A preview track of an upcoming Dronecast.
Tag: rough
WIP: Number Stream a preview of an upcoming dronecast
A quick render from something I’m working on.
Bonus Track (not in podcast feed)
WIP: Number Stream by Franklyn Monk is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.
Based on a work at archive.org.
Bolster your philosophical impact
Think of it as a convenience charge. You could write this schlock, but it’s time consuming, and it takes you places you’d rather not go. That’s where I come in. I sacrifice my life to ensure our allied viewpoints are preserved.
I write for you lover, outcast, left behind and forgotten.
For you scholar, explorer, tinkerer, fool.
Natural, cosmic, and mundane.
These poems aren’t for me,
They aren’t even for me and you.
They are for us, allies—
extant, and yet to be.
I serve your current fanciful and poetic needs, but I also make testament to the sublime balancing act of our time for our future allies, like that teenager of 2032, curled up in some dark hole, will know that our time was more than conflict and strife, hatred anger abuse and drought. There were people, your allies, and they strode proud in defiance and in love. They saw the world not so differently from you.
In 2100 someone mesmerized by our time is wondering WTF happened back then, and even with changes in the language, they’ll know we ran naked in jungles and ate fruit from the vine.
In the 2200s, on an outpost on Mars, someone feels a connection to the ancient past: others have known heartache and abandonment.
2300s, and people don’t talk anymore, so much as commune, and they quiver in joy: intelligence makes due and survives, and emotion is a part of that.
Running a poetic time capsule is expensive, and consuming, and I need your help. Your patronage will ensure that our allied world views, and our secret selves, have a voice.
1975
When Staubach first opened his eyes from the coma he is rumored to have said “oh, the humanity!”
The year is 1975, my forces are assembled on the gridiron. We’re down and demotivated, but we’re not dead yet.
With 24 seconds left Staubach takes the snap, hauls back, closes his eyes and, hoping for a miracle, flings that evil ball.
The bloody Vikings devastate Staubach’s line, it falls like dominoes in an earthquake. The Blue Menace pounds the weary quarterback to the ground. The world spins into darkness around him, later he would describe it as “being chased by a hurricane while on a roller-coaster to hell.”
Pearson speeds past Wright, fakes left, right…Wright stumbles but somehow manages to maintains balance. As Pearson reaches for the ball the Viking roars, calling on the power of his warrior clan. He vaults into Pearson whose body snaps and collapses. The ball lands near his twitching hand. As he’s being pounded and kicked by the relentless enemy he murmurs “can’t we all just get along?”
1975
The defensive line pummeled my offensive line. My quarterback was sacked. The wide receiver decimated and repeatedly kicked. His last words were “can’t we all get along?”
When Staubach first opened his eyes from the coma he is rumored to have said “oh, the humanity!”
The year is 1975, my forces are assembled on the gridiron. We’re down and demotivated, but we’re not dead yet.
With 24 seconds left Staubach takes the snap, hauls back, closes his eyes and, hopping for a miracle, flings the ball.
The bloody Vikings devastate Staubach’s line, it falls like dominoes in sand. The Blue Menace pounds the weary quarterback to the ground. The world spins into darkness around him, later he would describe it as “being chased by a hurricane while on a roller-coaster to hell.”
Pearson speeds past Wright, fakes left, right…Wright stumbles but somehow manages to maintains balance. As Pearson reaches for the ball the Viking roars, calling on the power of his warrior clan. He vaults into Pearson whose body snaps and instantly collapses. The ball lands near his twitching hand. As he’s being pounded and kicked by the relentless enemy he murmurs “can’t we all just get along?”