the fna show cover art

the fna show

the fna show

Written by: Eamonn Cottrell
Listen for free

About this listen

 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 Entertainment & Performing Arts Social Sciences
Episodes
  • 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.
    Show More Show Less
    4 mins
  • 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.
    Show More Show Less
    2 mins
  • 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.
    Show More Show Less
    4 mins
No reviews yet