The Longness of You


Between the longness of you
And my shortness of breath
Cicadas sing
Our moon falls into shadow


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Outtakes


Franklyn Monk Dronecast 28: Outtakes.

Just some scraps I had laying around. I record as I write and delete everything up to the final recording—to save disk space, and because there’s always too much to review.

Recordings get scattered all over the place, and I’ll loose track of them, and sometimes stumble over them again. Instead of deleting them this time, I decided to give you a behind the scenes look at my writing process. Continue reading Outtakes

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I’m getting less traction for “Outtakes” than I usually do and I think it’s because people assume they know what outtakes are.

Have no fear, it is a fully produced piece with a backing track that will guide you though surreal meditation, while demonstrating a new confidence and growth as tinkerer and toyer.

It playback well over a broader range of equipment and features an industrial-mechanico sample that I’m very proud of—having created it from scratch by generating and molding square waves. There’s also the sound of rapid gun shots from a cold blooded murder, briefly.

The vocal segments (mostly recorded on ancient phones and micro recorders), are chunks out of my brainstorming storming process. They feature one of the best lines I’ve ever written, “waking up neighborhoods, trippin’ over hoes”, which I tease you with for a while before delivering a punchline near to the end—that’s the importance of longer pieces, there’s time for play.

It’s weird how those distinct, disjointed segments flow into a larger narrative, but I did that intentionally—these aren’t just clips haphazardly thrown together to fill space with empty content. It's a full struggled over and loved piece of art meditation for you to dream to.

It also some working versions of Tour Guide, from when I was looking for words and rhythm, which just happens to be the previous track, so you should go ahead and list to it immediately next—it’s short, round a minute or two I’d guess.

And then fuck, that's followed by “I Trusted You” my shortest track, clocking in at around 2 seconds—and it’s that long because enhanced podcasts with multiple chapters and artwork start getting freaky below the 2 second barrier. (yes yes I like really short as well as really long stuff.)

That leads to my next ful-lengthl track “It’s a Hoot!” which it is, a hoot! I tell ya.

Over the course of those tracks you’ll hear the evolution of the I’m an Ally riff.

I say all that, but I did get an unanticipated like from a surprising, perhaps forgotten, source that made me all love and clouds for a few days.

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Tour Guide


Once upon a time in a desolate land
In the middle of a
Familiar worldsystem
You’d recognize it
It’s right over there

Stood a tree.

Under the tree sat a poet.
It was the last tree and the last poet.
Fitting they should die together

Thought the poet.
Fitting, thought the tree,
But useless.
No more useless than
Love thought the poet.
And the tree dropped a leaf.

We shall die,
We shall die together
We shall die,
We shall die together

And they did.
The tree lost its branches
and the poet decomposed.

LAUGH

They’re still there
A dead testament to waste
And desolation
For whoever should wander by

The commentator shakes
Its head and says
What I mean to say

Once upon a time
In a desolate land
The last poet
And the last tree
Sacrificed themselves
So that you may

Stare in despair and regret
What you have done

HORROR HORROR

Look at what you have wrought
Look at what you wrought.

CRY

LAUGH


Episode Link | Archive Item | YouTube

I Trusted You


Sorry for the wonkiness of the podcast last night. I had such a hard time with this microcast.

It seems to have been doomed from the start. It took days to record that one second of audio. No, really. Well, and to mix it. No, again, really. It was a whole thing.

I guess I should start with philosophy and aesthetic…err, my pet-peeves, that is. My biggest pet-peeve is when people, especially podcasters, over talk things. It’s rampant. Continue reading I Trusted You

It’s a Hoot

Introduction

My twenty-fifth podcast is a poem.
(It's much less repetitive than the last one.)


Main Content

Hello
Good evening
and welcome
I’m Franklyn Monk
I hold deep-seated and derisive political ideologies
It’s true!
I’m an ally
But I see no sense in preaching to the choir
I see no sense in preaching to the choir
So I’m gonna talk on somethin’
Mundane
Or prosaic
Like sunsets
The moon
An owl

Oh, the Moon isn’t her real name
Her real name to too beautiful
Too beautiful too beautiful
Her real name would burn your ears
Or my tongue
Turn you into a zombie
Albeit a good one
That doesn’t eat people
So it continually eats itself
Sunrise to sunset
Sunset to sunset
There’s an owl there
Somewhere

Oh, I have a first conscience memory of an owl
But it’s too painful to revisit
So it’s left as an exercise
For the audience
What is the poet’s owl?


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“A Throne!”


“You, you,” he points at you,
“You can’t be in my audience,”
And collapses.

There are no stagehands here
To shuffle away his bones,
“It’s a one man show!”

He now understands his mistake,
But he’s proud of shrinking
The universe down to a man.
Who does that?
“The Artist!” he’ll inevitably cry
And laugh because it’s ludicrous.

“I took tickets too.”
And he cleaned the aisles
And he built you a throne
With cheesecloth and cardboard,
“And my soul!” Yes, yes, of course.

And there now you are
In the throne he constructed
And he’s not ready to be seen or heard
“Or exist!” No, no, of course.


Episode Link | Archive Item | YouTube