engagement, never swallow or sell)
Get them while their baking, swallow nothing well,
(You are your own nation, you must rule it well)
Life is what you've paid in, now an empty well.
(Yearning earning salivation, filling up your well)
There is no salvation, there is only hell
(There are revelations, heavens combat hells)

Suddenly timid desire for acquiring a smile kicks in,
even in the midst of a frigid environment,
the sky admits the sun has higher lit tips, to emit,
a beautiful fire with. Even burn victims, recognize
the gifts inside the flames a fire flicks.
Heat can defeat and deplete,
as much as complete and treat,
to relieve the leaves that leave the trees
eased down to bleed out on a cold concrete
terrible firmer, Terra-firma.
Success, essence of senselessness,
netted self appreciation in selflessness
Nestle leisurely, leaning nimbly with lovers,
Friendships, laughter, afternoons,
oozing with nonstop nonsense
ensues, soothing surety of elevation,
vacation taken with family milling
millions of miles from malevolence,
lancing violence and malnourished
issues of usual useful fulfillment, fueling
mental satiation and motivation.
You can't meet new friends if you don't meet new places,
and you can't tie loose ends if you don't step into others shoes and laces,
I'd hate to lose the faces that i relate with and those i may yet engage with,
the difference between life and death is between spiteful breaths, there's still hope for salvation.

There are revelations, heavens combat hells,
Only in isolation, does one find oneself,
Promote elevation, rise inside your cell,
Through communication, you'll find someone else,
In your pride's engagement, never swallow or sell,
You are your own nation, you must rule it well,
Yearning earning salivation, filling up your well.
There are revelations, heavens combat hells.
Life is our salvation, there was never hell,
only your creation, when choices don't bode well,
With some great elation, see there is no hell,
life is always changing, positivity swells,
Reactions are created, make heavens not hells,
with confident orchestration, combat demons well.
you are your salvation, you will combat hell.
Track Name: Circles
AllOne Verse:
I keep revolving but need to be involving revolution
lacking evolution i keep chasing my tail
and I can only write this stale stagnant
story in circles its boring, not mirthful.
And I'm running out of patience, pages and patients,
because too few vagrants in my vacant under appreciated
creative brain-space stayed under observation,
blatantly evaded and given no evaluation,
education or meditation to entertain fertilization,
and fermentation to revelations.
Pacing back and forth not elated yet complacent,
my heart is never racing as I'm rat racing
never chasing my dreams
but following my foot cold steps
from my vengeful shoulder chips
from my blue collared colder lips.
I shot remarks at my toe tags while biting the bullet,
grinding my teeth hoping to set a spark in the dark,
the skin of em tattooed with venomous
long winded business theories whispering eerily
in the darkness, doing donuts in my car just to
park this carcass harmed with hardships of
psychotic cyclonic twisters
with such ease that it made me uneasy.
Throwing towels in appeasing the opposing
bigger brother's sleazy teasing teachings
rather than my three sheets to the breeze was a breeze.
Candid freeze frames of my life,
can and did free and change my strife.
As i sat over those negatives, i understood they were just that.
The images stuck in my brain cause while
i wasn't grimacing I was feigning smiles...
And as tooth full as i had made them,
not truthful and violated
the useful and kinder way which
we humans desire to paint this
I grew new and I became this
pupil that night and changed since
my pupils dilated
upon the clues of my own wasted life
I presume looked like the hated
dutiful trite and faded
beautiful light which used to shine amazing
Illuminating the wall's writing and illustration: "DEAD END".
In the circle of life, you'll retrace your steps
and never regain your breath and if you follow the "O"
you'll bore your whole life and bore a hollow void hole
which will swallow your devoid soul.
Avoid running in circles, it's stunning and hurtful,
I dead end up with the sum of zero
and I just want the sum of one. I just want someone.
Track Name: Caution To The Wind
The first time I'll have to squint for a second to see,
courtesy of a binoculars glint in the mezzanine,
that's the tint in the glass that I've been on a quest to see,
Now I'll forever grin since my ambition is reached.

Will you throw three sheets to the wind and invest in the breeze?
Or throw the towel in to represent the death of dreams?
Throw caution to the wind, trust your chest and beats.
Don't throw the towel in to represent the death of dreams.

If life's a game then it's Jenga, as you play it wobbles,
but stability is your facility its your credibility if it topples.
Cobblestone roads may make your carriage jump,
but i propose a toast to folks who propose to coast
and manage those bumps.
Every rose can prick you and let the blood run,
but when you pick through for your loved ones,
compassion acts as a trick, true, glove to some
that no thorn can stick through, nor can it be undone.

Will you throw three sheets to the wind and invest in the breeze?
Or throw the towel in to represent the death of dreams?
Throw caution to the wind, trust your chest and beats.
Don't throw the towel in to represent the death of dreams.

If your wife and your spawn were in the eye of the storm,
and you on the outside of the swarm, you'd drive, climb,
fly and you'd crawl, setting aside your core inner survival war,
and easily be guided forward towards your kin despite how torn
your hide would score, you'd survive the tour, inspired by the spore
engorged with the need to see them thrive some more when you
provide them warmth....so provide them warmth!

Will you throw three sheets to the wind and invest in the breeze?
Or throw the towel in to represent the death of dreams?
Throw caution to the wind, trust your chest and beats.
Don't throw the towel in to represent the death of dreams.

Whether you provide a roof or fight the gloom
survive whatever colludes to bruise,
in order to divide your wounds from what purifies the room
inside your mind presume to provide what widens your smile soon
cause in life if you've been trying to find the truth
it's exciting what lies inside of you until your time concludes.