01/04/2019 15:40:46 ¶ ●

## 145 - The Veterans

Fake it till you make it.
Mike it till you like it.
Book it till you look it.
Welcome to Night Vale.

More soldiers of the Blood Space War have returned home to Night Vale. Another craft landed in the corn field of John Peters – you know, the farmer. Beings of astonishing structure emerged alongside four human figures in space suits. The astronauts removed their helmets to reveal they are Night Vale residents James Peters – you know, the brother of Johns Peters – you know, the farmer; twins Drew and Dan Christiansen, and Junior Blay. These veterans of the interstellar conflict were welcomed by the citizens of Night Vale with hugs, a brass band, and delicious unsold baked goods left over from last month’s PTA bake sale to support the Blood Space War.

The returning soldiers thanked the gathering, but warned Night Vale of the Polonian armies of star system Lakaia 9352, who are encroaching at this moment upon our own galaxy. Admiral Junior Blay of the 63rd mountain cavalry said the Polonians are ruthless killers. They are three times the size of humans, with hundreds of sharp teeth up and down their many boneless limbs. They have only one eye, which really messes up their depth perception, (Blay) said, but that eye can also shoot out lasers, so it’s sort of a six of one way, half dozen the other

The crowd did not hear most of what the veterans had to say, as they were mesmerized by the beings of astonishing structure standing atop the landing ramp of their disc-shaped craft.
“Oh those?” Sergeant Dan Christiansen said. “They are allies. They’re from the Battlestation Wolfgang. They have no home planet, as it was destroyed millennia ago by the Polonians.”
The crowd pointed and shouted “interlopers of astonishing structure” at the beings, but Lieutenant Drew Christiansen said: “Oh, they have no oral or written language. They cannot understand your noises.”
Drew then did a kind of b-boy pop and lock dance move and the beings of astonishing structure replied with a balletic prance before entering their ship and departing. They said: “Thanks, but this place is weird.”
Drew Christiansen interpreted for the crowd.

Dan and Drew Christiansen were born in Night Vale in 1912. They became tax accountants. They had wives and children. They donated to the old Night Vale Opera House and were avid sports fans. They even started the first ever semi pro sand hockey league. Dan passed away in 1994 of liver cancer, and Drew passed away weeks later of a heart attack. They were survived by their wives, children, and grandchildren. But upon returning to Night Vale this week, these 107-year-old men looked to be in their late 20’s. The Christiansen twins have attempted to reunite with their families, but they were unrecognizable to their grandchildren who are now middle aged. And when Dan and Drew tried to apply for jobs, they were declined on account of an antiquated law that makes it illegal to hire the dead.

Junior Blay, a 50-year-old man, said he was born in 2022 to Oliver and Linda Blay of Old Town Night Vale. The Blay family was contacted about this and said they had not planned to ever have children, so Junior will likely have been an accident or a dramatic change of heart. Blay was wounded in his combat assignment and returned home for treatment. He suffered third degree burns across his abdomen and arms and needs a skin craft, but the Night Vale VA has to wait for approval from the Red Mesa VA to clear his procedure, which could take weeks.

Jim Peters was honorably discharged from service and was heavily decorated with chevrons and medals. But his face sagged with exhaustion and history. His brother John was the first to greet him, but Jim could not match his brother’s tearful enthusiasm. Jim had seen too much, experienced too much, to ever feel normal again.

In light of the physical, financial, and spiritual crush on these men, the City Council announced that it would paint a giant American flag atop City Hall and play John Philip Souza’s famous patriotic march, “Bodak Yellow”, at all hours of the day over a loudspeaker. And the whole town cheered proudly, for they were truly taking care of our vets.

Let’s have a look at sports. The Night Vale High School wheel chair basketball team, captained by junior point guard Janice Palmer, won their semi-final game last night against Cactus Park High School 72-58. Forward Quinn Booman led the team with 20 points and also had 8 rebounds and 10 assists. The Scorpions fell behind by 16 points in the first half, but really found their inspiration at halftime. Coach Jacobite McPhee told his team not to get down on themselves because it’s impossible to make every single shot, you just have to have fun. McPhee then took out an acoustic guitar and sang the following original song.

[Joseph Fink sings]
Physics is a science of made up numbers and rules
So we can only make joy and pass the ball like fools.
To win it leaves our hands of free will it’s true
Cause you never ever know what that ball is gonna do.
Physics is a science of made up numbers and rules
So we can only make joy and pass the ball like fools.
Yes we can only make joy and pass the ball like fools.

The team relinquished their illusion of control and dominated the second half offensively. The Scorpions face Pine Cliff this Saturday afternoon in the district tournament final, so let’s all get out there and support our team, really root for the ball to go into the… the hmm hmm, the the, you know the thing that the ball is supposed to go into.
And this has been sports.

