Saturday, June 24, 2017

DJ BMO & AllOne debut collaboration with "Anima Mundi" Remix!

DJ BMO aka Kyle Banks, who has been my DJ pretty officially since January 2016, just released his second EP "Phantasy"!  It is a MUST LISTEN! Especially for fans of EDM, Hip-Hop, electronica, dubstep, party music or any good hip hop.  I feel "Phantasy" is an improvement from his already impressive  "Bento Box" EP from last year.  Kyle is one of the most hard working and driven artists I know.  He is always pushing his craft, performing more nights a week than not and often creating new material for these sets constantly.  He rarely plays the same set twice and he is always doing something new and interesting.  Somehow in all the times we've performed together we have yet to collaborate...until now that is!
 On "Phantasy" Kyle remixed Gramatik's "Anima Mundi" for a closing song and did me the honor of asking me to rap on it.  He entrusted me with complete creative freedom. That's a dangerous thing to tell me.  Two weeks of writing and reciting later, I recorded the track with Franky Bones and sent Kyle the track. Luckily, he loves it.  And I do too.  I have provided the lyrics below, with some links to send you on some journeys to my references, some obvious, some a little obscure.  I feel this song sort of puts many of my favorite writing tools to use and I'm really happy with a lot of the new approaches and the journey that happens in the ebbing and flowing dynamics along the three movements in the song.  Grateful that someone like Kyle can make music that can move a crowd and still appreciate the merits of a more niche strain of hip-hop and poetry that can bring the listener on an intellectual and emotional quest.  I feel like we achieved that mobility and engaging experience here and I can't wait for us to collaborate again.







My mind's a blurred array
Of synapse fireworks displays
Immense thought-bubble-wand
Inside a hurricane
F5 Double-helix that is
winding words in ways
A blinding birth of brazen
Writing terms displaced
Kaleidoscope sight
For a sniper's nervous aim
Cause I'm not so precise
shotgun styled bursting brain
Like Kurt, Ernest and Hunter
Never curt while I earnestly hunt a
Curious learned hunger
Curing and earning hung up
humbled feelings by a jury of peers
My journey appears as a flurry of cheers
And injurious jeers am I worthy of ears?
Tearing up at the shared
Judgments of tertiary characters
Nearly thirty this year
It's a strange perspective
when you gain respect and 
your name's mentioned
in the same sentence
as praised legends
making you pay attention
yet it can't pay your rent and then when 
you're at the stage two steps away from your inspirations 
frustrated too few who review invitations
so you're at the stage wanting to step away from inspirations
Okay then...
Cells are bars I'm saying, I'm saying I'm stark raving
Art's a maze I'm locked away in, Lost In Space,
Flood of emotions, washing waves 
With decorative ardor to scar and stain 
an arboretum worth of parchment pages.

Tattoo a Giving Tree with vivid imagery 
continuing its gifts to me
Long after it was split and thieved.
Crystalline chrysalis breed 
butterfly-special-effects that live in me.
LS3D set displays with the letters making "Dedicated"
I max my accounts to invent escapes
Kyle banks on me to keep the bar set high
with Kyle Banks on my side, I guess that I invested right,
BMO? Gear up it's Adventure Time, the pleasure's mine,
assembling lines without assembly lines. 
No synthetic sterilized web of lies for catching flies, 
no ghost writers, though as we create we exorcise 
spinning heads unwind as ideas intertwine. 
we do seek beauty as we lose sleep to dreams
muse speaks we two drink creative juices leaked from the cherub's eyes!
Out of my mind. Out of this world.
Didn't plan it right, I'm saturnine.
Has a ring to it, am I Sadder? Nein! 
Just rarely satisfied Savant ascent to Avant-Asgard highs. 
Had to find my solid ground since
 I saw less solace 'round 
the soulless solitude 
of head-tripping in the thunderclouds.
It goes: "Howdy Bruce how are you?"
to summarize I'm lousy moods, 
sulkily submissive to summits
but how else would a mountain move?
Chased red-herrings through a stream of conscious talent pool.
Fecund head is fertile green with envy
food for thought feeding frenzy
envelopes get seen as lemmings
BMO remix getting you to change your standard speaker settings
this speaker's setting new standards on this beat I'm blessing
Inspiration's a cliffhanger
(What I mean is I can't see its ending!!)


