QNTNS.com

About QNTNS.com

Personal writings, stories, philosophies, and curations for your enjoyment. sub.qntns.com (https://sub.qntns.com?utm_medium=podcast)

Publisher

Poems, Writings, Essays, and Lessons by QNTN

Category

society & culture · society & culture

Language

en

Explicit

No

First episode

14 Nov 2016

Latest episode

23 Feb 2026

Latest episodes

90 episodes in the feed.

1. 

   23 Feb 2026

   Hairy Cat | Poem

   “Cats in the cradle, and the silver spoon, little boy blue and the man in the moon. When you coming home, son? — ‘I don’t know when. We’ll get together, then. You know we’ll have a good time, then.’” My new love of mine she is very fine. Takes my hand to declare me “Mine.” Works a job, collects her dues. Owns a house, collects rent too. Then she spends it on gifts, on me, and I but think, “Is this heaven sent?” How many loans have my past lives lent for me to earn such dividends from penny tithings, lousy cents. Is this, I’m guessing, what He meant, one-hundred times this present age, the age to come, eternal life from time-to-time, spirit to, spirit goes, how we do forget our woes, our life, for better and for sometimes worse, in death do we forget our purse, forget our worth, our sickness, health, our peace of mind, our reasons stealth why we were sent upon this earth, our souls to mend, to get on closer to the bend, as I did travel to the north, to take on one more mid-life birth. The cold north wind is very cold. I left for some northward goal to get away, to be a man, though I never, really, had a plan but to sit in pose on colder ground, cross my legs, bereave aum’s sound, the thrum of which is always near, yet drums of which I cannot hear. I live two lives and two million dreams. I act on some to avoid good things: the smell of blood, the mourning heart, perfuming from her lips that part from tearing eyes now broken valves, from which I drink love's sweet salve. I wake in drunken curtain light, the dimness of the Monday blight, my plane to leave, our farewell sight, to feel our grief and take my flight. I sing a song of Sir Chapin, the boy whose father left his kin, as soon as life was to begin. The son would call, and call, and call, to hear love’s voice, to throw love's ball, but what say they who felt that they had but no choice to work the day, to make their name, to earn their card through heaven’s gate, as if life were an earning game. “I want comforts, I want gold. I want not to feel harsh cold, want not for you to feel old. Want now for you to act bold,” but end our lives, our bank accounts, reconcile, (reconcile!), and part from having walked a mile, what have you of money’s pile, refuse to you like body bile, for when in life, life comes to pass, all we want is who we miss. Achievement is but earthly piss, how it’s rot when we’re remiss for failing our meek timidness, for in our end of life review when I see scenes of time with you, when I’m asked if I did do what I did say I was gonna do, I fail to think it has to do with when I had forgotten you, so in this somewhat metered verse, in rhyming and slight timing words, I take my ink, tattoo my hands, my desperate plan to break this curse. Now upon this paper white, I write your name to make things right, I write three words that I might fight, that I might win to banish night, to banish sin, Thine fog of war, forgetfulness, our first promise when that good man did come to us, to me, to ask, to see if I’d take part to never part, to which I said, “I do, I do, I surely do,” so now I say anew, anew, I say your name, my muse, my muse, I whisper softly, You. You. You. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sub.qntns.com (https://sub.qntns.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1)

2. 

   21 Feb 2026

   No Time | Poem

   Time unending is time un-begun, is the twilight of Her mid-day sun, your sabbatical in a clockless land, beneath the lapping leaves of trees that fan. “Say,” you say to the you who walks by, “What shall I now that there’s no night? What will we with unending light? Take me star, sun, burn me bright. Take me star, sun, make me right. Take me star, sun, spare my fight that with might be, might be all right on this shoreless shore of space, not time, can I relax, alas, my knot in spine where moments move but do not pass, unending sand, Thine hour glass. I stand upon the water’s edge and brush my hands upon the hedge beneath a lovely shade of green, tall pines of southern canopies eating skies of air so blue and plucking tunes in minor thirds the chirping verse of nature’s birds rescinds this curse that I be born undoing me that came alive for what became must surely die, but what’s not birthed cannot decease, and hence I shall ever shall be free in the place of occupancy none you celebrate the one that’s one, where there is nothing ever done, none due but to pass the time of time unending, no death, no birth, no day from night, though sons do change from time-to-time, you never really ever mind, but play, and dance, and laugh the same, all with yourself all that is sane to make your worlds and change your views, returning now to neverland, to be alone, to rest your hands, to hug yourself, and bid adieu, to you and You and all you knew, to drink the milk upon mom’s breast recalling your eternal rest where time unfurls from scrolls of dreams how things were never what they seemed and knowing this the thieves relieve, returning you your bliss, reprieve. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sub.qntns.com (https://sub.qntns.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1)

3. 

   6 Feb 2026

   Secondhand High | Poem

   I wanna be free as you are free, unencumbered by how you're supposed to be. Suppose you smart. Hold fast to save face. Must not sound-, look-, act dumb. Suppose you lace yourself, clean- shaven. Combed face to act braven. Maybe this, your safe haven, to act the maven, to avoid the rave when you think it sin to not cap every pen, pen every win, win every grin. But, I wanna be free as you are free, unencumbered by how you're supposed to be. You lean in, in seriousness, to confide, "I am high." Then, in mirth, you smile, feigning to beguile. You share freely, on-an'-on, free-streaming, not caring, not planning, not erring, but merrily, merrily, merrily swearing, double barreling: you order a Sprite aside your water and I wonder what is right in spite of my own longing not to fight myself at every turn, while you in turn forgive the day, you just as well start acting gay in the gaily name of truly loving play. This is a new way for me to be, that I might forgive my mind, its need to not be blind, to not need to see my self: not as I think, but as I be. Now in the comfort of a you of you who’s high, I unwind my self that feels the need to hide. I let go and join in mutual dance, the tango of the moment that is not thought but prance. Then it came, this final silly act: a mirror, a song, a simple boring act: us leaving, yet in glow we are still leavening: rising higher, my secondhand high. We lose our s**t in laughter and through wheezing we conspire in the name of loving life to continue, to inspire. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sub.qntns.com (https://sub.qntns.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1)

Contact QNTNS.com

Guest appearances

Books guests

Based on episode analysis; this does not confirm that the show is currently accepting guests.