Senior strategic advisor Jameson Archibald at the Intergalactic Military Headquarters, speaking from an inflatable raft atop an infinity pool filled with Remy Martin Black Pearl Cognac, said he and his top strategists in the Intergalactic Military Headquarters still have no idea what the Blood Space War is about. But they’re glad to learn that the Polonian armies are approaching.
“We’ve got all this money piling up for the war and we’re getting bored with hosting Lamborghini demolition derbies,” Archibald said. “The government keeps sending us cash and we’re like OK y’all, but like what are we supposed to do with iiit? And the feds are like, I don’t care start a war or something.”
But unfortunately the government allotment for an interstellar war was wiped out on a failed investment in a tech startup that was pitched to them as “the Uber of Netflix of Facebook” by a 7-year-old wearing a suit. So, the Intergalactic Military Headquarters was forced to ask for contributions. Hence, the PTA bake sales. Additionally, the Sheriff’s Secret Police were able to provide several armored combat vehicles, two tons of enriched uranium, and a satellite activated missile launching system, all of which had been donated to the Secret Police by the US army.

Sheriff Sam said they had wanted to keep all that high-tech battle gear, but using a nuclear submarine to stop Night Vale citizens who were fishing without a license, created to what Sheriff Sam referred to as “less than satisfactory optics”.
Archibald said he was appreciative of the Secret Police’s charity, but he’d just received word that the Polonian ships are already within the outer limits of our solar system. So not sure there’s much left to do, really. He then took out a roll of 100-dollar bills from his shirt pocket and ate it like a Snickers bar.

An update on the high school basketball tournament. The City Council announced that there will be a parade for the team, win or lose, next Tuesday evening. The parade will feature giant floats in the shapes of famous basketball players, such as Oscar Robertson, Larry Bird, and Little Bow Wow. There will also be a celebrity appearance by Lee Marvin, who will be celebrating his 30th birthday on Tuesday. Aww. Happy birthday, Mr. Marvin!

The City Council expressed civic pride in this talented team of young athletes, and enjoined all of Night Vale to come out in celebration of sportsmanship, regardless of the outcome of the championship game. “Of course,” the single-bodied entity of the City Council said with uncharacteristic mirth, “we think our team will win.” The City Council’s many faces then winked in unison.
“Also,” the City Council added, “If you look up in the sky, you’ll see that a large chunk of the moon just exploded and the Earth is surrounded by enemy space crafts, but there’s not much we can do about that, so let’s just cheer on our basketball team.”
The City Council then held up their many fists and squealed: “Yay team!” as pieces of the moon began to thunder down around us.

Let’s go now
to today’s
Weather.

[No Good Day” by Windows to the Sky https://windowstosky.com]

I’ve just received an email from Harrison Kip, archeology professor at Night Vale Community College. Kip told me that while on a dig in 1993, he and his team of researchers found remnants of several spacecraft buried deep in central Nevada. Kip was studying fossilized remains to determine eating habits of early North American habitants, but what he found were several triangular titanium vessels, each roughly the size and shape of a Burger King. He tried to check his notes from that excursion, but those pages had been torn out of his journal. Despite this, he’s positive the ships he can see above our Earth are identical to the ones he found crashed in the desert 25 years ago. Inside those ships were creatures the size of hippos, with long dangling limbs covered in sharp teeth. Kip remembers calling the college to ask for more funding for this research, but before he could do anything, a black van drove up to the dig site and several men wearing business suits that were patterned in desert camouflage got out, they arrested Kip and his assistants, and had them reprogrammed.

Kip said the reprogramming was successful until today, when he heard my news reports about the Polonians, and his memories suddenly returned to him, and now he believes he knows exactly what has happened in the Blood Space War and how we will end it. He’s going to type up his notes while they’re still fresh in his mind, and get them over to me asap. Oh, this is so very exciting! Science saves the day. Once again.
Uh huh, here’s a follow up email from Harrison. It says: “Hey Cecil, disregard whatever I said earlier, I don’t even remember what it was. Some guys I didn’t know showed up and put a metal helmet on me, there were a bunch of wires and knobs and lights coming out of it and it felt so peaceful and comfortable, like when you’re eating Belgian waffles with ice cream or binge-watching Terrace House, anyway I don’t remember what I sent you earlier since (–) have been deleted, so whatever it was it couldn’t have been [angrily] that important? Sincerely, Harrison?” No! No, this is terrible. OK, I’m going to forward Harrison’s first email back to him to see if it rejogs his memory. We’ve gotta learn exactly what-
Hello? Hello there? Listeners, there are some men entering my studio. They’re wearing business suits made from a desert camouflage patterned fabric! Oh, Gucci, I love it! They’re, they’re putting this crazy hat on me and it has a bunch of lights and wires, hang on Night Vale, listen to this interview I recorded earlier today with John Peters – you know, the farmer. These boys are here trying to get me ready for fashion week, I-I-I think?

