Get all 16 AllOne releases available on Bandcamp and save 10%.
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1. |
Thought Balloon Aeronaut
03:46
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Thought balloon aeronaut
Daydream nightmares that haunt
Dare to jot his scary thoughts
The Abyss is where I stare a lot
With tears I’m often blinking back
It’s winking back as I’m shrinking fast, Sinking sad
Ashamedly traded the thinking cap for a drinking glass
linking that:
I traded in my reading lamp for a streaming plan
Being bland, binging to stay up to date with water cooler talk
Luddite keeping up to pace with all the coolest thoughts
anachronistic paperbacks he carries with him sending letters
Griping ‘bout screens (ignoring life when you read is any better?!)
Look, I don’t know what’s going on
Been obsessed about what’s going wrong
In his thirties and he’s going strong?
Oh my God, nope he’s not!
woebegone moping lost
between a hard place and a lonely rock
growing moss only ‘cause its rolling stopped
I casually made a bucket list for clarity sake
Haven’t hit half of the aims,
basket slash charity case
Happiness fades all that it takes
is others’ undertones of anger and I anxiously shake
As the angst comes in waves
I don’t need the undertow to get carried away
If I don’t have a great day I tend to fancy my grave
frantically channeling the fact that I don’t have to equate
my meaning with completing tasks I rabidly chase
Dear diary,
Weary, aware I need rewiring
always been me and it feels tiring
Scary, that I feel like retiring
Dear diary,
I fear what’s inside of me
Clearly something lies beneath
My cheer always lies to me
It’s weird when I try to breathe
Thought-Balloon-Aeronaut
Wool-gathering careless thoughts
Terror plots that tear apart
His ever-odd errant heart
Every epiphanic breath of fresh oxygen gasped
Distractedly prompts the collapse
of the art-house-of-cards made of glass
I opted to stack and squat in the flat
Tried building but I squandered the chance
Judgement juggled scowls & rocks that I cast
Scatterbrained progress is trapped
in shattered strained horrible drafts
AdderAllOne, ADHD saw priorities mapped
and my God did it laugh me off of the path!
I’m an etch-a-sketch genius with Parkinson’s hands
Against the grain my magnum opus was carved in the sand
The tide rose washing it flat
depressed to see my work ethic starting to flag
The stars are at half-mast since my confidence passed
lost ‘cause I march to my heart and not with the band
mid-30’s unstable I feel I’m hardly a man
Imposter he’s playing 3-card-monte with masks
Feeling fraudulent it’s harder to ask
the cost of art from my fans
“Picasso’s Napkin” got tossed in the trash
I’ve no part in the larger market’s demands
Cut my ties to spare those involved in the cast
Forgot my lines, got stage fright, it’s all been an act
Kicking and screaming but my smile is the song and the dance
Dear diary,
Weary, aware I need rewiring
always been me and it feels tiring
Scary, that I feel like retiring
Dear diary,
I fear what’s inside of me
Clearly something lies beneath
My cheer always lies to me
It’s weird when I try to breathe
Thought balloon aeronaut
A botched era that errors blotch
Fight or flights of fancy carried off
A Scheherazade who bares it all
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2. |
Laniakea feat. Polaris
04:05
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Densely packaged atoms bursting
intensely blasted, vast dispersing
swerving debris, astral vapors
swirling dervish to breed in cosmic antechambers
churning Quantum matter, turning atomic data
into sinuous byzantine minute-strips
A momentous Mobius pattern with fathomless
infinite unfathomable labyrinths
collaborating to cobble,
copulating complicated Calabi-yau spaces
chronicled chaos, Hourigami menageries
Laniakea unfolding fractally
teasing out vibrant synced inventions
from a chrono-quilt life-stitch string dimension
Lift perception to conceptualize this:
An hourglass is every “grain” sliding
in an impossibly giant Time-sieve,
so on and so on inside them.
