Category: Podcasts

  • The pleasure dogs


    Pleasure dogs have read what’s been written and aren’t impressed. Pleasure dogs have long lines of prose stuffed in their pockets and poetry gathering like filth between their toes. Their desks are covered with pleas and the floors of their dwellings are littered with crumpled responses. The walls are covered with old photographs. Pleasure dogs…

  • Out where the myths are


    [audio: https://www.kevincarrelfooter.com/podcasts/podcast-8AUG2010.mp3] AGIA GALINI, Crete – At night, myths rove about us on this island. They come out when the sun is setting, emerging from their caves and from the sea, to wander through the olive orchards and sit under the bougainvillea, luminous in the moonlight: the Minotaur, Icarus, Kronos and Rhea, Zeus and Europa.…

  • The opening of rivers


    [audio: https://www.kevincarrelfooter.com/podcasts/podcast-1AUG2010.mp3] MADRID, Spain – I am looking to an illuminated blue horizon as if the edge of the world were rimmed in neon. Three church cupolas form a panorama to impress believers and non-believers alike. Down below, there is the sound of the occasional group of passing revelers or a lonely accordion going from…

  • The place of belonging


    MADRID, Spain – On the far cusp of the night, I sit undressed on the edge of the bed drinking in the air that has finally cooled. You must wait until everyone has gone to sleep to receive the cool air with its messages from beneath the sea. I chuckle at the audacity of this…

  • Blue redemption


    So I play the blues like I write the blues. It is my nature. It is what comes out when I open my mouth. I can never forget what awaits me, so every moment between now and then is invested with the exquisite, bittersweet perfume that is the scent of life itself… Breathe deeply.

  • In search of song


    These days, what excites me is music. It is almost the only thing I care about. Making it. Listening to it. Living through it.

  • Warriors

    We accumulate scars. Where once I fretted about losing my innocence, I now cherish the wounds and how they transfigure me. Each scar is a battle faced squarely, engaged and survived. I am still here. I have not run. In our scars I can trace our journey.

  • Solace


    In the lonely apartment, where I sometimes take refuge, there is solace if you know where to look for it. It is not to be found in the emptiness, of course. It is to be found in the fullness that becomes evident when one listens.

  • Other people’s stories


    I listen to other peoples’ stories and imperceptibly they become mine. It is as if I were compiling an encyclopedia of stories. I settle into a seat at the corner café, open a newspaper or begin a conversation with a stranger and their stories – whether I want them to or not – become a…