The Inevitable Effort

by AllOne

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about

An audio-biographical portrait of the artist as a young man. Exploring my obsession and experience with my craft from all angles.

The positives and negatives of selfishly making what pleases me while simultaneously altruistically hoping to please everyone else.

An attempt to understand myself and motives, while helping people to understand me, but perhaps most importantly, to help them learn about themselves as well. The pain of taking myself apart to learn my inner workings. Hopefully saving you some of the pain by using my own learned assembly instructions as a shortcut to your own self-realization.

An 11 part profile and confessional to anyone who has supported or inspired me, as well as a love letter and acknowledgement to and of the thought process that drives me to write this very love letter the way I have.

credits

released June 10, 2012

Lyrics written and performed by Bruce "AllOne" Pandolfo. Production by Charlie Button. Recording, Mixing and Mastering by Michael Korb. Album artwork by Evan "Attaboy" Bujold.

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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: The Inevitable Effort
Intentional: I never said this obsession was effortless.
Essential: Intelligence, eloquence and excellence.
Exceptional: That's what I especially expect from this.
Inevitable: For the records kids, that's what this effort is.

I'm a suburban kid, but I feel at home living through different projects/
Following Homer though no "dough" or Simpsons watching/
I mean the Ill-I-Add with the Odd-I-See in scripted concepts/
The studio's a part meant(apartment) for All One Room's letters addressed in complex/
Songs as architecture, our linguistics are tools and building block sets/
I hope to Frank Lloyd Write my way to notable diction conquest/
Consider my decisions pompous, literal descriptive bombast/
but my Shining shouldn't be Overlooked for Thinner prospects/
One day they'll say “a King wrote these words” ...I'm Richard Bachmann/
regardless of lack of incurred profits, I promise I'll always make my “living” off this/
And since I've Great Expectations like I'm Dickens, often/
I get “let down” like locks of hair before women wash it/
bright idea! Lamp rub, I dream the Djinn is tonic, and I'm wishing on this/
I needn't novel ideas in this chapter to serve sentences: Mr. convict/
My penitentiary is the pen is the sword, some sort of Swiss made object/
I'm not a fighter but love is a battlefield and this is the conflict/
King Arthur Conan The Barbarian Doyle, fitted to fight, and fit to solve it/
wheels spinning, pistons jogging, gears turning, I'm driven constantly/
Steering seeking success which could be a given, honest/
if I could give in honor and settle for simplistic garbage/
but since this 80's baby may be plagued with ADHD, system glitching locking/
My brain and I we'll add our all, when putting a riddle in written contents/
so with ease I'll be drawn to canvas distant options/
these gimmick artists want to ink for paper like H.P. with their nonsense/
It's Ironic they don't Love Craft, so they make horrific monstrous/
attempts at art like Pickman's products/
Caught red handed crimson palmist/
in the band-wagon if the radio's flyer in your opinion novice/
These piggish starlets make “success” a joke like a lisping problem/
I'm an energetic rhythmic talking, effervescent vivid pontiff
with invigorating preaching stimulating theses and this isn't calmin'
(no, this isn't “common”)
My lines go up on over heads, like visa-a-vis scribbled topics/
most my performances boast Cheers like they live in Boston/
taverns equipped with rockets, this bar has risen farthest/
put your hands and music standards up and grip it hardest/
listeners: progress begins at long last the strengthening lifting process...

Intentional: I never said this obsession was effortless.
Essential: Intelligence, eloquence and excellence.
Exceptional: That's what I especially expect from this.
Inevitable: For your efforts kids, that's what this record is.
Track Name: Grab The Horns
I'm desiring my insightful minded atoms (adam's) to make a Dent
like Hitchhiker's Guide and since I was nine I've been finding
it's a thrilling science, writing, kinda like I'm Michael Crichton
So I'm delighted when the lines that I've designed and rhymed
are listened to and complied with as though provided by Simon.
Sometimes my fans inquire “AllOne we love the sentiments you ponder,
but they're getting hard to harbor, why not settle instead of wander,
on the vessel of the sonic instrumentals that you wanna slyly
pen a bit of your proper timely rhetoric in your mantra's rhyme schemes?”
Which is when I'll then respond and try teaching,
“hasn't your generous affection hinged on my thoughtful side themes?
Well I experiment at a constant to keep my mind free
which then again reminds me you can't spell “generic” without “genre, I C(I see)”.
My a capellas have hushed pubs where crowds were acting rowdy,
and my rapping's turned taciturn cafes nerds to fans clapping, loudly
why chase the goal and easy route of adapting to my surroundings,
when I'm capable of changing all the patterns right around me?

I'm influenced by authors and poets as much as music's might,
I utilize my muses ideas to entice beautiful lines,
I'll never choose to write aggressive stupid rhymes resembling useless fights,
and if I do decide to grab the bull by the horns,
It'll be to teach him to use em nice, to incite these soothing vibes,
to keep you moving right on through the night.

