You listen to a podcast. You check the episode description to see what is in store this time. It is a different kind of description than you are used to. You suspect the episode will be a different kind of episode than you are used to. You listen.
Weather: "You Don't Know" by Mount Moon. mountmoon.bandcamp.com
Music: Disparition, disparition.info
Logo: Rob Wilson, silastom.com
Produced by Night Vale Presents. Written by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor. Narrated by Cecil Baldwin. More Info: welcometonightvale.com, and follow @NightValeRadio on Twitter or Facebook.
This is an unofficial transcript meant for reference. Accuracy is not guaranteed.
Hey Jeffrey Grain or here, do you love this show and want to help us keep making it check out our membership programme now on Patria on our members, get awesome exclusive rewards, like directors notes for every episode, exclusive bonus tracks from our lives show recordings entire.
The bonus episodes and maybe, if you're, really interested in a brand new character,
named after you on welcomed, and I plus we'll be posting surprise rewards that I can't tell you about just yet, because it would ruin the surprise sound appealing. I know it
go to welcome to night back com and click on membership, to sign up and hey thanks in advance
This is a story about you
the man on the radio and you were pleased,
because you always wanted to hear about yourself on the radio welcome to night. Then this is a story about you.
You live in a trailer out near the car lot. Next to old woman, Josie S House,
occasionally shall wave at you on her way out to get the mail or more snacks for the angels
occasionally your way back your
a terrible neighbour. As far as it goes at night, you can
see the red light blinking
on and off, on top of the radio tower, a tiny flurry of human activity against the implacable,
backdrop of stars and void yours,
it out on the steps of your trailer, with your back to the
brightness of the car lot,
watching the radio tower for hours.
But only sometimes mostly you do other things.
This story is a
How do you
you didn't always live at night veil. You lived somewhere else where there were more trees, more water,
You wrote direct mail campaigns for companies selling their products.
The resident you wrote often
Some good news in this dreary world at Last-
a reason not to kill yourself
then you would delete that and write something else and it would be sent out and it,
be read by mail, you had a friend and then a residence.
And then a finally some good, the same person, she
dinner sometimes, but sometimes you cooked. You often touched
one day. You were walking from the glass box of your office to your old Ford probe and a vision came to you.
You saw above you a planet of
some size lit by
no son and invest
the bull tighten all thick.
Black forests and joy
mountains and deep turbulent oceans
it was so far away so desolate and so in possibly terrifyingly dark. And that day you did not go home.
You drove. Instead, you drove a long time and
centrally. You ended up in night veil and you stopped driving. You have been haunted
ever since, by how easy it was to walk away from your life and how few the
repercussions. Were you never heard from
fiance or your job. Again, they never looked for you, which doesn't seem likely or,
maybe it's that in night veiled you cannot be found the complete freedom, the lack of consequence
you have a new job. Now
every day accept Sunday, you drive out into the sand wastes and there
find two trucks
you move wooden, creates from one truck to the other, while a man in a suit silently watches, it is a different
man each time, sometimes the crates tick. Mostly they do not
When you are done, the man.
The suit hands you and amount of cash also different, each time,
and you go home. It is the best job you ever had accept. Today it was different
you moved the crates. The man in the suit
stranger watched, but then
has had never happened before.
The man in the suit received a phone call. He walked off at some distance to take it.
Yes, sir. He said and no sir
Also he made hawk shrieking sounds it wasn't terribly interesting, you moved crates, but then an impulse, an awful impulse.
Came over you and for no other reason than that you are trapped by the freedom to do anything in this life. You took one of the crates and put it in your trunk,
by the time the man came back from his phone call, you were done,
With your job he
If you the money, it was near
five hundred dollars today, the second highest it had ever been, and you drove home with the great in your trunk.
When you got home, you took the crate,
to your trailer and left it in the kitchen, the crate didn't
make a ticking sound,
it made. No sound at all, nothing,
made a sound except you breathing in and breathing out you cooked dinner. You always cook,
the red light on the tower blinked on and off in your peripheral vision, a message
that was there and then wasn't
that you could never quite red. You wondered
how long it would take them to miss the crate
you did not wonder who they were some
streets, aren't questions to be answered, but just a kind of opaque fact.
Thing which exists to be quite
You wondered how
which brings us to now too
Story about you. You
who are listening to the radio, the
answer is talking about you.