Hall of mirrors gallery, Kaleidoscope realities
enacting omni-directional gravity's
amalgamating-rituals cyclical
trans-dimensional meta-physical visuals
Continuumsumating the marriages' nuptials
enriching expanding/contracting stippling
Star chart canopy,
Noirboraetum drop cloth staggering
stark art galaxies with pockmark singularities
(Polaris:)
Cosmic insight into nova,
see the source of central aura
mind the space and its construction
unwrapped time entangled order
sublimate to resurrection,
infiltrate the shared projections
iterated worlds unfolding
decompressed to inner knowing
Verse 2 (AllOne):
All this limitless dancing
an intrinsically tacit
Brobdingnagian vastness
you cannot simply imagine
twinkling fragments
twisting and thrashing
enigmas are fashioned
with brilliant aspects
on a dizzying grand
obsidian canvas
Four Forces fornicate
to formulate and forge a matrix
a complex mosaic
of atomic information
correlating a core relayed
to flourish in space
a brush stroke of genius in a Boltzmann Brain
a cosmic display of caustic displacement
each micro-particle a part of the molded
macro and startling clone
if it makes you feel small you should know:
"as above so below"
every part of your code is a part of the whole,
from the Great Wall of Sloan, the largest of zones
to the stars and the holes, we can follow them home
to the marvelous globe we are calling our own
to the molecules flowing through hearts and our bones
Palindrome Kismet: the start IS the finish,
you feel that its true (the thought is intrinsic)
introspectrum in a telescope image
zooming OUT into a microscope vision
a cog in a clockwork, intricacaesium infinite
we're an anagram of all that this is
a conscious personification of existence
Polaris:
Connection in its strongest, subtlest form
Height of consciousness, central storm
we're awareness encased in flesh
diadem adorn a mind
above earthly complex
prefix to a lost word,
ascribed to knowing beyond language
fundamental holographic structure
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3. |
Don’t We?
03:54
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Underneath the uninterrupted heavens,
whether umbra crescent
or the blazing heat of sun is present,
buzzes the pleasant countries' resting rustic essence.
Farms and steeples, amiable charming people,
barns to weave through as flocks of children
dodge the villainous darning needles.
Kids huddling spying weevils, scuttling shiny beetles,
riding bikes down steep slopes, like little Evel Knievels,
quite bucolic: tykes are romping hiking stomping
sloshing spotted muddy piebald garments
time to collide and bond with mild gossip...
so I've opted to tread the ol' porch
of a general store,
that is decked with a dog-tired Sheriff with paws.
The air is a tour of an era before,
the hair of man at the register's surely less pepper than salt,
rambling better informant, local historian, raconteur rampant,
gently growls orders at ransacking grandkids,
in between draws from a pipe he had crafted,
sepia-toned tales, seeming outlandish.
Almanacs, atlases puzzling charts,
hand whittled nick-knacks in a musty bazaar
candy sticks, licorice, wax lips in dustiest jars!
Tread through a scene of meadows and streams
settle beneath an umbrella of trees,
cuddling your lover, leaned blushing wondering,
what'll come to be, in the sunny summer breeze,
whistling, humming, giggling, buzzing
bumblebees fluttering in shrubbery,
cattle meander in green pastures, marigold staffs of wheat.
Pass bashful sheep basking tranquilly
barn Tabbies splashing, catching minnow in a placid creek,
trampling kids laughing interrupt the basset napping 'neath
the shadow casting canopy.
Amid the brush and brambles, sparrows tweet.
A random BEEP,
Maybe that's a “peep”?
BEEP
nope, that's a beep!
rattled from a traffic dream,
cramped in a taxi seat,
half asleep, traveling in yet another fantasy.
Oh don't we long for,
days that are longer,
nights that are calmer,
all freckled with star burst,
Oh don't we long for,
nights that are longer,
days that will conjure
the fresh air and song birds
Underneath the much-contested skyline,
whether scythe slice or a dime sized
lunar glow's looming over or Helio's
heating bulb bright shine,
buzz the incessant hive mind,
rushing energized life,
rusty excessive pipelines,
as a billion blinding Iron Giant eyes,
fight for space with the lights of space, defying night.
Walk amid colossal grids, monstrous monuments,
modern monoliths that model metropolis.
A sardonic sardined populace, prospering,
corresponding with all of the continents,
in Gotham you're commonly brushing shoulders
with models, artists and novelists,
the gamut of the collar tints impoverished to the opulent
prodded and jogging quick, pulse throbbing with
the infectious energy of a collective that never sleeps,
a city where pressure peaks
A city of thousands of storefronts,
cast flickering halogen auras
on the cast of a billion prowling tourists,
buskers busily out on the corners
jazz billowing out of the doors from
café concerts, laughter conjured by stand up comics
Horses oddly trot in lockstep with the cautious clop of model's feet
wander an abnormal sea, the hustle & bustle buzz like swarms of bees
skin littered with tattoos, Fat Caps tag bricks scribbling graff runes
spazzed script stickers bands glue in bathrooms, rats zoom,
zig zag to mock flat capped cabbies on mad routes,
drive is a crapshoot, lives like bad news,
eyes like a raccoon, each day brand new.