I'm not creative I just see places some haven't yet,
an imaginative frantic head, and a passionate acumen for tapping pens,
a palette wet with havoc and invasive crazies like George A. Romero's active set,
"Lights camera action" said, with that attempt to pass a test,
can I invest my time as masterfully as I have in the past
and dress the canvas while I act possessed like Isaac Mendes
and step back and just ask if I've manifested and managed
to capture a handle on my craft, and hope the answer's yes.
I'm mad, obsessed perhaps a drastic standard set but in my ideal work you can feel words,
I'm Neil Peart with steel nerves beating my head on conundrums in a field search to yield worth.

I'm influenced by authors and poets as much as music's might,
I utilize my muses ideas to entice beautiful lines,
I'll never choose to write aggressive stupid rhymes resembling useless fights,
and if I do decide to grab the bull by the horns,
It'll be to teach him to use em nice, to incite these soothing vibes,
to keep you moving right on through the night.

Some curtains are closed and drawn but my hope is not,
I'm holding on, my sense of knowing strong, my future's close to wrought
like Tobin's palm, I chase it like a homing dog, basset face, overall,
I'll be over, all ears if you're a basket case woven wrong
with salt tears when life seems cloaked in flaws, if you need me just blow the horns.
I'm influenced by authors and poets as much as music's might,
I utilize my muses ideas to entice beautiful lines,
I'll never choose to write aggressive stupid rhymes resembling useless fights,
and if I do decide to grab the bull by the horns,
It'll be to teach him to use em nice, to incite these soothing vibes,
to keep you moving right on through the night.
Track Name: Build Here
I never want to wake with the thought
that I'm a slave to a cause that don't elate me at all.
Life is way too short to spend the days I'm allotted
complacent and cross, sedated and drawn in a matrix mirage,
hating my job, staring blank at a clock,
neighbors vacant and lost, blatantly bored,
the smile on each face has dissolved or stayed a blanketed fraud.
If this is a description of the place that you're caught,
played as a pawn, restrained by the law, and wage that's just wrong.
Go on and break the facade. Your situation is hard,
I know you need to make it, but God,
whats the rate of the cost? My prose tries to weigh out the cons,
between the gain and the loss. Don't end up gray in a fog,
summon your greatest of want's, and then create it cause ya'll
always got what it takes, now just take what it's got!
You gotta save up, savings? Save integrity.
We're getting billed here? build here, make your legacy.
Tax paid, cash fades rent's steep; Sam's gaze, glance glaze dense sleep,
fast pace sad shame spent week; ran great pathways breath heaves
lap maze, rat race get cheese; tail chase, can't make ends meet.
Ouroborus full circle biting our feet so passively,
The laborious aura bore us knives that have breached our back, as we're
crying a screech of agony, collars white as a bleach soaked tapestry
brows and noses too high to receive the tragedy,
hiding between the pageantry, blinded by gleaming glam and greed,
cash enacts cataracts like Charron asks to see the silver lining as fee for passage reaped,
it's a crime they'd be paid so handsomely as everything's getting ugly when trying to feed our families,
we're Leslie in Terabithia, dying to reach our fantasies.
---------------------------------------------------------
Now “The Secret” is about the laws of attraction,
and I agree with it despite some flaws in the practice,
I believe that if you involve all your passion,
and intrigue with things including hardworking action,
and keep persisting even if the obstacles' massive,
then you will seize your interests passing problems to clash with,
but if you plead and sit horribly stagnant,
with your dreams fixated on thoughts of your mansion,
squeezing fists calling God into fashion,
your fleeting wish as a bargaining tactic,
then that's when your “Secret” remains exactly that since,
you'll never know it, notice when you're drawn to something
you gotta sketch plans to draw it back in.
You gotta save up savings? Save integrity.
We're getting billed here? build here, make your legacy.
I believe it's true that anything you seek to do
is feasibly achievable with reach and pull,
nothing is unreasonable, and even though you think you know
your dreams and hopes. To see the whole of what you seek to own,
you gotta get a kick out of the things you tote,
have a ball which aids achieving goals,
like Jonathan Livingston Seagull's soul
tried teaching folks with sweeping flowing wings in tow.
You gotta save up savings? Save integrity.
We're getting billed here? build here, make your legacy.
Track Name: Homesick Is Where The Heart Is
I'm home sick but needed to move out
All alone in the streets of this new town,
on a road trip, try teaching it to crowds,
The things that I grew, sprouted
since leaving my root's grounds.