Improvise throughout my envisioned life
til these dreams seem to be incidental,
coincidences in thread twists and ties
of spread decisions intertwined
in a mystifying time line of events and images
loosely connected with my very wishes 
and every whim and yet its gets so convoluted, 
at wits end and with what I'm choosing 
rarely seems to make any sense, 
each and every tether left 
in the ether born of "either/or" questions 
is an essential step requested to ascend to the pinnacle, 
and when inquest obstacles obscure my quest obsessions 
my intended successes tends to feel minuscule. 
Every individual deviating interlude 
in the path's a test, an interview
 begging "what is your single truth?”
and asks the depth it's written into you? 
needing to be explained.
False hopes whittle you, 
forked both crossroads riddle you 
Baby made in '88 maybe dazed, 
dazzling distractions dizzy you 
don't be downtrodden or cynical 
when footsteps on the ground jotted are symbols to
be added to a sound sum, 
an overall image worthy of zooming out from,
not only does it contribute, the journey is, too, the outcome,
Brainstorm Eureka's Castle, a moat made of flow-states.
Exclamation point looks like the light bulb over my "o face" (!)
we round up moments at a slow pace
the momentum on the road taken, 
life is a drive and time is in miles, 
once in a while ideals are stifled in prosaic
idling wiles detours from our goals made,
don't overlook memories 
derived from the wild off oft-beaten 
frequently filed feverishly hiked aisles 
designed to provide you climax, apex, your soles ache
the birds eye view you've climbed to in your old age,
each accomplishment represented by a tile your soul painted 
tired legs you'll see an entire legacy, a gold plated mosaic.

Thursday, June 1, 2017

Throughout June begins an interactive experiment... "CHALLENGING DAYS"!


Today (June 1st) kicks off a new journalistic experimental series called "Challenging Days"

My friend and creative brother-in-arts Phil Corso (Drummer of The Vigilance Committee and More Than Skies) and I conceived this fun interactive month-long experiment  called "Challenging Days".
 Each day throughout June, we will roll the bones to randomly choose a prompt, task or challenge from a predetermined list meant to shake our routines and perspectives and then reflectively report on the site how it went and what we experienced each day, hopefully feeling a little more informed or enlightened by the events or interactions we may not have otherwise engaged in!

My favorite part? We set it up on our website so that you all can be privy to the prompts of each day, participate and then submit your thoughts on the page in real time! 

 Visit https://alloneandphil.wixsite.com/challengingdays   see when each of the 30 challenges below will dictate our days and to keep up with our stories and muses as well as contribute your own stories as you do the challenges with us!!

THE CHALLENGES:

  1. Text someone you haven’t interacted with in years
  2. Buy a song from your childhood that’s no longer in your music library and listen today
  3. Go to some sort of museum
  4. Eat something you’ve never tried before
  5. Read/reflect on the lyrics to a song chosen by the other person
  6. Post a picture of yourself online
  7. Replace your coffee with tea, or your tea with coffee
  8. Give someone $5
  9. Go a day with your phone on airplane mode
  10. Wake up an hour earlier than you normally would
  11. Go to bed an hour later than you normally would
  12. Learn a new word and use it in a conversation or social media post
  13. Make a small donation to a charity of your choosing
  14. Save as much money in one day as possible
  15. Splurge and buy yourself something you’ve put off for a long time
  16. Have at least 3 actual phone conversations (**use your phone as a phone only?)
  17. Do not complain at all.
  18. Be more tacit, or talk succinctly.
  19. Take a walk for at least a half hour without headphones.
  20. Drink a gallon of water.
  21. Read a short story from an author whose work you've never read before.
  22. Meditate 10 minutes or more.
  23. Endeavor not to curse.
  24. See live music performed.
  25. Invite a friend to eat or hang with you that day. (Make and participate in plans)
  26. Prepare and eat a meal for yourself or others.
  27. Spend time Creating something (anything).
  28. Say yes to every offered opportunity or idea or suggestion . YES MAN DAY!
  29. Say “no” more often. (But not to this challenge.) Refuse things. Decline offers and requests.
  30. LIAR LIAR day! Tell no lies, be 100% direct and honest. “Sugar coat” nothing. Be unabashedly sincere.








Thursday, May 4, 2017

Flowery Language Growing Through Cracks In Concrete Rules

Hey there AllOne family,

Here is an essay blurb of sorts containing just a few thoughts on writing and expression.  This originated as a Facebook post that I put up as a discussion prompt after I scrolled past an advice column on editing....


    Now, I understand the intent and concept of these ideas and that these following "rules" I'm about to reference are circumstantial.  Also, in creative expression it is important to remember that no rules really need to be heeded in artistic pursuits.  I'm always wary or a little conflicted when I read and recall advice like:
 "don't use flowery language" 

"don't use a ten dollar word where a dollar word will do" 

"only use words that people understand" 
and, the troublesome quote that I read in the article that prompted this:

"if your readers need to grab a dictionary your writing needs improvement".

