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#Storytelling

  • Recovery: Stories about responding to crises
    The Story Collider
    33:15
    207

    This week, we're p​resenting stories about the ways we respond and recover to dire situations in science, whether it's cancer or sexual assault.​​​​​​ Part 1: Biochemist Melanie McConnell encounters unexpected resistance when she tests an experimental cancer treatment. Part 2: Rape survivor Mo Culberson helps train doctors to treat other rape survivors. Melanie McConnell has a life-long interest in cancer cell biology. She has studied pediatric, brain, breast, and skin cancers, all to better understand the intricate process of gene regulation. After establishing the Cancer Stem Cell programme at the Malaghan Institute of Medical Research, she joined the School of Biological Sciences at Victoria University of Wellington. Her research is aimed at reducing relapse and improving to life-saving cancer therapies by understanding how cancer cells survive chemotherapy, immunotherapy, and radiation treatment. She’s currently focused on the role of mitochondria in therapy resistance. In her real life, she is married to Richard, is mum to two girls, and spends her time with them and the dog, making compost and tending to the weeds in her vege garden. Mauree "Mo" Culberson loved physics and chemistry when she was younger. While helping her physics teacher hang lights for the theater department a spotlight hit her on a dark stage and she's been performing ever since. Mauree is a writer, storyteller, and performer. She earned her degree in Theatrical Design and Technology and English from the University of Mississippi. Mauree has written for The Atlanta Fringe Festival, the Working Title Playwrights 24 Hour Play Festival and Emory University’s Brave New Works. She has shown her skills as a puppeteer, actor, comic, and improviser in Atlanta. The interaction of art and science continues to be her muse.

  • "Sonnet for Trans Lifeline & February 2017" by Sam Rush
    VOICEMAIL POEMS
    01:43
    Spoken Word
    142

    sonnet for Trans Lifeline & February 2017 & for Kai It snowed last week & the clouds slept lower. I wonder where your body went without you, who unraveled it & what came falling from their mouths. I think of you; a weighted sky; dirt, loosening itself in welcome; what it is to bury: to deem ready to give back; to kill: to call a body just a body, to turn to flesh & name the rest, the lost, the still of us fever dream prophecies of flightless birds about the heavens they can't reach. We know the sky was falling long before these days. It's just, it seems, the ground thaws out softer for us, now. Hungry or buckling or kind. --------------------------------------- SUPPORT US ON PATREON: http://patreon.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/guidelines http://facebook.com/voicemailpoems http://twitter.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/thepodcast

  • Afl. 154 Rivalen: Pépé Smit
    Echt Gebeurd
    13:42
    453
  • HBM091: Hypnosis of Hunger
    Here Be Monsters
    23:38
    Storytelling
    801

    Producer Bethany Denton found a box in her basement storage room with two old cassette tapes inside. It took her a moment to realize what they were. The hypnotherapist recorded their sessions and gave them to Bethany on cassette tapes. She was supposed to use them to relax. [[FULL DESCRIPTION AT www.hbmpodcast.com]]

  • John August
    Writers Who Don't Write
    01:07:51
    9

    John August is the author of Arlo Finch and the Valley of Fire and the host of Scriptnotes and Launch. He’s mostly known as a screenwriter. His credits include Go, Big Fish, Charlie’s Angels, Titan A.E., Charlie and Chocolate Factory, Corpse Bride and Frankenweenie. He also owns the company Quote-Unquote Apps, where he has released several popular apps and doodads, including Highland, Weekend Read, Bronson Watermarker, and Less IMDb.

  • "say uncle" by Wimpy AF
    VOICEMAIL POEMS
    00:51
    Spoken Word
    89

    "when you see a mountain coming, get out of it's way." my uncle, six-two and oxen told me after clipping my wing. i learn at an early age to be a black man is to see a black man and fear his size, momentum. to love a black man is to see his shape and surrender. i lay myself down on his threshing floor say uncle, and await apocalypse across my arms. when two gods enter a room, one is humbled. but there are no walls, no floors in space. so i say lover when i meet him there. --------------------------------------- SUPPORT US ON PATREON: http://patreon.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/guidelines http://facebook.com/voicemailpoems http://twitter.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/thepodcast

  • "Taunts to the Klan" by Kirwyn Sutherland
    VOICEMAIL POEMS
    02:37
    Spoken Word
    115