Crash through the concrete cultural collage cacophony.
Crimson lights alter green, canary Taxis “honk” and “PEEP”.
Maybe that's a BEEP? PEEP! Nope, that's a peep!
Jostled by a common dream born of curiosity
a songbird's beak reports a boring rural scene
in store for me where I assuredly will yawn and fall asleep.
Oh don't we long for,
days that are longer,
nights that we'll romp forth
through culture and commerce.
Oh don't we long for,
nights that are longer,
days that we'll wander
through marvels so modern
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4. |
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AllOne:
The slick intro is a misnomer I trip over
Limbo sticks I’m in, imposing imps’ impulses
Since no pinhole Overton window his soul invokes
and so, it’s an insult (and dull) to indulge what’s in vogue
Kavi:
A bit closer, think I’m engulfed in a sick ulcer
Can’t stomach my kinfolk and I’ve been vulgar
The ink flows from my text style like a lint roller
To think sculptures in slumber are enclosures
AllOne:
On the edge of my seat wings may sprout on the way down
My tendency to leaping leaves me feeling weighed down
My breakout performance was a breakdown before this
Brain’s bound to storming and grey clouds are forming
Kavi:
Hey now, in the same crowd, but we’re isolated
Was awake when I was alone, I thought to hibernate
So when I start to write, I feel alright,
I might just be okay
Give it a little bit more time
The price to pay for a nicer days
Chorus:
I’m so fed up
I can’t sit down
I don’t fit in
Oh I’ll stand out
You know a dreamer by how much they got up through the night
when the top of the morning to you feels like bottom of the ninth
Kavi:
I don’t even know me
Grossly deposed to pose prose and
Post it, disposed of my homies
Hope it informs me or forms me to face my fears
Forced to own them and make them clear
AllOne:
Old fogey though no mellow tones dozing
Although beans don’t jolt me melatonin won’t slow me
Doh-see-dohing rope composed of exposed nerves twitching
Throwing goals towards trophies yelling “KOBE!” and missing
Kavi:
All I need is a pad and a pen
A patent to pend
The pattern dependent upon a battle or a platter of trends
I’m at it again, the matter my friends
I’m madder when I’m sitting outside the sad I invented, I’m ghost
ALLONE:
To sum up some days I succumb to such slumps
I suck up the sun but somewhat come undone
The sublime someones I’ve shut up or just shunned
I’ve chased dreams (a fun hunt, but what have I run from?)
Chorus
I’m so fed up
I can’t sit down
I don’t fit in
Oh I’ll stand out
You know a dreamer by how much they got up through the night
When the “ top of the morning to you“ feels like bottom of the ninth
I left field day when it wasn’t really left field
Writing takes me everywhere as if I wear a Press Shield
Head reels, miss me with the Zen zeal
Anxiety inside of me pinwheels in my entrails
I left field day when it wasn’t really left field
Deft spiels that my pen wields best deal
with the vexed feels that My quest yields
Yes REM heals but I dreamt Hells
and the world felt less real
Chorus:
I’m so fed up
I can’t sit down
I don’t fit in
Oh I’ll stand out
You know a dreamer by how much they got up through the night
When the “top of the morning to you” feels like bottom of the ninth
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5. |
The Catch
02:27
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I've got NO WILL, cut into the fondant HURRY!
odd luck not some of AllOne's journey
no bills odd duck quirky, squawk absurdly, thought that he on drugs surely
Nope, Nil! never ripped bongs, got drunk, huffed flurries,
No pills, not a cut bod, buff burly,
Stone built jock, junked jerseys (a lot more burping than burpees)
No frills far flung from the posh yacht club prom hunk (nerdy)
dirty pop punk construct 13 curly mop up top dodged swirlees
Bookworm, never got thumped, fun flirty
No deal, not fucked early! Hot stuff jaw drop girlies
aw shucks! Pearlies flashed in the hall, flush, blush
Go steal-off probs 'cause he was called unworthy!