You get the picture. 
     As I inferred, I understand that pretentiously cramming your most collegiate level, ornamental terms every other word without purpose is a poor choice.  I would also argue that this is probably prideful or stuffy wrongfully motivated writing. On the other hand this seems like a "chicken or the egg" situation. If the responsibility of the writer is to constantly cut down their work to appease the lowest common denominator of reading ability, then at this point in time, when writing and reading seems increasingly uninteresting to people, how do creators combat that trend of descending competency and communicative ambition? 
     Are authors, poets and songwriters etc bound staunchly in politically correct shackles, artistically responsible for coddling readers who are apparently allergic to the (frankly enriching) growth that comes from periodically exerted effort? Also, what era of writing did we decide complexity was a crime? At what point in life of readers' and writers' education do we decide "Okay, that is enough ,where you're at is perfectly fine and how people should be taught.  After this, they ought to receive no further literary challenge, otherwise that writer is bombastic and blaspheming on humility". 
     Shouldn't writing also challenge its audience linguistically to some degree and influence readers to improve their vocabulary (and therefore their ability to express themselves and communicate effectively and civilly and have a vernacular that can help to attempt to articulate navigating this beguiling journey of life?) as well as to find expressive variance in style and use of language?
      At what point is it the reader's responsibility to be willing to learn words? Should we also not include unfamiliar creatures, places or characters to the arbitrarily catered-to hypothetical reader? What reading level or literacy capability are we hypothetically trying to write for here? How does one even identify when a word is accessible to the unknown possible myriad readers their story or piece of work will potentially get?

As I've said, these rules are not concrete.  The criteria that dictates your writing style, your voice and approach will change with each project.  It will depend on the intent of that project, the intended audience and so on.  If you want to convey a message explicitly you will probably want to utilize the most accessible terms and language possible.  What is tricky to me about writing is that the art is also the vessel of  communication.  To concern oneself as a writer, as a bookworm, as a lover of language and words... for you to play and enjoy and express with language is intrinsically valuable.  Of course, it isn't for everyone.  Every other subject or concern in life uses writing as a tool to convey its findings, concerns and excitements to others.  With this being true, in all areas (including perhaps math, which I have absolutely no acumen for and would admittedly prefer the simplest of explanations and the most humiliatingly condescending guidance) writing and reading competency is the most widely used ability as it is simply the art of communication.  This love of language is the device that binds us all, and so just as we have a responsibility to expand our ability to understand ourselves and others more, we should perhaps ideally compromise this ambition with an intentional reminder to oneself to try not to make our projects needlessly or excessively erudite and esoteric.

Most importantly, put effort in, whether indulging in creating or consuming art, use the experience to grow and have fun with it.  Do what you want and emerge a better person.  Help one another along with your creations.
What do you think?

Thanks for reading (closely).
-Bruce "AllOne" Pandolfo

Sunday, April 30, 2017

"The Editor" (National Poetry Month poem-a-day) Day 30

written by Bruce A. Pandolfo
4/30/2017

In Maryland, Robin Woods was no Robin Hood
robbing goods prolifically from warehouses
or whatever whereabouts,
but how else are you to make a living
with no catered education, given
the ruler at school your future is dimming
a decade later, breaking and entering villain
thieving phones and computer equipment..
stole a car, and 20k worth of gear, he's 26 tops,
next night he's playing pool in comes 6 cops,
a friend turned rat went behind his turned back,
Robin doesn't blame the guy, it's every man for himself,
meaning it's every man v.s. Everyone else.