My roots my throne and place,
my roost, my home estate,
is blue as ever, though its almost gray.
a poet'd claim it's a moping complaining
man whose bones would quake,
when the weakest wind would blow its frame,
adjacent to the school we used to go and skate,
or when was cold we'd play with snowy caves or,
sneak into the sump's slopes to sleigh
something spellbinding experienced in them slower days,
but oddly Newfield is starting to feel Old and Plain,
after Jericho my folks only waited two grades,
to nomad stray mobile and stake tents down,
3 rooms just won't contain six now,
Smithtown was unknown and strange,
I was stubborn, seldom a social strain,
unapproachable homesick for Selden, strode and slaved
to visit it sit with my kin since I felt solely safe.
After I awoke and gained friends, sold insane flicks
returned in '08, to live with old neighbors in a low-rate,
donated crib, off the philanthropy and love of Loretta and my homie Greg,
that's family enough, indefinitely I owe you thanks,
after two years, in my chosen quaint abode and base
I shed that shed, for a higher calling that phoned my brain,
off the Rolodex of notes I'd take in between working
that fast food pass through window and late night
strolls that glowed with brake lights noses cloaked in fragrant
smoke and spray cans when I'd gaze as Roamer stained a DaVinci Coding glaze
over the gross mundane chicken scratch on bricks with tats
from toys who gloated game but know no grace,
An era, I mostly crave, I've groaning crazed,
sinking shrinking feelings but also growing pains,
I know the saying “nothing gold can stay” this felt this potent sagely
quote retained the woeful dates the ghosts of greats like Poppy and Dano's
souls were towed away, At last: it abated shoulder's weight I took it to motivate.
so I hit the blotched road that's way overdue for coat of paint
and repair of those potholes like graves that pockmark its broken face
to go and make a show out of my boldest traits,
with what I wrote on page printed, when I flow on stage spitting
in hopes to change listeners and bestow the same wisdom.

I'm home sick but needed to move out
All alone in the streets of this new town,
on a road trip, try teaching it to crowds,
The things that I grew, sprouted
since leaving my root's grounds.

To be honest and admit it, I'd rather pay homage than a visit,
to the stomping grounds I lived in, as its odd all of the differences
the altering businesses, in the faltering flimsy strips.
The boarded up windows split from the mom-n-pop's withering,
the nostalgia I get hit with, as my childhood's reminisced.
Call it a haunt with conviction, with all the horror considered when,
seeing the hollow eyed filthy kids, who are clawing to fill a fix,
the mauling of innocence, shredded to shriveled bits of festering filaments.
No belonging's felt in the midst of this just nauseousness from homesickness.
When I'm taking stock of things altered on my old property,
frustrated feelin' like a foreign freak,
now I talk on beats recording these philosophies intensified
all with the oddest feeling of destiny to represent these times,
with a legacy I intend to write in songs to feed my obsolete
friends a sense of pride. Despite that when I get to see them
it's never what I'd expect to find.
All listeners by the stereo can picture this scenario:
Suddenly I get to bump
into someone I haven't seen in 7 months,
spend a couple minutes catching up,
some retrospective chuckles on
how our friendship was
talk about what severed us,
exchange cell numbers,
It's never mentioned but
I knew he blew off my message once,
we swear we'll change our ways
after we take our separate ones,
well its another several months,
the phone's yet to buzz,
I guess I should expect as much,
in these situations it rarely ever does,
so my sincerest respect and love
to all of those who've kept in touch.

I'm home sick but needed to move out
All alone in the streets of this new town,
on a road trip, try teaching it to crowds,
The things that I grew, sprouted
since leaving my root's grounds.
Track Name: I Get Down
When they “Get Down”
it's dancing in a session or rapping with aggression.
When I “Get Down”
it's a rapid sick descent into sadness and depression
I got to wishing that if I had half the optimism or
the proper wisdom in my doctorate writtens
then I could boldly pay tenfold the cost of living.
I'm not as altruistic as I've intuition with predictions,
I read my ripping palms enough minutes to gather my grip on
reality and the bar I set at a dizzying distance is slipping.
You relate to it? Gosh I'm glad I fathered it!
But if you hate it then I'm a dead beat dad no one should bother with.
Little orphan ante-up no clue who my daughter is,
but if shes made of songs I writ I'm grateful my name won't be carried on by this.
“All” right? Harsh I guess, but not preposterous
I'm a presumptuous pessimistic glutton for punishment,
starving artist loving the blood I lick off my upper lip,
Scrumptious the succulent failure tastes like puzzlement,
the bludgeoning resulting from suffering with
a subtle hint of crushed up wishes crumbled in.
No hip rap or hit tracks, but I laughably intend to make an impact
so I never hit that hay, only used sheets are loose leaf getting wet,
burning midnight oil and the wick at each end. my eyes bleeding and red
ironic all these dreams I invent but I'll sleep when I'm dead.
My infectious obsession with this craft as captain is hazardous,
reclusive passionate rationing social status just to hatch all this,
tragic mess, rotten nest egg in one basket's net, run the numbers on the abacus,
dashing a mini tour through my collapsing elaborate cerebral labyrinth,
Masochist, give my jaw's glass a jagged kiss, kicked to the curb stomp shatter it then
slash your wrists, my cardiac's intense at times I feel I'll crack a rib,
I'm an ass attached to my master's caravan masked with a canvas tent,
Miscarriage baby talk this is a blasphemous sick marriage,
the black swan song rings a wedding bell I'm alarmed when I'm asking this:
“Is a greater creative Cabinet the catalyst or is it my craftsmanship?”
or “Would I'd rather them love me or my opus magnum manuscript?”
and I'm rattled when I don't know how to answer them.