rode til the cops come “SCURRY!” Tony Hawk's jumps/tourneys
got us hopped up for the skate spots yearning for the fond rush
No chill! achtung conduct shock buzz surged me,
Hold still! Chatterbox jabberjaw had to talk squirmy
Jokes killed class clown caught, hushed got flunked thirsty
Goals build toward the top notch cream of the crop spot perceived
Gold gilded by a small-pond-scum-judge-hung-with-a-Tom-Thumb-jury
Chose thrills: I'm dumb firstly: Jackass mock-stunt jerk he scarred up worst he
Clone films: shot shop cart curb scenes, didn't shot put turkeys,
got punched, boxed nuts, drop blood, flawed dunce derpy
Gross filth! Awestruck, I'm nuts, law was Murphy's
Sold guilt, not much for the God stuff (curse me!)
Tone shrill, sternly mom was top-spun worried.
Rogue skills! Hip-hop part Rob Crumb, jot DUGGS, Rod Serling
(but uhh, slipshod improv, it's not sterling) earnestly
Broke quills (double entendre/pop-puns) birdies spurned me, spurred these
Poe's ilk Avant-word freak Poems 'til my palms stung, cured me
Soul Healed when I'm lodged stuck in the thought mud squirming
Old Hill (over it) blurting, “gosh I am bald!” yup, thirties!
But “I'm Young, mercy!” walloped by the hands that the clock spun, furious
Dope Still puts the walls up, locked up learning
I am the turn-key for which I have been searching!
All that I have ain't all I am
but all that I am is all I have.
I'm gonna catch this calling I have
but until I have don't call me a catch
All that I have ain't all I am
but all that I am is all I have.
I'm gonna catch this calling I have
but until I have don't call me a catch
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6. |
Sankofa
03:41
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I recall being crazy and young
when we'd climb trees and play in the sump
making forts out of great heaps of junk
in that break in the forest,
man that place was a dump!
Collecting boysenberries in buckets at schools
skating and jumping in pools
before age made us give up with its rules
location changing was the ugliest tool
it kept breaking us up, it was cruel!
Maybe I'm stuck in a fool's-
Golden-age-thinking-about the fonder days,
longing aches, a sepia toned nostalgia state
odd and strange: the teenagers on a stage
key players in my origins are locked away
hall of fame poignant role-players
roller hockey in the road later
Tony Hawk's Pro Skater,
Pokemon both games, sure
God we were obsessed!
now the only cards we collect
are to harvest our debts.
Young stories stand out like a pop-up book
Skateboards, games, girls and pop-punk hooks
All for one, one for all like a potluck cook
These snapshots stuck good, I only got one look
Invigorating potential and curious senses,
liberating infectious breadth of encouraging friendships,
Slurpee's from 711 Suburbia's network of fences
“come on Bruce, hop onto your Mongoose and stop through!”
the days ring a bell when we'd go to doors and knock too?
The gold weeks before the loan fees, the phones screens,
before the old knees, the dope fiends, and O.D.'s.
A bygone paragon of halcyon paradise
before the placid jobs, rapping songs, the adderall,
the Al-Anon, taxes, bosses, a pantheon of pals that romped
like Calvin/Hobbes, happy Gods free of stress
The only obstacles then we would ollie with friends.
Young stories stand out like a pop-up book
Skateboards, games, girls and pop-punk hooks
All for one, one for all like a potluck cook
These snapshots stuck good, I only got one look
What if nostalgia is a gilding of perception?
the filthiness gets swept with the guiltiness accepted
maybe looking back will always fill me with affection
letting go the past without diminishing its lessons
and looking toward the future to be building with intention
then I'll really be invested truly living in the present.
Informed by our past yet “living in the now” is a mantra
Back of my mind has front row tickets to Nostalgia dramas
My hometown is my proper Alma Mater
My childhood running crew were my Founding Fathers
My photo album is a binder full of holograms
bikes, Pogs, a lot of fads! Tomagachi's, Ollie practice
soccer Moms, hockey Dads, basketball karate classes
we had it all, it's all I have!
Naw, I can't envy the past too crazily,
Regardless of what happened then, it made me “ME”,
I have to thank Mom, she raised me and made me read
Dad played songs and sung...now I make CD's!