    Klu klux what? I'm a such A tool for America Hands scraped raw Hammered deep into cotton Fly up and it rains gold I'm a Midas But was forced to turn Inanimate objects into fortune To fields of green picked Over and rotten I'm a supposed Dead used problem Both birth and demise Alleged Between trying to kill And forgetting about I'ma question A poking to see if I writhe How much can a country Heap on a back until It concaves into a nail America's only seeming quandary You jealous? // Hey Klu Can I call you Klu What you going to do With that cross besides Make me laugh A tongue is a flame A black body is a cross You worship, me? Little ol' burnt thing Used to be pick to your ninny Now every time you lynch me You clone me // Behind you! Issa Me Oh! You thought the Noose would kill me No, no,no,no,no,no I mean not really me But another me Remember the clone The string up and teleport So every molecular thing Served up to slaughter Still lives structurally Same skin and everything But equipped with the Memory of your evil I do strange things with memory Like let it drip into a knife But don't worry I haven't breathed here enough To know how to use it // I don't get the sheet. I never got the sheet. I mean sure back then it was just as much about costuming fear as it was a mask, but now it's not even necessary. We have lived long enough to spot a racist. A white person could yawn and I could tell you if they whisper nigger under their breath in boardrooms or if they loudly proclaim their lust for my blood. It's all the same to me, all engineers of the type ecosystem that thirsts for black death so take off those gosh-darn sheets, join us, reveal how easily you slip into assembly, you'd be surprised. --------------------------------------- SUPPORT US ON PATREON: http://patreon.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/guidelines http://facebook.com/voicemailpoems http://twitter.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/thepodcast

  • "Marseille" by Emily S Cooper
    VOICEMAIL POEMS
    01:49
    Spoken Word
    113

    He had created a type of 3d paint, was one of the first things he told us. As we followed him upstairs to his plant filled apartment, we decided he was lying. It wasn't long until he told us about Mexico; kidnapped by cartels, held hostage for weeks, his father and grandfather were mercenaries in the French Foreign Legion. He introduced us to his three passport dog, four French girls and his pal from Belgium. Everyday there were new visitors, the Belgian was the last man in the house. When we woke up to find him tucking us in we realised he actually didn't sleep. Each night he tried to persuade a new girl into his bed; the Germans were more easily led, the French a severe non. He spoke French with an American accent, had the physique of a young Brad Pitt and described to us in detail how he used to build bombs. We were taught about an old style of torture while we sat in an empty fountain, among the graffiti we learned that if you swallow a button, and pull it back up, your body evacuates everything south, north, east and west. Six months later he called me in the middle of the night. I didn't pick up, but remembered the paintings he showed us before we left, the faces lighting up, leaping out. --------------------------------------- SUPPORT US ON PATREON: http://patreon.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/guidelines http://facebook.com/voicemailpoems http://twitter.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/thepodcast

  • "ammonite sonnet" by Melissa Eleftherion
    VOICEMAIL POEMS
    01:15
    Spoken Word
    105

    the ammonite an index of sutures i got tired of cataloging them hermetically sealing little traumas afraid they'd get to know one another go boom little mother catastrophes instead i smashed little rocks to bits in a ditch each shard a memory released pressure from stomach the common burial ground the cavity of accumulation each little box coated in dust and feelings each glass stone chamber not really secret i get ready to shatter the discretions i open my palms no explosions no pain coalesce little traumas wrap your wounds around each other a chrysalis blood a becoming of feathers of air a fire --------------------------------------- SUPPORT US ON PATREON: http://patreon.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/guidelines http://facebook.com/voicemailpoems http://twitter.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/thepodcast

  • Listen to the entire Snap Judgment episode "Senior Year Mixtape"
    Snap Judgment
    52:24
    Storytelling
    8,855

    Three San Francisco high school seniors try to make sense adulthood. We spend a year with them as they fight for their futures, in a rapidly changing city. Producer: Adizah Eghan, Liz Mak, Eliza Smith, Anna Sussman and Mark Ristich. Original Score: Pat Mesiti-Miller and Renzo Gorrio

  • Crumbs From The Table Of Joy (Part One)
    latheatreworks
    58:59
    Audiobooks
    0

    From Pulitzer Prize-winner Lynn Nottage. The Crump family is adrift and in trouble. Widowed Godfrey is under the spell of Sweet Father Divine, while his teen daughters, Ernestine and Ermina, immerse themselves in the illusions of Hollywood to escape racial prejudice. An L.A. Theatre Works full-cast performance featuring: Deidrie Henry as Ernestine Crump Russell Hornsby as Godfrey Crump Tinashe Kajese as Ermina Crump Kate Steele as Gerte Charlayne Woodard as Lily Ann Green Directed by Seret Scott. Recorded before a live audience at the Skirball Cultural Center in Los Angele in December 2009.