When they “Get Down”
it's dancing in a session or rapping with aggression.
When I “Get Down”
it's a rapid sick descent into sadness and depression

Strange I notice I feel more comfortable in front of those thick,
big crowds but when I'm off stage I feel more safe once it thins down.
Assumed I knew the ins and outs of this town, but I sense something
fishy about it similar to Innsmouth. Sinister, unsafe in my own skin now.
I sit down with my pen plow and till doubts until clouds spill spout significance.
Take my moleskin and Bic, and quilt myself a chrysalis,
Hurricane Houdini butterfly effect twister swiveling,
listeners permit and consider this my will in script,
I wish my commemorative obelisk to be a spigot serving
the thirsty an opulent oasis to drink it, taste it and fill their fix.
Down the rabbit hole like Lewis Carol wrote
of Alice though it's dangerous unknowing
where you have to go, ask Joyce Carol Oates.
To be honest I feel monstrous like Charlize Theron
or Christina, both, While I attempt genius strokes
contemplating alienation as when Edith wrote Ethan Frome.
Downhill, upset, set up, off kilter,
downright up tight, insight blindsided,
out of luck, in the wrong, I'm finished and nothing's done.
Understand I'm overwhelmed, “well, so?” or “So Well!”?
Heavenly to have a hell, rained parade dry spell,
spellbound and bound to spell, keep to myself, no one to tell.
Upstanding, downtrodden, glass ceiling rock bottom,
hard headed, soft spoken, close minded talks open,
fixated on broken, shrink my head thoughts growing,
black sheep brown nosing, red eyed out of the blue,
yellow belly I'm marooned, purple bruises white lie,
wet ears dry eyes, let me go, squeeze me tight,
push me off, please pull it, pillow talk, sheet music,
feel deserted, water bed, squared off circle of friends,
scared straight, round the bend, starting over at the end,
heart murmur getting loud, nothing's right, left out,
down to earth, head in clouds, swimmingly, getting drowned,
getting lost while I've found, I'm giving up when getting down.

When they “Get Down”
it's dancing in a session or rapping with aggression.
When I “Get Down”
it's a rapid sick descent into sadness and depression
Track Name: What's Your Problem?
My boss sucks, I've fallen on hard luck,
I went to Starbucks and my cold drink had a warm cup!
I think this stain's indelible, right on my expensive clothes,
The service here is terrible, the food is barely edible
This is hell! F.M.L. Kill myself! OMG I'm so obese... I just won't eat.
I'm losing control of things, somebody console me please!
Although I need it, I can't update my statuses cause
my computer's slow as molasses, Just like this morning's flow of traffic,
REAALLY?? OF COURSE I'm the tragic sap who this would happen to,
yeah its true this town's boring god damn it soon
I have to move out this grueling crappy tomb,
Every accident is brutal I scream as every,
task is stupid I need to feed the cat,
my plans got canceled and I'm fuming,
really screaming mad as life's seriously so bad...
the example and proof: my DVD is scratched when
There's nothing to watch on television,
I've got awful cell reception,
my Ipod's got no internet,
and I can't check my twitter trends!
My phone isn't receiving texts,
My girlfriend's acting weird again,
I don't think that we're having sex
I don't think they liked my set!
My teacher wants a novel read
tomorrow, yet I ain't bought it and
I can't afford the rent since all my check
was lost to getting vodka shots or pot with friends.
I gotta do chores, fold and change clothes
wash floors, do dishes, Windex windows.
Weeping yesterday's half memorable mopes.
Worried about tomorrow as all weather brings woes.
Summer's too warm! Fall's too cold!
Spring brings storms! Winter brings snow!
When its raining its pouring, exaggerating your mourning!
We always have to complain, another manic mundane.

What's your problem? Have you got one?
Is that really worth stressing?
What's your problem? Have you got one?
Have a little perspective.

Some loved ones get beaten regularly braving through the hell,
Mom gets chemotherapy and radiation killing intruding cells,
She dances her grueling daily routine despite her cancer,
as she cares for four kids, a full time job, and housekeeping standards.
my friend's father passed for a stomach attack of the same pattern,
but to his last day he acted in ways to inspire belly laughter.
My friend lost her best to a murderer,
a mentally vexed mess of an ex who had hurt her,
then looked a shotgun in it's face flare staring,
a hell of an escape plan there's a twist:
he left livin' their infant son to raised by grandparents.
Ain't it sick? The community I assist are autistic
or afflicted with different deficient conditions,
from down's syndrome to wheelchair bound living
they're uplifting and upstanding citizens
despite their illnesses they're often altruistic or optimistic.
I know great women who were rape victims,
and daily they push persistent, insistent there's passion
within men and women yet, never hopeless.
My one friend is obsessed with syringes and always dope sick,
when controlling dozing while most my graduate class is overdosing,
Every city I've visited is riddled with the homeless,
With the local paper as a cold evader and 2 worn coats for an abode,
Bless my sister, bold Lex isn't much more than a decade old yet,
is restrained in a brace in pain daily with scoliosis
but her pride props up her posture arched proper
with nonchalance the way she shoulders it.
My old friend's been a soldier since '07
and can't be in large crowds without
scoping openings or groping for a holster's grip.
And that's just a tear drop in the ocean,
Oh, did you have something woefully potent to throw in?