Non-violent felony, but had prior convictions too,
given 16 years at Maryland Correctional Institute,
Absolutely overkill, perhaps Draconian,
certainly the worst place they'd ever thrown him in.
Guards beat the inmates with nearly no provoking,
so the next night, revenge was reaped in a riot's stoking
Robin helped incite it, beaten and given a label
“One of the most dangerous men in Maryland” as if he was unstable,
Stuck him in a cell he found a way to escape though,
someone came by with a library cart,
didn't have a need for books or library card,
Robin never even read a children's book, profoundly dense,
He grabbed The Sicilian and autobio of Malcom X
Buried his nose in the books, there was so much to learn,
understood little, but hope rose with each page he turned
He borrowed a dictionary for alienating words,
and slowly he built vocabulary by amassing many terms,
Became a book worm, mental appetite voracious,
but really could you blame him, is it really that outrageous?
It became an escape from the prison's cold grayness
The pages were like portals full of spells and incantations,
spell bound mining between the binding tales unwinding
learning to spell, mind bounded away from the cell's bindings.
He could travel space and time, through countries, cultures, disciplines,
read books by the dozens then the hundreds that they'd give to him
He bought an encyclopedia, decided to fully read it,
millions of words, morning, afternoon and evening,
One day located a mistake, and hardly could believe it,
in a letter, corrected the encyclopedic editor, Mark Stevens
To his surprise a month letter, he got a letter it so pleased him
he opened it so gingerly, he'd practically steamed it,
Mark thanked him, Robin was crazily pleased
so developed an epistolary rapport after the meeting,
Friends through many letters, Mark didn't know Robin's crimes,
They moved Robin to a new prison, and said “no books this time”
devastated, Robin immediately went on a hunger strike,
Dropped nearly 80 pounds and Mark decided to write,

Robin explained his pseudo editor job to the commissioner,
That he was obsessed with learning, a great reader and listener,
Impressed with the dedication of this autodidact,
he said, we'll let you off early and you can have your life back
Released after 16, at 44 years of age,
no life skills, or decent wage, the bills couldn't be paid,
Robin kept in touch with Mark, his only common social factor
Mark started electing to be Robin's benefactor.
Sent countless dollars over the course of many years,
Finally Robin met with Mark, hugged him and burst out in tears,

They hiked, talked books, saw a play and the Dickinson house,
When Robin drove home he noticed the glass of his window was out,
Robin was robbed in poetic justice and Karmic punishment

And ironically no longer reads to escape the world, he's a part of it.


"Gil From London" (National Poetry Month poem-a-day) Day 29

Written by Bruce A. Pandolfo
4/30/2017

Karen, I know you're dreaming as I type this,
Funny, you're a dream yourself, you really are terrific
these last there weeks have been exquisite and exciting
Honey, I've been dreaming too of detours while on business...

I'm alighting right now, (to India, I'm flying)
Distracted, second guessing getting a second ticket,
Since my child and wife passed, I've also felt lifeless
Disagreeably you're grieving, but our symmetry so assisted
Unprecedented since the loss, I've found myself smiling,
You're the cause of course, could I repay with paying a visit?

In just a few days I could be in Los Angeles,
You've uniquely understood the pain's heaviness
your tenderness and empathy's innate readiness,
have healed my heart aches and strangely steadied it

and yet you've jump-started its invigorated pace
Sorry we can't easily speak on the phone
work has been hectic,
plus the pesky time zones

Don't hold it against me, so long we've longed for embrace,
I'll hold you against me, no longer alone
relish in our presence
before I fly home

Here's a number to contact me through Skype at your will
Honey, let me know your thoughts, I'm sure it'll be magic
I'm looking forward to it beautiful , warmly yours, Gil
p.s. I hope I can reach you in the event that anything happens.




Friday, April 28, 2017

"The Agreement" (National Poetry Month poem-a-day) Day 28

Written by Bruce A. Pandolfo
4/28/2017

Danny's mother prays every day.
She prays daily that she will stay healthy.
Danny's mother takes care of herself.
She hopes Danny will have a great
big family party when he turns 50.
Danny talks to his mother on the phone every day.
Between phone calls and prayers,
Danny's mother speaks with
Danny and God equally often
about the same things.
Mothers are the great creators
and they worship their sons.
Despite this,
if you meet Danny's mother,
she will not tell you about him.
She does this to protect herself.

I love you baby”
she says to her son with a hint of exhausted desperation.

"I lo---THIS CALL IS FROM A FEDERAL PRISON”
That familiar automated response interrupts Danny
with its rigid robotic reminder.
and 15 minutes into their conversation,
the phone clicks off.
Danny can't use the phone for another hour.

But after 10 years you know the drill.
Danny won't be out for a while.
3 hots and a cot, the whole 9.

Danny's in for a crime he didn't commit,
for conspiring with an informant who set him up
in a reverse sting to steal hypothetical drugs
that never existed.
Reverse Sting” they call it.
Who are the real conspirators though?
And thinking of Danny's Mom,
waiting with fleeting hope just to live
another decade to see her son,
who is really getting stung here?
Will they soon be able to sentence you
just for watching a crime show,
On conspiratorial research charges?
Danny's mother thinks only God can judge her son.
In the mean time,
she asks God to help her live long enough
to see her son again.
To let her introduce him proudly,
without fear of instilling hopeless longing

at the very mention of his name.