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I've Been Thinking​.​.​.

by AllOne

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1.
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.
2.
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.
3.
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.
4.
Zoned Out 05:14
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 fanciful flickers Cupid's gift even to "shoot the shit" who wouldn't wish on monkey's paws for this kind of night? I could die! eye to tiger eye (Life of Pi) It's Rocky inside this blind-tunnel-vision-of-love-boat your line of stripes, I idolize curious-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 third wheel hug you tender, weather ugly tense struggles with an ex, left high and dry...deserted in this therapeutic trend. vertigo, avert and go through it all depressed than risk pedaling next to the pedestal placed apex vexed, upsetting, upending it again as if peeking the pinnacle's peak I could ever rest/Everest?! "loose lips sink ships", "secrets don't make friends" but keeping secrets can keep friends safe in the end! the issue of emotions that go without saying is: what happens if you actually go without saying it? Every dog has its 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 boat, jump ship, overboard! friend zone. "loose lips sink ships" mum, though, in love SO DEEP! Romantic eye-full/Eiffel (Paris tones) supple sweet, down-trodden-periscope pair is gold, submarine! Synced up...I long to surface just to breathe these souls belong solely on the surface, so we slowly float to go beyond the surf and its subtleties never go beyond the surface and it's suddenly, a Sir fit to hug and needy surfeits of struggling some title, hint and tab. suds and tide pool's 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, can't gamble our extensive perfection for presumptuous preference of connection Every dog has its 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! Oh, misinterpretations lead to disappointed anger, feeling lead-on, weighed down by this appointed anchor it seems that the higher that you rank her, the more a siren's rejection inspires you rancor looking for any port in the storm and imagine as women, (especially talented and gorgeous) just looking for a friend, but everyone wants more and others have ulterior motives, you're "a tease" or "a slut" if you're open to closeness but at arms length, they focus on the shoulder chips of "a cold bitch" either way to my dismay, I can say 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 tow the fine line, that you think strings along towing you when I'm kind and produces kinks in yarns spinning yarns like yearning heads for those who are turning heads think about it: we put a tag in a place when something passes away and that is a shame. if you're infatuated, enamored, pacing waiting impatient for a relationship status to change if that is the case and that is your aim: is an animal great only once its captured and taken from it's natural state, sedated, named, packaged and caged, displayed, placed captive to claim: "I have it in my habitat I'm happy to say!" "validate me with valid dating or cast me away!" it's the trip not the pin drop that informs you you shouldn't feel bound to bind someone because a bond's true. most want their own somebody and warm truth, some want to own anybody, I warn you: there's a large difference between "I want you to be happy!" and "to be happy, I want you" Every dog has its 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!
5.
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?
6.
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.
7.
Roamer 05:05
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 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, anonymous and famous responsible for “Roam” like Romulus and Ramos 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 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 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 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. Jot it. Quote it. Scrawl it. So sick. Pops had told him. 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 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 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 gives 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...fact is, 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, 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
8.
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 Reciting 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.
9.
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 I'd guess the suicide was a success forensics figured it Fayes' fault and said Sydney an accomplice in his own end.
10.
Unbelievable 06:27
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!”
11.
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...
12.
Youthtopia 06:20
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!

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

Album art by Evan "Attaboy" Bujold
All lyrics written and performed by Bruce "AllOne" Pandolfo
(Additional Vocals on "Therapy Sessions" by Chatham Grey)
All Songs recorded and mixed and Mastered by Franky Bones of Down The Drain Productions
(except track 1 recorded and mixed by Austin "Drip N Drive" Sandick
and tracks 7, 9 and 11 tracked and mixed by Paul Faketselis)

To explore more of AllOne's catalog head to
Allonevoice.bandcamp.com
YouTube.com/allonevoice
Facebook.com/allonevoice
Soundcloud.com/allonevoice
Instagram.com/allonevoice

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Dope Sandwich Savannah, Georgia

Dope Sandwich is record label based in Savannah GA

info: dopesandwich@gmail.com

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