I’m making this post in hopes it’ll trigger a refresh of my RSS feed, which has dropped my first 8 Dronecasts. I apologize if it screws with your podcast aggregators.
Author: Franklyn Monk
Now that’s how you title a poem
Update: I could never get it quite right, ended up with a bunch of file, so I put a few into this slide show.
This is how to title a poem: simple and direct.
From Sad Poem by E., on A Sign of Life.
It’s a wonderful blog, you should check it out.
Je suis Charlie
The Year of the Trilogy
So, I don’t know what to read first. The Divine Comedy or The Red Night. Am I looking for “a nonlinear course through time and space” or something a bit more structured?
It won’t surprise you to learn I admire Burroughs. That he speaks to me. That it’s his yardstick by which I judge my work by. I wade in the stream that Burroughs forged with the precum of defeated and angry masturbation, in the tears that followed as they mixed into the semen and mucus. Throttled and rattling for death the river roars… and I am wading in the tributary.
The Devine Comedy, on the other hand, is foreign and strange. From all accounts it’s linear and planned. Not to mention it’s one of the more important works in the Western canon. I’ll be reading a 19th century English translation of the 14th century Italian—weird, right? It should shake up my words some. It might lend form to them.
Choking
I was expecting Speculation to go viral. What, with Iggy Azalea and a decidedly xenophobic ruling class and cultural appropriation and growing sense of dread, and all. Not to mention the dumbing down and growing coarseness of popular culture.
The deadly preknowledge* that we’ve been through this before and the knowing it doesn’t change.
Is it too dim? It’s supposed to be a recreated ancient message tattered on its journey across time, a CRT on its last legs, a recovered Nostradamus that turns out to have been binary code rendered analog by the artist’s pen.
I was at least expecting a like. A I-see-what-you-did-there, a we recognize you as an ally.