What's your problem? Have you got one?
Is that really worth stressing?
What's your problem? Have you got one?
Have a little perspective.
Track Name: Brainstorm Of The Century
There's a brain storm on the way
and no, it ain't gonna rain on your parade!
And when it rolls in, all water will nourish,
and know this: all thought is encouraged!
I traded in my T.V. Stand for a reading lamp,
just how things went in the Pandolfo breeding camp,
It's obnoxious to Mom that I'm agnostic, but I believe in man,
No God complex,
so I'm content when I seemingly can't reach these masses!
I've got a mind that's easily distracted,
often my train of thought's derailed off a steady track.
I'm afraid I'll drive myself insane into a deadly crash
and I lost my self of self to selflessness, is it selfish to get it back?
My quest is to absolve my real inner madness,
and solve my specific goal to appeal to broad and genuine demographic,
Explore the depths of my heart and head while representing every faction.
Some days that head is light, while that heart's a heavy package.
Contrasting facts! I stumble frantic in a steady panic,
groping through a mental fog, dense, I manage
as I'm desperately grasping: as long as I hold onto something
I won't come out empty handed!
Besides, I figure most of my worries are petty sadness,
So If I get “down” it'll be water off my feathered pack!
But is that gonna matter whenever the levy cracks?
I made a forced entry man!
Brain's torn up the sentries, I'm cutting out the power trips,
Brain storm of the century, I'm shutting down this power grid,
Your fans turn fin's feeding frenzy sharks devouring,
Friends in my social circle supply me silver clouded glints!
Gonna make those puckered lips when limelight starts souring?
I'm beaming, being bright might aid me in my darkest hour's tests!

There's a brain storm on the way
and no, it ain't gonna rain on your parade!
And when it rolls in, all water will nourish,
and know this: all thought is encouraged!
Can I think? I think I can! I can? I think!
I think I can... Keep Pushing. Pull Through
Keep Pushing Pull Through. I think I can, I think I can.
Nothing recycled, No throwaway,
the syllables I've placed are only
stepping stones I've laid to pave
a road I take to all the goals I crave.
Trying to mostly stay a grounded person,
down to earth and navigate my hopefully potent way.
Slay my strain, day by day, negate my pain,
We've separated but it's okay, I'm grateful
we spent that time we paid due to passion,
that's in my memory bank I've saved.
And naturally I miss you but it's
actually instrumental in aiding me to change my aims.
My sense of direction is one of the poorest, honest.
The cost is I've been lost but the incentive is
I've thought and pondered as I've walked this forest,
now I know where I'm destined, towards forward progress
my GPS is confidence and thank heavens for a hell of a moral compass.
You wanna make tight music? Try loosening up a bit!
My discography is just my audible bucket list
Knowing your calling doesn't help if you hang up on it,
and the world only makes sense if you keep in touch with it
Sometimes I feel small when everything's considered,
so the way to be seen and make one is grow with the bigger picture,
float in the dreamy river and flow with it's weaving slither,
Odd how you learn true outlooks by groping and seeking inwards.

I reach to be a finder of sense of several ways like synesthesia kinda,
I've written “eureka”s to inspire, those who've given help, whom I ceaselessly admire,
Our bond ain't broke when the bard with obesity is hired,
payback is needed for your guidance thus
attempting teaching to acquire it but hey I'm preaching to the choir listen.