Young stories stand out like a pop-up book
Skateboards, games, girls and pop-punk hooks
All for one, one for all like a potluck cook
These snapshots stuck good, I only got one look
Young stories stand out like a pop-up book
Skateboards, games, girls and pop-punk hooks
All for one, one for all like a potluck cook
These snapshots stuck good, I only got one look
Clearly I carry on about the past a lot
I need to carry on from what's passed and gone
remember myself to maintain the path I'm on
no future when stuck in “the then” (a paradox):
I'll only treasure today tomorrow when treasure “the now”
But when remembering yesterday I'll neglect the day..how
can we be sure of identity when memory fades out?
Visionaries blind with their heads in a great cloud
just the same as the reminiscing when totally spaced out
Can't make a legacy for tomorrow without living in the now
and can't cherish that without looking back somehow...
What if nostalgia is a gilding of perception
the filthiness gets swept with the guiltiness accepted
maybe looking back will always fill me with affection
letting go the past without diminishing its lessons
and looking toward the future to be building with intention
then I'll really be invested truly living in the present
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7. |
Anodyne As Oblivion
02:44
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I always look nervous in an ATM mirror
Only stage frightened in this day-to-day theater
I know I can pay my bills during holiday months
love my family but candidly I don't really talk to them much
I'm horribly disorganized, sorta blinded by my starry eyes
talkative but often shy, I'm always sorry (I apologize)
I'm awkward and I'm thoughtful and I'm nauseously agreeable
gregarious but happiest 'round people who don't need me to
throat dry as hell, cry for help on a mic I yell and scream into
too stubborn to gulp in the water you would lead me to
I'm flaky, reminded of psoriasis,
hating my own skin since I was six,
Lately I've got zip in my pockets but
shaky hands and dryer lint
draining tired pen riddled my moleskin
zany psycho-glyphs scribble my two cents
I invest in costly contemplation
I'd confront my fears but my fear is confrontation
Cataloging his privilege sabotaged by his dizziness
rabid dog in the wilderness chatter is oddly Finnegan
manic as Robin Williams tragically robbed of will and his
hands are not on the wheel a wreck panicked raw as my welling lids
spastic he sobbing wilted and catatonic he still in bed
camouflaging an invalid catastrophically sinking in
mad at his loss of innocence, can't absolve what he didn't fix
stranded on Island (Gilligan) gasping cod lost his gills again
flailing in water missing fins trapped in the thought of sink or swim
family taught he is a fish having ignored his winged gift
frantically in an Iliad, fantasy my Achilles when
fancy himself as brilliant (frankly I am an idiot)
half the time I'm oblivious anodyne as oblivion
panting mime is a simpleton pantomiming his slitting wrists
drastically caught him giving in add a dime to his will I guess
had to dine on his guilt a dish snacking pride has been killing him
Feel I always look weird like a carnival mirror
I wear a mustache so my Poppy feels nearer
living in the shadow though their warmth is my sun
love the artistry but honestly was hurt less by stunts
My passion is undeniable, reliably unreliable
my discipline is pliable, often I'll do the unadvisable
my need for a shrink is sizable, liable to indict the undiagnosed
lying to himself selling some kind of bull like “that's a viable sign of growth.”
Emotionaut: when I'm low enough I wanna go and jump off something high
Although I'm not, when I'm broken up I feel alone and dumb and blind
My throat in knots, I choke and sob, I hope I'm hung to die
My focus naught, in a smoke and fog, hardly holding on to life
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8. |
Feeling Things
03:51
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9. |
Heart Syncing
04:25
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Are you strung along?
Or does a longing have you highly strung?
let's underline some stuff:
so focused on the “u” inside of “us”
meanwhile they're crushed,
lying under the underlying crush
plus dismissal you're tired of:
troubled by the sum's lopsidedness
I realize it's tough but ”unrequited love” just might be “love”
revising what you've defined defiantly,
blinded by your biased miser lust
Do you not feel “liked enough?”
does nothing feel like enough?
See of course it undermines
your fun looking to “even score”
and you can't tie them up!
Exercise your trust!
So possessive so expectant
selfish feeling so neglected
codependent, owed in friendships
so bereft of self-love, goes collecting
in overt desperate coping methods
to goad attention faux connecting
Study OSHO's lessons: be your own investment
when alone at home don't be lonely, instead
grow to feel at home alone in your own head!
That Beyonce line burns,
I never met a heart made like hers,
“indecision” named my curse
she takes flight first, the space//time hurts
the late nights blur, “ZONED OUT”
... I ate my words and it tastes like dirt.