And then you hear something else,
guttural, howl out of the desert distance.
And you know that the crates absence has been discovered the great well. It sits. That's all on the kitchen floor
that's all it's warm warmer than the air around it,
smells sharp and earthy like
freshly ground cinnamon, and when you
your ear against the rough war
You hear a soft humming and, in
distinct melody. It does not appear to be difficult to
All you would need to do is removed.
A few nails you do not open it.
You decide instead to
to the moonlight all night.
Diner and how
a slice of pie.
The wind is hot
Call ways and smells like honey and mud
It is your favorite time day
brings only a chain of visual sensations. None of it
go here into meaning for you anymore life,
has become out of focus free of consequence,
as you drive. You turn off the headlights for a moment
in that moment, you feel again, above you know
even far away now that the planet
of awesome size lit by no son,
an invisible, tighten all thick black forests and jagged mountains and deep turbulent oceans use
nothing, but the faint moonlight on your dashboard, but you know the planet is out. There
yawning in the unseen spaces.
you turn your headlights back on and all you see is a road just asphalt just that
and you pass a man waving some afore flags, indicating that the
speed limit for this stretch is forty. Five, the moon,
light, all night is radiant green slab of mint light.
In the warm darkness use
and when you see it like it, hurts your eyes, but it does not
Your eyes, you parking
you're the front door
a man rose by on the ground, his eyes, bleary and cyclists whispering the word mud the womb over and over.
But you don't have the money to Tipp him. So you go inside you order a slice of straw, very pie and the waitress indicates through words and movements that it will be brought to you. Presently, the radio speaks soothingly to you from static speakers set into a foam tiles ceiling. It is telling a story about you, your story at last,
a man slides into the booth across from you
recognize him vaguely, although here
considerably different, now it
that man who appeared to be of slavic origin, but who dressed in an absurd caricature of an indian chief and called himself the Apache Tracker, except now
it's difficult for you to miss. He has actually trans
formed into a native American. You wonder if the pie
we'll get there soon the impact
trackers smells of putting soil.
Sweat, leans across the table and touches your hand lightly.
You do not pull the hand away
because sweat leans across the table,
those posts. Nastier
he says on the you. Do it you not, he tapped the table, then
bringing his thick eyebrows together and pursing his lips. He leave
down and taps the ground
you? Now and again? I think
I pay is here now you say
unnecessarily as the pie is quite visibly placed in front of you
you did not order invisible pie, you hate invisible pie.
He looks at the pie for a long time and then what
his breath, he's out
slowly through his nose
NI, pray, Sneezer Pirogue,
Nepal or good, believes what
asshole that guy is.
You finish the pie and ask for the Czech check
You say: whisper
get into your drinking glass as is custom, and then
lifting the tray of sugar packets to find it filled out and ready to be paid.
You drop a few dollars onto the Czech place it
back under the sugars. Why
for the sound of swallowing endless
if the diner the way
just nods as you leave, but not at you.
She nods slowly and rhythmically.
The music only she can hear her
Is writing the curved line of neon lights above the menu as you,
start the car, the man on the radio says something about the weather.
My mother was found by running right now
the great is in your kitchen, where you left it
and you get down on your knees to embrace it more fully it has.
Own warmer, even hot. It still is not ticking
It had taken you no time to get back home,
I'll bet you think about it. Were there any other cars on the road
air. Did all the cars go, the man,
and with the sum afore flags explaining the speed limit. He wasn't
They are either your heart pounds.
Without allowing another stray thought to wander through your mind and delay you, you grabbed the crate and throw it in your truck,
You turned the ignition and your car radio comes alive with a pump, just as the announcer says that your car radio comes alive with a pop.
There are two now you don't know, but you go there anyway, a pair of headlights, a pair of eyes and two shaky hands speeding through the silent town behind you. You see helicopters searchlights sweeping down onto your trailer. There are sirens, purplish cloud hangs over the town glittering, occasionally as it rotates the whole works you
I passed the moonlight all night, still a glow and full of people slowly eating what sounds good. Only late at night and Teddy Williams Desert Flower Bowling Alley and arcade fun complex, which has taken too not only locking but barricading its doors. At closing time, you pass by city Hall, which, as always, is completely shrouded after dark in black velvet, moving farther out following the pool of the distant uncertain moon new passed by the car lot, where the salesman have been put away for the night and old woman Josie S House, where the only sign that the unassuming little poem could be a place of residence for angels is the bright halo of heavenly like surrounding it.