  • "Charms" by Joseph S. Pete
    VOICEMAIL POEMS
    01:28
    Spoken Word
    87

    All soldiers believe Charms in their MREs are foul luck, bad juju, more than just a dark talisman, a virtual death sentence. Patrols have been called off if some dirtbag private straight out of basic tested fate by peeling open a pack of the generic Jolly Ranchers knockoffs that bring nothing but doom. Everyone on the FOB heard stories about how Charms were a malediction that summoned malefactors who felled soldiers with sniper fire, mortar blasts and IED ambushes. Marines supposedly even once threw Charms at the enemy in a firefight to even skewed, candy-altered odds. That's why you never ingest Charms. That's why you cast them away theatrically, make a real show of it. That's why you have to observe the whole superstition. We all choke down MREs. That's a universal experience. Some have Charms; some don't. It's all chance. It's purely random, who's charmed or cursed by fate. Likewise, it makes no sense who randomly gets killed, maimed, blown up, torn apart, out there, outside the wire. There's no rhyme or reason behind which soldiers go down, who gets battlefield crosses with helmets, rifles, boots and dog tags, who succumbs to PTSD, traumatic brain injury, moral injury, any war wound. Maybe some stale, rotten hard candy could make sense of it all. Maybe Charms are just imbued a significance they never earned in a senseless chaos devoid of any meaning, in an abysmal void that invites lore. --------------------------------------- SUPPORT US ON PATREON: http://patreon.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/guidelines http://facebook.com/voicemailpoems http://twitter.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/thepodcast

  • Sex and sounds (n°15) : Faut le dire vite
    ARTE Radio
    04:44
    Storytelling
    2,513

    Pendant que les amoureux et pervers de tout poil se débattent pour avoir des rapports plus longs et des anatomies plus larges, le vocabulaire sexuel, lui, nous inflige précisément l'inverse : plus c'est sexe, plus c'est court. Nos mots cochons sont à la limite de l'onomatopée. Mais au fait : pourquoi ? Sex and sounds, le podcast de Maïa Mazaurette, tous les mardis. Enregistrements : 21 janvier 17 - Mix : Arnaud Forest - Texte & voix : Maïa Mazaurette - Illustration : Sjoerd van Leeuwen

  • La guerre du poil
    ARTE Radio
    09:20
    Storytelling
    13,146

    Yolande, 82 ans, est esthéticienne. Depuis 50 ans qu’elle arrache des bandes de poils, elle a vu les maillots s’échancrer et, avec eux, les corps se libérer. Mais s’épiler entièrement le sexe et la raie des fesses, est-ce vraiment une libération ? Et au fait, pourquoi on s'épile ? Ou pour qui ? Pauline Boulet a posé son micro entre les cuisses des clientes et la marmite de cire chaude. Enregistrements : octobre 17 - Mise en ondes & mix : Arnaud Forest - Réalisation : Pauline Boulet

  • Document Leaks: The consequences of revealing secrets
    America Abroad
    51:58
    News & Politics
    12

    Massive document leaks have led to the fall of world leaders and to new anti-corruption laws. But some leaks have put lives in danger. So is there a limit to the public’s right to know?

  • "Alternate" by Mariel Fechik
    VOICEMAIL POEMS
    01:24
    Spoken Word
    98

    i. In the other world, everything smells like cherries. Every phone call is the news of someone's death, and every cigarette is candy. In the other world, you tell me you do not love me every day, and our bed is made from cedar trees. The horses run rider- less and frightened, chased by men with bottles for weapons and collarbones made of ice. The plains are a burnt orange in the other world, and everyone reeks of a longing to understand. ii. In the other world, she never died, and everything tastes like gunmetal. Everyone washes themselves in coldness and sleeps in the bath. In the other world, I tell you to keep the dogs at bay, and our bed is made from palm leaves. The ocean laps at sand that is still glass, riddled with shipwreck. The mountains tumble down themselves in the other world, and everyone speaks to each other in tongues. iii. In the other world, everything sounds like a heart- beat. Everything is made of tinsel, multi-colored, and glows in the dark. In the other world, we tell each other every secret, and our bed is made from cattails. Grief slithers in and out of our ears, only frightened away by singing. The grasslands mumble mutely to themselves in the other world, and everyone knows only their own names. --------------------------------------- SUPPORT US ON PATREON: http://patreon.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/guidelines http://facebook.com/voicemailpoems http://twitter.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/thepodcast

