Author: Franklyn Monk

Poet. Geek. Science fiction aficionado. General freak. Get social with me: Facebook| Twitter | Other

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.

Efficiency drive

I find it fascinating that birds have less junk DNA cluttering up their chromosomes than do we mammals. Some speculate this tendency is a weight savings mechanism.
Amen to that!
It’s wonderful to imagine an organism so pressured it’s able to identify needless genes and willing to cast them free.
That’s some fierce optimization. The entirety of mammalia must seem like hoarders to our avian allies.

Speculation

In the early 22nd century a hiphop ensemble shall be propelled to stardom with their hit The N*s I’ve Fucked, until it is discovered to have been penned by a white supremacist and powerful member of the ruling party.It will be a minor controversy within a maelstrom of controversies which will blow over in short order. Awards will be rescinded, records updated. The artists will be forgotten while the partyman skates.

Outtakes

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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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Notes

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.

Hat Tip

Image from Wikimedia Commons

Category Poems, Podcast
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