http://www.miettecast.com Lay yourself down to sleep with the soothing soporific of Miette's purr as she reads you the world's greatest short stories and delivers them podcasterly. Mon, 23 Aug 2010 18:11:21 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.9.2 en hourly 1 ©Miette miette@miettecast.com (Miette) miette@miettecast.com(Miette) 1440 literature, short stories, fiction, reading, books Sweet dreams. Lay yourself down to sleep with the soothing soporific of Miette's purr as she reads you the world's greatest works of short fiction, in a style all her own and in a way only she can. World classics, known and unknown literary masterpieces, and modern experimental titles are all represented in what's quickly becoming the most comprehensive (and most saucy) short fiction anthology. Sweet dreams. Miette Miette miette@miettecast.com No no http://www.miettecast.com/wp-content/themes/cutline-miettehack/images/mbsp-small.jpg http://www.miettecast.com 144 144 http://www.miettecast.com/2005/05/30/the-fantom-of-marseilles/ http://www.miettecast.com/2005/05/30/the-fantom-of-marseilles/#comments Tue, 31 May 2005 04:57:13 +0000 miette http://www.miettecast.com/?p=41 This was recorded from the verdant overgrown idyll overlooked by my fire escape (which, if you can ignore the fact that you have to climb out a window to get to it, and get over the fact that you’re squatting on metal bars, and that it’s, you know, ILLEGAL, is just like a terrace. A balcony! A rooftop!). It’s quiet back there, a few birds even which might prove a fine soundtrack, and while I was squinting to find my own piece of urban green, if you close your eyes on your own while listening, you might imagine yourself with Cocteau, running from the cops and dolling yourself up for a Bosom Buddies-style hideaway in a Marseilles bordello. Or. Not?

]]> http://www.miettecast.com/2005/05/30/the-fantom-of-marseilles/feed/ 0 19:49 This was recorded from the verdant overgrown idyll overlooked by my fire escape (which, if you can ignore the fact that you have to climb ... This was recorded from the verdant overgrown idyll overlooked by my fire escape (which, if you can ignore the fact that you have to climb out a window to get to it, and get over the fact that you're squatting on metal bars, and that it's, you know, ILLEGAL, is just like a terrace. A balcony! A rooftop!). It's quiet back there, a few birds even which might prove a fine soundtrack, and while I was squinting to find my own piece of urban green, if you close your eyes on your own while listening, you might imagine yourself with Cocteau, running from the cops and dolling yourself up for a Bosom Buddies-style hideaway in a Marseilles bordello. Or. Not? Cocteau,,Jean Miette no No