There's a brain storm on the way
and no, it ain't gonna rain on your parade!
And when it rolls in, all water will nourish,
and know this: all thought is encouraged!
Can I think? I think I can! I can? I think!
I think I can... Keep Pushing. Pull Through
Keep Pushing Pull Through.
I think I can, I think I can.
Track Name: Never Stopping
Even when you’re swamped in a murky mess,
Fog vision all dim and blurriness,
observe the tests with assured alertness,
scale constricting walls like a serpent’s flesh,
though the woes grown out of throes of surface threats,
keep deep sleep cheap absurd offense, I prefer no rest
when the work's intense, even worse I accept no certain death
activate a reanimation like Herbert West!
Well, words? I would marry ‘em (Merriam),
conjoining with Webster, appointing an expert,
employing my mentor’s advice and avoiding the censors,
the paper my cloister, the scepter? A pen.
I’m destroying my specters, luckily coining things head first,
hoisting a quenched thirst for a foray of finesse in a portrait in excerpt,
deploying conjectures, anoint and affect those enjoying my efforts,
thus future’s poise and it’s vector, much like The Toynbee Convector.
If I'm a Reeve, it's of the Keanu Breed,
Despite all my horseplay,
I've not to be crippled by common office deeds(coming off of steeds),
and I deal with my demons, dub me Constantine
while I've gotta keep moving at a constant Speed,
Perpetual progress, see impossibly I jot these things
and I've not even stopped to think.
If life’s a game of hopscotch, I’d rather think outside the box,
walk my own distinctive line of chalk, conch shell amplify,
launch tales gratified, all sail passing by the onslaught,
All’s thought: ““All’s well that ends well”?
Well. ends that we'll all fill are awful”
Some ends life summons will haunt at the sum and
cost justify the means if the deceased has reached its' zenith.
Apex marks the spot that I’m seeing run my seeking,
keeping my friends, leaving the threats, leaping the fence,
keep my eyes that I dot on the prize that I want,
cross the “T”s and my fingers that no tease is
across to bear teeth and lash-bare-back like Jesus of Nazareth,
every crown of thorns has a rose, Lazarus,
sun rise like one eye of Apollo, appalled, low-ball,
no bull, noble shall stroll no plank, never horizontal.
If I'm a Reeve, it's of the Keanu Breed,
Despite all my horseplay,
I've not to be crippled by common office deeds(coming off of steeds),
and I deal with my demons, dub me Constantine
while I've gotta keep moving at a constant Speed,
Perpetual progress, see impossibly I jot these things
and I've not even stopped to think.
I won’t lie in peace till my own time to leave,
breathe a lone sigh of relief,
bone-dry, low-tide-up, mummified, pulled by a time-tow-line,
When I know I spoke my poems scribed till my throat cried,
and wrote fine folks' lives' pages from my strode migration,
provides aching I wrestle squids off the precipice of coastlines,
in my Pen-Man-Ship to get some extra tints to sow my
better scripts in the edifice of my honed mind
and etch it in my genesis till the ink in my tome dries.
Note why the days roll by ‘cause you’ve no drive to share more.
Dare force: third eye’s a charm go ahead and stare storm.
I’m calm before you and soar through in rare form.
Well, Claiborne the truth’s Ring eclipses their lore,
therefore I’m Icarus, equipped quills wings affixed to make me airborne.
If I'm a Reeve, it's of the Keanu Breed,
Despite all my horseplay,
I've not to be crippled by common office deeds(coming off of steeds),
and I deal with my demons, dub me Constantine
while I've gotta keep moving at a constant Speed,
Perpetual progress, see impossibly I jot these things
and I've not even stopped to think.
But singeing the wick at twin ends,
dissents the wickedness dispensed by Rah’s rays,
so I’ve no descent candle maneuvers,
Yahweh, bounding dogged, Alpha Dog and albatross sailing into the
enveloping glare of luminance, nothing can cancel my ruthless
plan to land and then roost in my ideal tangible future
bound by compassionate sutures,
I’ll only drop wax to seal my fate when my letters are through
and then death gets my stamp of approval.
Track Name: Time Capsule
My legacies' intended to be outta this world Buzz Aldrin,
world? Tour it, orbit a month 'round it,
Son once in a blue one our dark sides are dumbfounded,
the boy who raved and cried club howling
was dubbed doubtlessly to have touched talent
when we're fulfilled, by wax n' wane at night judgment's clouded
clearly that's a phase where standards fade
that'll blaze bright when sunrise comes crowning,
if punchlines are your one pride, punch out then,
You hang with cats that are fake and striped, pouncing
plus pal if you write on the strip for a Bill, you're really just Calvin.
Ironic I'm the one foul kid pissin' fountains
on your gimmick Faustian labels wishing you're getting ousted,
funny to fit in you're switching your outfits.
I swear on every good book in literature,
I'll never buy bull within your written scripture,
Give this kid a shot and I'll black out for minutes with the bars like it didn't hit my liver,
if you think you're divine (Devine), boy I'll (Boyle), mark em (Markum) missing,
kids sure think this is Mystic River as the underground time I have spent,
rendered me twisted, ensuring that I'll live life quite obsessed 'til I die by the Penn.
If you're a writer well then you're Orwell, typed words are predicting gloom.
I'm getting confused, a lack of moral fiber's resulting in shit produced?
Assholes, this is what you need to be pushing it for,
You fucking suck, what for a buck? but your woman's the whore?
you have no real goals though you're looking to score?
You need your heart in the art before your foot in the door.

Your music's worth is measured as we sell it when the cash is tight.
My music's worth is cherished while it plays to help get past those times.
Your rhyme battle manuscripts ain't time capsule candidates.

Why does no one on your V.I.P list define genius?
Just monochromatic cats that make car tunes like that feline Felix,
Honestly that just defies reason, these guys seizing,
3 times week's rent in green by breathing,
success at least might breed them to be quite decent,
the beat aligns and meets rhymes seamless,
the CD is the seed easily spied seen sick,
single songs should stand alone and shouldn't need ninth remixes,
stop on a dime a dozen emcee, 'til we might squeeze just
two cents a fee fined frequent, then glue them until, each line's teaching,
feed fine pieces require rewind reading, to really reap my refined meanings,
guarantees I'm teeming with replay value just by my elbow design's greasing.
You have the privilege of being literate and you squander it,
the topics picked are illegitimate lethargic garbage,
misogynistic garbled vomit barfed on all your discs,
not ever attempting an honest confession or thoughtful invention,
no novelist settings, social/political comments intelligent problems,
just the stocks of weapons and aggressive arguments are you in offices,
model as a leader if you want to get a following.
Its the sonic Apocalypse, Bruce is bonkers as Arkham in Gotham
just pondering the horrible concept and awful chance that
your discography could possibly be harvested by archaeologists.
I'm not a fan of the associates you've been coddling,
I'm here with a batch of lore (bachelor) and consciousness,
I've mastered pure with confidence to take the craft and surely doctor it.
My lyrics were taught in colleges, and you've got profit-marginal-success?
It's odd at best that you can't “straight back” your words despite all
your posturing, not ponderous, not positive, you postulate,
to motivate the thoughts of kids with concepts writ on glocks and spliffs?
You oscillate as you talk of blades and poorly turn away
from the fan-base that got you rich.
Wash your palms of all of this regardless your soapbox is nixed,
Soapy is an obvious example, as it's O'Henry's ironic twist
when any one “copped” your hit anthem a despondent
audience was arrested when they ought not have been.