Chorus:
Every dog has its day while I'm feeling fenced in
shocked by the walls put up since we're electric
in the dog house, let's walk together! I'll fetch/sit
by a door/"bye", "adore" wagging like our swaying tale of friendship
Every dog has its day, drop the ball, I'll fetch please
drop a line, strung along, roped in by the best leash
Red Rover, “get over it” got a bone to pick,
dig and conceal
Please throw me it, I know some tricks
I only wish you'd shown me how to “heel”
Are you tiptoeing around your needs
astounded by your alchemy
crowding the boundaries
like “girl, you can count on me!”
glowing outwardly out to please,
(glowering down deep about to scream)
gold heart sinking profoundly
when they confoundedly
choose a partner who pushed them harder,
and didn't linger with limbo lingo,
ardor isn't skittish didn't mix his signals,
charmer simply mingled, proved his use & wants
no cowardly pussy footing through a yard of eggshells,
arbitrary stupid mantras:
“don't assume, you'll harm her!”
inconsiderate pseudo honorable refusal to truly bond,
absence makes the heart grow fonder?
distance makes a heart grow armor
soon she's moving on, you misconstrue as "karma"
Occam's Razor: uncomplicated dominates with warmth
I'll obey ya, I'm no Bae and I'm a beta unimportant!
Martyr favor: I'll be patient, I'll wait, supportive,
solemn nature, forced grins, I'll behave won't forfeit
I'm the favorite I'm so sure this truth won't be the ignored and
"She'll stop this phase inevitably", the mirage is tempting
a collage of envy left me all but empty
"she'll get the signals, recall the synchronicity
she'll be single soon and call" I sing so desperately
**Chorus**
Every dog has its day while I'm feeling fenced in
shocked by the walls put up since we're electric
in the dog house, let's walk together! I'll fetch/sit
by a door/"bye", "adore", wagging like our swaying tale of friendship
Every dog has its day drop the ball I'll fetch, please
drop a line, strung along, roped in by the best leash
Red Rover, “get over it” got a bone to pick,
dig and conceal
Please throw me it, I know some tricks
I only wish you'd shown me how to “heel”
are you on the sidelines, following the guidelines
Mr. Right type, white knight try to be the nice guy,
finish last on the bench though
fight to win the eyed prize, punch drunk, back against ropes,
write romantic bylines yet you get “goodbye” lines,
in a message sent through fence post.
And so, what the Hell's a “friend zone”?
oh affection won't cut it?
You're cleverly grooming them from the get go
won't settle for less than “something more”
grabbed a net, stacked the deck PRESTO!
chased away what you were running toward
discern between “let's go!” and “let go”
shot down by what you're gunning for
underscore: “the route to Hell is made with best intention paving”
“the root/route of suffering is expectation” (hence bricklaying
a climax with the waiting game you're playing)
Funny nothing's looking up when your neck has been craning
to genuflect at their pedestal placement,
disingenuous pent up complaining
resenting displacement,
detesting a rejection that's never been plainer
a chest full of aches as you restlessly attempt to maintain
a friendship that's based in
a fetishized fantasized preference you gave it.
Over a decade ago my debut tattoo claimed “Nothing's Permanent”
It hurts more now that I'm still struggling learning it.
**Chorus**
Every dog has its day while I'm feeling fenced in
shocked by the walls put up since we're electric
in the dog house, let's walk together! I'll fetch/sit
by a door/"bye", "adore" wagging like our swaying tale of friendship
Every dog has its day, drop the ball, I'll fetch please
drop a line, strung along, roped in by the best leash
Red Rover, “get over it” got a bone to pick, dig and conceal
Please throw me it, I know some tricks
I only wish you'd shown me how to “heel”
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10. |
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Her brain so big it's suffocating sick,
crushed and marred her martyr heart,
far too smart, too hard to start when day begins
low-rating, degrading her radiance
negating wins once wage a wince
key detail, locked in cagey craziness
gray and draining, raining drips
bathing in self-medicating binge
take a sip sedating it,
take a hit, to aid a bit
maybe trip, escape the shit
daily shifts shift daily, vacant sieve
draw shades, withdraw to shadiness
dark rooms develop negatives
hanging whichever way you're framing it
Traitorous explosive persona traits trade her in
her brain begins to swell
she's hating hints of help
I lamely wish her well
she made a space to stray away
from her strained blast radius
pressure builds, ascending guilt descending greatly quick
marooned to more ruin in moored room isolationist
Nihilist, enlists annihilation, it's just too late I guess.