  • "The Rising" by Cathleen Allyn Conway
    VOICEMAIL POEMS
    01:02
    Spoken Word
    90

    The town knows about darkness, the slithered purple that comes on the land when rotation hides the sun. Something gathered, slow and heavy and electric, almost as though the town knows evil is coming, and its shape. From here we can't see spots on the sun. We know where the roads go and where, how the ground lies. The town has us because we know it, and it knows us. It sees through our lies, even the ones we tell ourselves. And in the dark, the town is ours and we are the town's. Being in the town is prosaic, sensuous, alcoholic; black galaxies shot with morphic red. We see ourselves drowning in the sweet evil falls and liking it. There is no life here but the death of days. Something is going to happen. Can't we feel it? --------------------------------------- SUPPORT US ON PATREON: http://patreon.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/guidelines http://facebook.com/voicemailpoems http://twitter.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/thepodcast

  • "Rocket" by Allison Hummel
    VOICEMAIL POEMS
    02:17
    Spoken Word
    92

    Part 1: Untitled It was yesterday or something, when I heard the song playing in a store, asking do I make myself a blessing to everyone I meet? I don't sing it to myself, exactly, but I do repeat it, metallic gyre, all the day long. In the at-home lab of an electrical engineer, I was surrounded by metallic gyres (not an industry term,) tiny spools of wire thread that do not unwind to fulfill their purpose. I touched things carefully, understanding none of them, vaguely susceptible like a green bruise because we had woken up in one another's legs. Do I make myself a blessing? (I really do. I am not perfect, but lovely, and a perceived dearth of this, of lovely people, is just a cultivated skew, benefiting whom? It's like, capitalism.) Anyway, unearthed Soviet tubes filled with brief forests of material mythos surrounded me, hofbrau, complex blessing. Engineer says: …(the) reactors all disappeared and who knows where they are. Each could kill 100,000 people. He makes coffee, I sit on the lawn. Oh, and at 1:47 we watched a rocket ascend. It did not go straight up, in case you are wondering. Part 2: Rocket Ascent at Vandenberg It appeared to experience a horizontal epoch, a teendom. Maybe meandering is part of all great inclinations. I'm reminded of "...the falcon cannot hear the falconer," but that's never really true, it's only a game. The rocket could definitely hear the falconer, and I feel sure that it still does, even at this very moment. --------------------------------------- SUPPORT US ON PATREON: http://patreon.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/guidelines http://facebook.com/voicemailpoems http://twitter.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/thepodcast

  • Ecouter le monde (1/4) : Vos gueules les mouettes
    ARTE Radio
    08:49
    Storytelling
    1,460

    Parmi les sons de la nature, le bruit des vagues est l'un des plus connus et des plus appréciés. Il a aussi beaucoup à nous dire. Parce qu'il a longtemps enseigné le son, Christian Canonville sait comment enregistrer et comment lire ce paysage sonore des vagues sur la plage. Comment se jouer des rafales du vent, des rouleaux assourdissants, des ondées passagères, pour capter les multiples langages de l'estran, cet espace éphémère découvert à marée basse. Fond d’air, ambiance, paysage, personnage… Avec sensibilité, il explique ce que l'écoute nous apprend d'un territoire, et comment mettre en scène le réel pour qu’il sonne plus vrai. Christian Canonville a enseigné durant 20 ans à l' E.N.S. Louis-Lumière les fondements de la prise de son au cinéma, puis ceux de la réalisation de documentaires et de fictions radiophoniques. Enregistrements : octobre 16, février 17 - Mise en ondes & mix : Samuel Hirsch - Prises de son et réalisation : Sara Monimart

  • Crumbs From The Table Of Joy (Part Two)
    latheatreworks
    58:59
    Audiobooks
    0

    From Pulitzer Prize-winner Lynn Nottage. The Crump family is adrift and in trouble. Widowed Godfrey is under the spell of Sweet Father Divine, while his teen daughters, Ernestine and Ermina, immerse themselves in the illusions of Hollywood to escape racial prejudice. An L.A. Theatre Works full-cast performance featuring: Deidrie Henry as Ernestine Crump Russell Hornsby as Godfrey Crump Tinashe Kajese as Ermina Crump Kate Steele as Gerte Charlayne Woodard as Lily Ann Green Directed by Seret Scott. Recorded before a live audience at the Skirball Cultural Center in Los Angele in December 2009.

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