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Manwithhat_v4
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A city is a place. But it can also be an idea. Like the moon, they can reflect more light than they create.


What "cities" have you visited? The City of the Dead? The City of Eternal Music? The City Without Evil? What was it like? Tell me about it. Maybe it will inspire a song, a poem, a drawing, a video, or a textual story. It can be many things.


Tell me about the cities that you have seen.

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Finally! It's here. Finished. Ish.

I apologize for it taking so long. Fact of the matter is, I hate editing sound. It's very tedious and I put it off for just such a reason, hoping against hope that someone else would do it.

But here it is, in all of its glory. Ish.

Edits: Took out the Jacketed Man. It worked for the written version, but was too distracting for the radio play. Switched a few phrases around to emphasize semi-realistic dialogue. Elongated soundscape, didn't count on it being so long. But good!

Sound effect (Polaroid) courtesy of the Free Sound Project: http://www.freesound.org
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How To Write Poetry
By acclaimed poetry analyst Man With Hat
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“This time it will be Mozart.”


Her careful hands plucked the record from its sleeve, and gently placed it on the ancient record player, so delicately balanced on the empty wooden barrel. The ocean lapped at the dock, laughing and quivering in the night. She turned the crank and let the needle rest upon the vinyl, and in moments, the air was alive with the tinny, remote sound of musicians in a faraway land, playing music from a faraway time.


“Do you like this song, papa?”


Just the faintest hint of a nose appeared next to the wooden pillars, smooth and dark, like the record that played. The nose only hinted at the enormous body, the great flippers and flukes, that idled lazily while the girl on the dock let her feet dangle off of its edge. Soon, the great snout appeared, hiding its baleen beneath great leathery lips. It sang out a response.


“I thought you might. It’s the brass, isn’t it? So deep and brooding.”


The whale sang the melody as embodied by the violins, then switched to the bawdy noise of the trombones, then meandered through the piano’s left hand, treating the song more like an ocean than a concerto, swimming freely, yet deeply in tune with the greater movement. The girl listened.


“Mama misses you. It’s been hard, here. But it’s made easier when I know you’re not gone.”


The whale song stopped as it heard her speak.


“The fishing boats don’t go out anymore. The fish are all sick, the sailors said. The men from the government tell them to go and fish, but they won’t. I hope you are safe in this water.”


At this, the whale sang a soothing reel. The girl stood and felt its rhythm, felt its rhythm intertwine with the laughing, lapping water and the concerto as it finished its first movement, and she felt her feet move. It was not quite like dancing.


The bells tolled in the night, a church far away sounding out a humble knell.


“Mother will need me to clean the kitchen and put Liam and Sylvia to bed. I need to go.”


She put her hand on the protruding nose of the whale, feeling its tough skin against her fragility, then pulled away. The concerto ceased. Mozart returned to his sleeve, and the record player went aboard a red wagon, carted away over the hill, whence it came.


And the whale waited patiently for her return.

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Beneath his clothes,
You'll find his skin.
Beneath his skin,
You'll find his flesh.
Beneath his flesh,
You'll find his organs.
Beneath his organs,
You'll find his bones.

Beneath her smile,
You'll find her words.
Beneath her words,
You'll find her mask.
Beneath her mask,
You'll find her madness.
Beneath her madness,
You'll find something shaped like a heart.
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Drinking song about multi-lingualism. Mispronunciations guaranteed. Grapefruit for all.


It would take far too long to describe the intricate details of how this song came to be. Simply know that it involved sketch comedy, international politics and the planet Jupiter.


"Je ne sais quoi" is French for "I don't know what"
"Jamba" is Swahili for the air in your gut
"Misdadig" is Dutch for one who's hung from a noose
And "grapefruit" is English for-
Un pamplemousse!
Deux pamplemousse!
Mon pamplemousse!
Votre pamplemousse!


"Gott in himmel" is German for of what I dream
"Christiano" is Italiano for "Goyim"
"Forno" is Portugese for where you put a goose
And don't forget, "Grapefruit" is just English for-
Un pamplemousse!
Deux pamplemousse!
Mon pamplemousse!
Votre pamplemousse!


Lo siento, pero no recuerdo mucho Espanol
Porque I learned it all ___ anos ago
Pero hay una cosa que you recuerdo muy bien
And that, of course, is how to say "This is my pen."
Eso es mi pluma!
Esto es tu pluma!
Alli esta muchas plumas,
Pero aqui esta mi pluma!


Un pamplemousse!
Deux pamplemousse!
Mon pamplemousse!
Votre pamplemousse! 

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Ms. Watson held her paper cranes
With tethers made from lions' manes.
She held so fast, and they, so strong,
Pulled Ms. Watson up along.


They pulled her to the toppest tops
Of clouds made out of unused mops.
They pulled her to the mountains steep
Where ivy made of teabags creeps.


This holiday went on so long,
It had to be put into song.
They flew with her so far, it seemed
That nothing seen had yet been dreamed.

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