There are few times more lonely and/or destitute
than when it's two am and I'm never getting texts from you
and it's 2 degrees, I'm in new streets,
I'm thinking of something you said
while I'm overhearing lovers from a window overhead...
Am I the wrong actor or is this the wrong play?
I fumble often and drop the ball when playing the long game.
I am a two-cents impulse spender getting short changed.
Lately my core aches
correlating with unsure courses' sure changes!
The-short term-longing explains my long face.
I moonlight as a howling lone wolf mourning your phases.
Maybe I can navigate my torn brain if
I can guide my life through these tour dates.
I am the road block,
rerouted/outed in favor of a detour taken
as a short-cut-off at the dead-end of a long day.
Hurdle jumping-vault-safety net Fall guy on-call-waiting
who will Spring to action on-time in any and all off-days.
"Point taken" when the wound pours where the double edged sword's placed.
Ordeals get o'er complicated and ornate,
as I'm my mind's ordained worst-critic
judge of character-flaws drained
and guiltily morphing all states of mind to exhausting court cases.
Tied up hung jury for a gallows-humorist orator.
Rubbernecker swallows pride or ate
a humble-apple-of-my-eye-pie or aids
a drowning love of-my-lifeguard at the shore waving,
tides rise as my tied tired arms hug a
memory-sea-foam-form fading,
helpless yells get hopeless as the storm rages.
There are few times more lonely and/or destitute
than when it's two am and I'm never getting texts from you
and it's 2 degrees, treading new streets,
I'm thinking of something you said
while I'm overhearing lovers from a window overhead
|
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11. |
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|
His heart so big it's thudding quaking, sick
crushed and marred his martyr brain,
far too maimed to name what's paining him.
High-praise ingratiating quips,
translating to evasive trends,
Invasive: I'm painted less
a partner, more a patient when
my condition was critical? YOUR disposition was critical
claim love's unconditional but measure it with yardsticks you use,
hammer in your views with gavels when you muse
“It didn't feel intimate with you it felt clinical.”
Concerned he's losing love, worried I'm doing drugs
Sue me! What? Who are you to judge?
take a sip, a soothing buzz,
take a hit to loosen up,
take a hint and loosen up!
push my buttons, button my lip, push him away then,
pillow talk: insecurity-blanket-statements
A fixer-upper, uppers as elixirs taken
my fixer lover fixated on aiding
lends stigmata hands waving pointer fingers gravely
condescending faces (blatant accusation)
Patronized again.
I've been an idle mess immobilized in bed
crying stressed wishing life would end
blind depressed, high in a drugged gloom
Hence why I don't send spry bright-eyed texts
to undue pining threads prying for what I've been up to.
I'm incensed, as far as I can sense, since I'm defective
he come's through, a prime directive's as my detective
FUCK YOU! I resent it, I'm defensive, I'm defecting.
There are few times more lonely and/or destitute
than when it's 2pm and I get incessant texts from you
depressed to new degrees, still in my sheets,
I'm thinking of nothing but death
while the light is being kept out by the curtains overhead.
I don't want to be here. I don't want to BE at all.
You want to be it all, be involved, see it solved
We're in different places:
your dreamer heart reached for stars free from harm,
I'm beneath the sheets in dark, eager not to breathe too hard,
chemical-balancing act, in a strait-jacket leotard
you want me on arms, 'cause you see P.R.
your movie kiss is C.P.R. we're on different pages:
I practice signatures for D.N.R.'s
I'm reclusive, “We should talk” he's clueless!
See, I take issue with you when you take my issues with you and
don't share happiness, embarrassed to compare it with my struggling
what happens is I'm anxious that I've dragged you into suffering
were exclusive, not excluding, excuse me as I flee, strained.
See, it ain't being replaced or erased
I need the graceful leeway of a clean slate
Wasn't keeping score but it replays
we harmonized and the score was a keepsake
a restrained melody sweetly played,
when I changed my tune, I noted he stayed
locked out by the key change.
Each day it's hard enough to wake up,
I don't want to worry whether I've measured or shaped up.
Hoping for a hand to hold no handler or a judge.
Wanted warmth, got a pity vigil candle burnt to adjust.
Decidedly it's aged us, my silence is an Aegis.
Watching over me and looking down are not the same love.
You always want to save me? I don't want to save us.
So focused on the broken so then maybe we should break up.