Your music's worth is measured as we sell it when the cash is tight.
My music's worth is cherished while it plays to help get past those times.
Your rhyme battle manuscripts ain't time capsule candidates.
These corporate puppets of the corpulent uppers,
look to sign their souls, to those who've designed a hoax
devising binding, for blind control via ties that choke,
suits them right I suppose, Gepetto's
these “real” boys call their rhyming dope,
no surprise your whole fan bases' eyes are closed,
ya'll think lying's code for fine approach?
Tryin' to grow a giant nose?
Mine's been groping the grinding stone,
while trying to hone the finer poems
I write in hopes to supply a dose
of vibes to cope on microphones.
Make art out of literacy, and a mark with your minstrelsy,
Be a bard built with mystery, Try exploring your history,
why such harm, hurt and misery? We act hard when we're withering.
Why not charm and some chivalry, something smarter and interesting?
And if you're gonna “charge” for delivery
at least “express” something outside of the box that you're shipping me.

Your music's worth is measured as we sell it when the cash is tight.
My music's worth is cherished while it plays to help get past those times.
Your rhyme battle manuscripts ain't time capsule candidates.
Track Name: This Is For
This is for those who drop money in the tip jar,
and love in the hugs that have helped me get this far.

This is for y'all who're leaning against the wall
too squeamish to talk, and get the meaning of songs.

This is for those that take the time to say I spoke to them,
and helped to dull a broken edge with something that my poem said.

Playing this trashy club or ratty pub,
I don't get that cafe love from nasty drunks, sad enough,
they can't keep up so they pass me up, uncanny huh?
Gnarled into wretched darkness
with a carving board of pen and parchment,
particles of pleasure parted
these tardy tourists tend to tarnish
when farming for affection's farfetched
cause I'm largely more than petty garments,
and smart when every sentence started,
so I'm a starving for attention artist:
I demand supply! Yeah it's fine if they're the placid type,
but they're too quiet, or only dance and imbibe,
I'm saddened by it, looking out into the crowd
Scan the night, and the fact is, right: there's a “Bar Code”:
these numbers only fancy lines that are black and white.
Feeling miserable after I play a bar or party scene,
spitting wisdom while they chatter blatantly ignoring me
cause I'm not your typical rapper, cliche beats and forced esteem,
I've reached my pinnacle after days and weeks of quarantine,
So I can't be cynical when reacting in response to the
Whimsical distracted lames who breed despondency,
It's a privilege having the stage to speak the thoughts we think,
My fan-base is minimal but they're family and quality.
Plus what's critical in my artistry are the same individualistic properties
that consistently make it hard for me to relate to the ridiculous majority.

This isn't for the sheep disinterested in wool gathering,
we shoot for the moon while you're distracted by the wolf howling,

This is for kids who enjoy when a book's challenging,
who took hours to read lyrics I put out on sheets.

This is for fans of me, who care for me, we're family,
we're All-One, hold a hand and breathe bonded candidly.

Y'all keep raising the roof, 'til you're breaking it through
making the stage into Houston, the PA into boosters,
and since I appreciate them, I'll prove it by,
taking the few supporters I made with this music
soaring straight out the roost towards the craters and dunes
on the porous face of the moon to course away from this ruse!
Major Tom to ground control, play my songs you found my soul,
you may respond with sounds of hope, to make a bond without the rope.
Most Hip-hop critics typically bark wishin' me to stick with
traditional influence bumping trunk style since I just
branch out betwixt the underground they think I'm leaving
The Roots weirdly considering instruments and singing bits,
Meanwhile musicians quip I ought to quit
the intricate spitting quick. Continuously
pushing “rock” like they're Sisyphus,
All this seems ridiculous, I'm sick of it.
First and foremost simpletons I'm a lyricist,
and I've solely allegiances to the envisioned scripts
I'm in love with penning, alright enough already,
interesting how I customize everything so none of it's customary.
Through months of sweating a couple sketchy weak performances,
I come to getting open love from many locked within my key audience.
I keep pouring this heart into the bubbling recipe of unique formulas
to uncover ecstasy from this witches steaming cauldron mix.
Okay sure, I guess I've a niche of microscopic width.
It's not the response you get, its all how you respond to it.
If you're lost and confused, to offer the truth,
I sort of am too, so endurance ensues
as I record in the booth, its immortalized proof
of me talking to you to assure and improve
and ensure that the wounds of us all will be soothed.
For me performing this music is more therapeutic than sports or the booze is,
all of y'all are my muses, I hope that it's mutual this pure gratitude,
for the owners of ears this is pouring into, it's an honor to do.

