Couverture de the fna show

the fna show

the fna show

De : Eamonn Cottrell
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 fna is an aural excursion through thought. it is an experiment in sound and idea. it is a terrible champion. listen at risk. fear to listen. crucify complacency.© 2006-2021 Eamonn Cottrell All Rights Reserved Art Divertissement et arts du spectacle Sciences sociales
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    Épisodes
    • Glory

      Glory
      Jan 9 2021

      ♥ Glory

      Compelled, draw near to this passageway.
      It is a safe harbor within words and worlds, rotating and pulsating at all times
      behind the worries and misfortunes so much easier to dwell on.
      But in this darkened hallway, I see doorways cracked open
      with slivers of hope dancing out into the dampness where
      we trudge.
      Open windows too bring in the breeze, but no fair light touches their ledge.
      No, this way is easy and over too quickly; don't even try to look out the windows.
      Symphony behind compels against the truth.
      I don't even dance, but am drawn to consider bathing a moment
      in reflective pose, in a small waltz to stall my heart
      in its own placidity; in a foretaste of mediocre wandering.
      Soft hands tell a big story.
      Don't even trust this flurried meandering;
      when ultimate consideration is left to itself, not much comes through but
      muddied dreams and a phishing for Andy Dufresne's fortitude
      How many times have you looked at the night sky?
      Dulled to death in repetitious phrases.
      Glory be. Glory be.

      ♠ fna

      • the fna show is an experiment in sound and idea recursively crucifying complacency since 2006.
      • Episode photo by Eberhard Grossgasteiger on Unsplash.

      ♦ Connect!

      • I'd love to say hey; follow me over on Twitter.
      • Want to show the show some quick love? Thank you! You can buy me a coffee here.
      • Please leave a review on Apple Podcasts!

      ♣ Undertow

      • fna is part of The Undertow Podcast Network.
      Afficher plus Afficher moins
      4 min
    • the child

      the child
      Dec 27 2020

      ♥ The Child

      In repose against the flimsy mattress with sputtering coughs and incomprehensible wheezing
      the child yawns and feels his back - reaching for a grasp.
      Will you scratch it?
      Of course, where?
      Up. Up. There.
      Feigning relief and mastering enough courage to fit a smile, a grin, a memory
      on his face
      he feels the skin's imperfections; little bumps, backbone.
      He stops.
      And then runs a finger across, tracing a tree.
      When I was a boy, Pop drew on my back like this.
      What is it?
      Guess.
      A circle?
      No.
      An eight?
      Close.
      Silence and thought and the crackling congestion breaking its way into the still room
      with no where to rest itself.
      The child whispers
      A flower?
      Yes!
      Weariness wins with the fear enough at bay to not prevent either from rest
      Though in fits he'll worry through the night and hell.
      Powerless, unquinch3d. The child dreams and
      Already sounds better, but that doesn't spare the tears.

      ♠ fna

      • the fna show is an experiment in sound and idea recursively crucifying complacency since 2006.
      • Episode photo by MI PHAM on Unsplash.

      ♦ Connect!

      • I'd love to say hey; follow me over on Twitter.
      • Want to show the show some quick love? Thank you! You can buy me a coffee here.
      • Please leave a review on Apple Podcasts!

      ♣ Undertow

      • fna is part of The Undertow Podcast Network.
      Afficher plus Afficher moins
      2 min
    • oak and pine

      oak and pine
      Dec 9 2020

      ♦ Connect!

      • I'd love to say hey; follow me over on Twitter.
      • Want to show the show some quick love? Thank you! You can buy me a coffee here.
      • Please leave a review on Apple Podcasts!

      ♥ oak and pine

      Treading lightly with foot folly between branches strewn about
      on dampened turf in patches here and there in the mostly browned
      trail smeared with mud and leaves and the occasional pile of dog sh*t:
      there the slow trod of steps make barely an impression on the shattered landscape.
      Oak and pine and others lie strewn about - matchsticks splintered and rendered back
      to the earth in no easy way.
      They were torn and they will remain even so in the
      afterthought of that fleeting celebration of
      fire and wind and God.
      The way forward is slow and beautiful and painful. Splinters of the sun cut
      through trees overlooking the water and flashes from the waves blind in rhythm with the trail.
      Pummel down concrete runway into the dark and morbid pre-dawn
      of suburbia still sleeping and creeping inside itself behind shadows within itself.
      A mist hangs in the air, remnants of the night's black storm.
      Down and left and up and left and down and left and up and
      lap upon lap feeds the desire,
      fills up the fury
      as the body drains.
      A hooded phantom trudges up the sidewalk bent forward into the inevitability of the day ahead,
      the mile ahead and the ones now behind.
      He doesn't look up until I pass at a wide berth.
      Hoping always to prevent the fear of ambush,
      the primitive emotions so near the surface in these moments drawn out and
      stretched to slow the experience, the escape, the truth, the lie.
      With sludging my conscience ebbs within the guttural boundaries laid within the dim earth ahead,
      the placid, forgetful road fog covering thought, word and deed.
      Legs reaching onward, ever pulling upward and forward, somewhat wearily in meditation.
      I am a journey riding on the wind of my mistakes and launched into the narrow precipice that encapsulates
      both my blood and my pneuma.
      There are no footfalls in the sky, only breath; there are no regrets without the flickering they inhabit -
      self-fulfilling, self-sustaining miracle of doom.
      The dawn brings new dreams.
      Exhale.

      ♠ fna

      • the fna show is an experiment in sound and idea recursively crucifying complacency since 2006.
      • Episode photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash.

      ♣ Undertow

      • fna is part of The Undertow Podcast Network.
      Afficher plus Afficher moins
      4 min
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