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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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about

A character profile of a friend. Making a name to make a name, creating an identity to find your own. The healing sanctuary of an art form. Replacing bad habits with different habits. The fascinating gritty beauty of graffiti.

lyrics

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

credits

from I've Been Thinking​.​.​., released May 3, 2016

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about

AllOne

Left-field rapper, slam poet, singer/songwriter, and author Bruce Pandolfo from Long Island.
Creating to connect. Obsessively exploring and creating art as healing and growing.

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