An ordinary lazy privileged day.
A bizarre unexplained event.
Horrified parents in the wake of a brutal tragedy.
Confused professionals
A government cover up.
A traumatized family.
"Sloth may not go unpunished thus spontaneous combustion"
A grim, surreal, didactic narrative.
lyrics
Hazel hazy lazy eyes open crazily,
confused and disappointed as reactions to a Zeitgeist tape scene.
Aging Apollo quite moved past high noon, waking
our appointed protagonist a handful of years after eighteen.
Kicks off rank sheets. Stomach grumbles, thinks he may eat.
Stumbles, navigating a trash mosaic like a found art painting.
Turn on his TV (HD). Preparing to play Wii.
(Well, he'll need to work up an appetite
to pacify the pain he's had inside for a straight week)
Straining, slaving into the bathroom, wash up his face, leak.
(which with morning wood is a hell of a strange deed).
Wait...Speaking of morning wood...”wake and bake please!”
Fillet trees, blaze weed, then pancake feast.
Fantasy is perfect, til' the agony resurfaces:
Gravely tasting copper in his drained cheeks.
Spits in the caked sink. Faucet drips, takes drink.
“What's causing this?!” he just asks J.C.
Draw a quick bath, get soaked, skip soap.
Mom's Pantene, lather rinse, nay repeat.
Step out, damp towel.
(Not daily in his grooming routine,
but nicotine stains teeth
so Colgate squeeze then brush teeth like baleen.)
Vaseline on dry skin, flaking then forgetting cosmetics,
offset as aching resumes greatly.
As he's pacing through his slaving
parent's place freeloading,
cheat coding pasty
character grabs used pants, change jeans, plain tee.
Needs phone, ungratefully sends mum a livid text:
a grocery list with no request and no respect:
“must call physician”.
He's been a lame leeching lowlife like this since the 80's,
parasitic methods since his parent's sympathetic.
Enter kitchen, ain't no need to touch the switch the sun's arisen,
already back to dusk it's drifting, “day's weak!”
Bust the fridge and thrust his fist in favorably chug provisions...
Sudden pressure, rage seething like Hades in his frame, he's
brittle, bent. Silhouette a little letter “r” shape,
seeps a similar sound escaping out
ululating a deranged screech.
CHORUS:
...As an author I should set the scene.
But these are horrors that no pen should speak....
Youth pondering a recipe:
product of excess and greed,
lethargy in the dead routine:
sedentary squalor, sloth sedative sees him,
squandering his energy,
all this thoughtlessly and recklessly,
all it needs expending see?
Awfully and wretchedly,
his body starts to retch and heave,
bloating as it's rendering,
he's clawing, crying desperately,
popping eyes like Mr. Bean,
coughing violent, vexed and green,
jaundiced guise as tension teems,
frothing bile levy freed,
atomic levels getting speed,
an appalling Pollack improv
sloshed upon the walls impressively.
With a sickening, deafening CRUNCH and POP
as the climaxed pressure peaks.
CHORUS:
...As an author I should set the scene.
But these are horrors that no pen should speak....
Mother walked in unsuspectingly and saw it all viscerally,
lost her lunch and fled and screamed.
(It isn't often red and pink organs as confetti streams,
cover the walls and everything amongst ungodly fetid stink.)
Father called the cops and tended to she, all the while stress and weep.
Authorities assessing deemed it unanimously puzzling.
Panic when some company men showed to handle it and hush the press.
Evading all the publicists and changing over subjects
when they came to gather coverage.
Later in the months that lead police labeled it disgusting,
the strangest they had come in contact with
no explanation, or a culprit, “Lovecraft-esque,”
To this day some bring it up, while the jade horns get to chuckling,
the laughter is labored by the first responder team
that cant erase the thoughts that stuck in them...
“Sloth may not go unpunished, thus spontaneous combustion”
was a theory in discussion popularly according to rumor mill mythology.
And these rotten things have haunted me
'cause while I'm not sure that I agree..
the story is true, I lost my son.
And I've dodged lethargy doggedly every day afraid that it might bottle up.
credits
from Whole > Sum Parts,
released March 26, 2019
Lyrics written and performed by Bruce "AllOne" Pandolfo
Guitars, drums, pianos and production, recording/mixing/mastering by Drip 'N' Drive
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.
Deeply vivid/introspective lyrics populate this ambitious folk rock project. The arrangements span from mellow/minimal to rocking and grandiose. Consistently emotive, unique and sincere. Brilliance. AllOne
Progressive yet punk, aggro yet emotional. One of my favorite bands from Long Island and doing everything they can to live up to their name, raising money for causes and making badass music, AllOne