And the sign out front that says angels residents and the town is behind you and you are out in the scrub lands and the sand. Wastes
by the road. You see a man holding a cactus in one hand and a pair of scissors and the other. He shakes both at you as you pass and howl, and then
You are alone, just you and the desert. You stop the car and get out
Pebbles crunch in the sand. In response to your movement
radio murmurs behind the closed doors of the car, the head
lights, illuminated only a few stray plants and the wide
YO murmurs, behind the closed doors of the car, the headlights illuminated only if
only a few stray plants and the wide dumb eyes of some nocturnal animals.
I would now floating over the heart of the city reaches
tendrils in and out of buildings,
you hear screams and guy?
fire. You opened the door
and lay one hand on the great it pulses
with some kind of life still note.
Picking, though you look back
Several buildings are on fire crowds of people
our floating in the air held aloft by
beams of light and
struggling feebly against power. They cannot begin to understand.
The ground shifts. Like you
startled, it's so quiet.
When it finally comes here,
see the black car long before it arrives. It comes to
halt nearby unto men step out, you
don't run neither do they.
How did you find me you ask,
Everything you do is being broadcast on the radio. For some reason not me,
it pretty easy
says one of the men, the one
that isn't tall.
You say I see that now
you have the item, the man who is not tall asks you say nothing. The man who was not tall signals, the man who is not short and he walks past. You looks into your trunk and knots.
Even easier says. The man who is not all there is
unexpected click. One of the rear doors of the black car has opened
and your fiance has stepped out.
Eyes are wet like it was
night, you left, she does not appear to have aged, but then
You can't actually remember how long it has been. Could it have been last week or was it ten years ago why she says why why you dont know what to do
and who is not short steps up to. You puts a knife against your throat.
Nobody says anything.
Your fiance shakes her head her eye.
Is our empty. Broken gushing
The radio was saying all of this. As it happens, you hear it dimly through the car door. You can't stop smiling all at once. The cons
quinces all at once. You are no longer free. It's all coming back around all at once, life
bleary washed out snaps back into focus
the red, light on the tower still blinks in the distance and every message in this world has a meaning. It all
makes sense, and you are finally being punished. You can't think of a time you have ever been happier
Your fiance abruptly gets back into the car
or of the men seemed to notice her one opens the crate with a couple quick taps and pulls out of it and intricate miniature house the hours that must have
spent building it every detail is accounted for inside the house. You think you see
for a moment, lights and movement, endemic
says the man who is not tall. You be met him then
if presses harder against your throat, but it doesn't hurt your eyes, wandered,
up and you see above you, the dark planet of awesome size perched in
sunless, void and invisible tight in all thick black forests and jagged mountains and deep turbulent oceans, a monster spinning.
Soundless, forgotten it so close. Now you see it just above you may.
Even if you tried very hard, you could touch it. You reach up
This has been your story
the radio moves on to other things: news traffic
political opinions and crew
Corrections to political opinions, but there
was time. One day
One single day,
it was only one story, a story about you.
And you were pleased because you,
Always wanted to hear about yourself on the radio good night Night Veil
welcome to night veil is the production of night veil presents. It is written by Joseph Thing and Geoffrey, greener and produced by Joseph think the voice of night veil, Cecil Baldwin original music by dispersion. All of it can be found at disposition, dot info or a disposition. Dot band camp, dotcom, russian translation by Daniel nears spicy by Daniel
these episodes. Whether was you dont know, my mouth Moon find out more at Mount Moon DOT, phantom dotcom comments, questions, email, a sad info at glove them tonight, fail dot com or followers on twitter. At night, no radio check out welcome to night fell dot com for more information on this show, as well as our touring Nightingale live, show admire their consider clicking Madonna, clear european today's proverb. I've never join a pen, fifteen club that would allow a person like me to become a member.
They say you shouldn't meteor heroes and Joseph think, and I like to introduce you to. I only listen to the mountain goat, the show where I mean my hero and have conversations about songwriting, art and life. This fog has his. Will you be weird for me because I'm proud of what I do, but I always try to change the subject of people. Tell me that myself, if I only listen to the mountain guts, find it wherever you listen, the pot casts
Transcript generated on 2020-02-16.