This is four; syllables in the term“Appreciate”
for all of you who've seen me play,
I love you and you keep me sane.

This is four; words, my wrists read to then pass on,
to give peace amidst bad parts, “Live Easy and Laugh Hard”

This is four; letters, “LOVE” I have it for each of those
I manage to reach through poems elaborate speeches know,
my practicin' preachin prose, is gratitude, peace lets grow.
Track Name: Etch
At times I'm an awkward geek,
but I'll give you a gorgeous week, if you walk with me,
I'm poor and weak, but gimme a chance I've got a bit to offer, please,
talk is cheap, that sort of theme is
what they were leading to mean by freedom of speech.
Here's the riot act, I need it to preach,
Illiterates are spineless hacks it seems we'll see
they're too dull to make the cut, increase or decease
here's a novel, judge it by the cover to cover, read it and weep,
Seriously read in between the lines,
I'm eager to see the signs
of grieving and peace in your eyes
when there are streams on your cheeks as you cry
Any tough exterior that seems so pristine on a guy
Examine the interior, no guts, squeamish feel free to come by
and see a soul that's inexperienced, meager, meek and benign,
No attacks taxed assumed aesthetics accessed,
Hasn't assessed all abject assets that he has yet,
so here's my tactic, welcome to class, yes
sit down lets practice, get to the point like a cactus
or brass tacks, hey that's synonymous colloquially,
Isn't it a sin, all you've missed decoding vocally?
See how fun it can be integrating inquiries linguistically?
Hello masculinity, glad you had the availability,
now lets test your ability with a little vulnerability,
See what testosterone monster dose
can pick up once he drops his whole guard to folks,
Observe how juggernauts are slowed when all alone,
walls are broke and calm is known with flaws exposed!
I want to see Mr. gruff gritty buff quitting,
tough silly bluff fitting in to take up knitting, hug kiddies, pups, kitties,
once blitzkrieg's, done with these instructions he
may appreciate the crushed bricks, beams and destruction scenes
as much as admitting loving cuddling and just simply: stuff's pretty.
If its a circle of life, be well rounded, squares change up,
try angling your smiles to prove the hex are gone, shape up,
There more to living room than vanity, dress or make up,
If you'd only realize all the space your Armour takes up,
You'd have more room for company whenever they come.
I think you bit off more than you could chew when you ate lunch,
The pudding has the proof, so I wrote this verse with 8 cups.
All this food for thought comes off as true and it stays stuck,
At the counter running the numbers on the kitchen stool,
while sharpening my mind's canines bending the silver spoons.

See, hear,
it's bigger than you and I, so be ears,
this ain't just about me peers,
fifty five point three mere
million people die each year,
One could be you or me dear,
so I'm trying to be clear
I've got a heck of a hell of a long way while I speak here,
to etch and to tell in a song way before I leave here.
Why is it a barrage of ideas crowd me when walking and showering?
Is it because I'm cleansed drowning out the noise pollution of outer things?
Could it be that my traveling works on an object in motion etc. mentality?
I've got dirt under my nails, neighboring calluses, it's feeling empowering,
You can't push yourself until you've pushed something towering.
Oh, while on adventures and architecture,
that starts conjectures, “Oh god I bet ya here comes the lecture”:
Have you been to the mall lately? there's advertisements abundantly,
I enjoy the people, but the things that disgust me and puzzle me,
Encumbering companies' stunning streams distractingly flashing ugly,
junk machines with touch screens.
A commercial is an interlude to a bigger picture to enjoy and assess
All these multiplying Ads! Subtract chicanery, deploying duress!
dividing truth when they lie in our minds destroying finesse
They lie to our face then we buy it... but that's the point I guess
I digress, will I die? yes?
But Bruce's will is odd as Will is, when I smith my John Hancock,
I want to invent a clone of my genetic code so I can soil myself in the sandbox,
what a better way to spend the day than burying your old incarnation,
then visit every couple weeks and lay carnations
embracing engraved graves, till your arms start aching?
That's why we crowds been pushing ourselves till our hearts are pounding,
I'm only moving mountains to make graves out them
I'm sharpening my fountain of youth pen's prowess,
so I can imbue them with astounding profoundness.
Call me a “late” bloomer when I push daisy's after I'm grounded.
Because at the end of me, when my staff card's punched stamped and logged,
there's only memories that I've imprinted in your minds to pass along,
On second thought, some time A.D. I know I've got an ad to set in stone
and etch along an upper echelon before I'm dead and gone...
maybe it's better off that a mass of ya'll are
entranced in malls, impressionable and hard headed after all.
See, hear,
it's bigger than you and I, so be ears,
this ain't just about me peers,
fifty five point three mere
million people die each year,
One could be you or me dear,
so I'm trying to be clear
I've got a heck of a hell of a long way while I speak here,
to etch and to tell in a song way before I leave here.


This is creative expression,
displaying my essence,
relaying a message,
strange and eclectic,
greatest intentions,
I don't aim for “impressive”
I'm straining attempting
to make an impression.
Engrave it and etch it.