There are few times more lonely and/or destitute
than when it's 2pm and I get incessant texts from you
depressed to new degrees, still in my sheets,
I'm thinking of nothing but death
while the light is being kept out by the curtains overhead
|
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12. |
Constant Reminders
04:45
|
|||
|
Nana let me feel “Lamb's Ears” leaves in the garden
I played her piano like a drum kit, thoughtless
rearranged cushions and blankets to make forts with
birthday cake mountains and spearmint forests
Teddy Graham kids rode Zebra Gum toboggans
Tom Kincaid puzzles and countless collages
T-shirts, Stockings and handmade garlands
She put my bath towels in the dryer to warm them...
Relating our relationship, still it's fading and I'm hating it
if this is fate, then I'll fake that “I'm okay with it”
Feigning praying, taking hints from savior's gifts
allaying the ache as I'm laying awake,
saying “She's in a greater place than this”
I can't claim the unwavering faith she did,
See, Nana was the closest thing to saintliness
that may exist, candidate for angel's wings
Instead? She got amnesiac rays to grip
her waxing waning drifting fall from gracefulness
her data list that fades to bits in a gray abyss
we are strained and wincing pained witnesses like Daedalus
When all you can seem to type is a backspace
and all you can seem to write is a blank page
[Constant reminders]
When your locket suddenly contains a stock portrait
and strangers came to visit claiming they're your kids
[Constant reminders]
Dad says, “Accept the light! You'll catch a sign,
receptive senses will get the message find..”
[Constant reminders]
Michelle is your daughter, your sons Joe and Shawn,
yes you have grand-kids, your husband is gone.
Brutal truths, cognizant. Screws go loose, cogs with it
“Who is who?” cognition soon removed // blocked switches
Nothing is a mnemonic, everything you knew? Lost it.
Language lost its nuances, all has labeled “New” on it.
Best friend “So and so” Recall? dial tone.
Hold the phone: lights are on, no one's home. Mind is gone.
Broken code dialogue, non-sequitur dying thoughts
nonsensical mind discards heirlooms.
All luminous soon to dim, something in the air looms
didn't dare to visit there
(too scared of her blank stare through a bare room.)
Withering away, whittled at her weight, wishing is a waste
riddles me with shame, didn't even stay with her in a way
when dementia set in and decayed wits within her brain,
wrinkled in the face. Arthritic and brittle and dwindling and dazed.
A mother whose warm who struggled through wars
what to do for someone whose poor mind's shutting truth's doors?
can't jog memory, it's run its due course
cast aside highlight reel, cutting room floor
when you forgot me instead of coming through more,
I forgot you instead of loving you more.
When you forgot YOU I should have been there for you
but you weren't there IN you, it was unbearable.
A cataract to hindsight/
20/20 has been 86'd
nostalgia turned a blind eye
writing memoirs with eraser tips
A cataract to hindsight
20/20 has been 86'd
nostalgia turned a blind eye
writing memoirs with eraser tips
When all you can seem to type is a backspace
and all you can seem to write is a blank page
[Constant reminders]
When your locket suddenly contains a stock portrait
and strangers came to visit claiming they're your kids
[Constant reminders]
Love note writer, birthday card underliner
warm as milk and honey in recliners by the fire
[Constant reminders]
A creator: puzzles, baking , drawing crafting
t-shirts, stockings, garlands, quilts and family...
Everything you did, you did it with love
now everything sticks on the tip of your tongue
family tree's chipper trunk now a stick in the mud
imprisoned and stuck in this shriveling husk
It's at best an upsetting attempt to connect with a
heavenly friend with a bright calm
excellent head now remember less what she treasured
her chest held a kind heart
I'll wrestle to never forget this exceptional Icon,
susceptible defenseless to threats by identity theft,
a memory bank heist con
empty and spent an irreparable debt, a deficit met
and a high cost
severance check an unsettling mess from a marionette
collecting the threads quite lost
a knotted ball of yarns you're attempting to shed light on
nodding off and on while inept in a bed, eyes glossed
bereft of everything special you kept,
descended to death in a pine box,
shreds of evidence spread unkempt,
nothing indelible left with her mind gone
(Save for our memory
so we'll savor our memory
and save her with our memories)
|
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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.
AllOne recommends:
Run For Your Lives!
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More Than Skies
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Join Us
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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,
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featured on Bandcamp Radio Jun 3, 2022
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