John Peters: Jim came home this week and I was real happy, happier than a pig starring in its own TV show about pig detectives solving pig murders. My brother taught me to play football when we was boys. He’d throw the ball and say: “Johnny, move your hands together like salad tongs when the ball gets near you, that’s called ‘catch’.” I tried so hard to catch that ball, but I never could. [chuckles] We had fun.
Jim taught me so much and he took care of me, running off the bullies at school, buying me soda pops and candy canes from this man who lived in a trunk of a broken down ’56 Chevy in the alley behind the post office.
I’m almost 60 years old and my brother left for the war back when I was 15. And to see him again, boy to see his face after so long, he ain’t changed one bit. He literally is the same age as when he left, 22 years old.
But he’s not the same Jim. He don’t wanna throw the football or go looking for discount sodas and candy in weird alleys. No, Jim looks sad. His body’s strong but his mind seems so weak. I saw him crying the other day and told him what our papa always said to us: “Jim, boys don’t cry. Not without talking through their feelings with someone else.” So I put my arm around young Jim. I must have looked like a granddad - me so old, him so young - but our memories of each other were the same age.
Jim cried into my shirt and said, “Johnny, I’ve been in that war darn near a hundred years. That’s a lot of space travel, not a lot of fightin’ but when there is fightin’ it’s gruesome.”
Jim said he didn’t wanna see no more war, but he said that in his last battle he risked his life to disarm a bomb that would have killed ten of his fellow soldiers, and one of them was the General.
“The General has a plan for ceasefire,” Jim said, “the General has a plan for peace. But I think the General needs me, Johnny.”
I said, “Jimbo, I need you.” But I knew that I’d been without him for 40 years, while this General was with him for nearly 100. I knew I was lyin’ to Jim and myself.
Jim hugged my neck and kissed my cheek. He donned his space suit and walked out into the corn field and disappeared. I think my brother is gonna save us all.
Anyway, it’s a sad story, but it’s also happy. Like a goat playing a piano, stories carry lots of different emotions all at once.

Cecil: [sounding high] Alright, listeners, I’m back. I don’t remember what I was talking about, nor where I got this really cool hat. But City Council announced that the space ships that were surrounding our planet are gone. But they were deeply unnerved by the fact that the ships did not retreat, they simply disappeared. The City Council then added that the moon is still broken but honestly, they see this as a crisatunity to buy a new one.

Oh, don’t forget to come to the basketball championship parade on Tuesday.

Stay tuned next for simultaneous panic and relief,
As you realize all of your emails are gone.

Good night,
Night Vale,
Good night.

Today’s proverb: Develop your chi. Really work that chi hard. Get sixpack chi. Totally swole with chi. Roll up those sleeves and welcome people to the chi show.

15/04/2019 22:21:53 ¶ ●

## 146 - The Birthday of Lee Marvin (II)

Every evening’s disappointment is the next morning’s hope.
I’m Lee Marvin.
Welcome to my birthday.

[somber piano version of the theme song]

There is a dark planet of awesome size, lit by no sun. An invisible titan, all thick black forest and jagged mountains and deep, turbulent oceans. It is so far away, so desolate, so impossibly, terrifyingly dark. One day, we will go there.

Imagine the feeling of the ground beneath your feet on that planet. The soft cold grit of sand that once was rock, that once was mountains. You won’t be able to see the sand. You won’t be able to see anything except the faint glimmer of the stars. There’s always light somewhere, just not here.

What does it smell like on the planet, I wonder. The salt tang of invisible oceans. The bitter sap of ancient forest. I don’t think it smells of rot. I don’t think it smells of fire or a food. I think it smells empty like a home that you lived in for many years but have cleaned out and painted, and are standing in it for the last time and it is once again a stranger to you. I think it smells like that.

I’m Lee Marvin, actor of some note. It is my 30th birthday today. Every day is my 30th birthday and yet I do not age. This morning, on my birthday, I had a vision. I was walking and the ground became wet. Then the water rose up around my ankles, but I kept walking. Around me were the trunks of mighty trees, hundreds of feet around. The water felt cool, but the air was warm, so it was nice to walk through. And still the water rose, and I was waist deep now. I didn’t know where it was I was going toward or away from. There was a fierce bicker of birds somewhere far above. The water (roiled) [0:04:20], but I was not afraid, I just walked, waist deep in that water. Perhaps I walked forever.

My morning routine is like so. I wake up at 5 AM. I know this because my digital clock tells me in stark red against black. I’ve had the same clock for decades. All of the labels have worn off the buttons, I wouldn’t know how to set an alarm, but I don’t need to. Whenever I wake up, it’s 5 AM. Maybe my waking causes time to happen.

I have the same breakfast every morning. I don’t mean I have the same kind of breakfast, I mean it’s the same food. I know because the apple has a bruise shaped like a witch’s hat near the stem. It’s the same bruise, the same size the same shape every morning. When I pour the cereal, no matter for how long or short, it’s the exact same amount of Corn Flakes. I’ve counted them again and again. Even if I pour no cereal at all, if I refuse to touch the box, there is still the same number of Corn Flakes in the bowl. It’s the same breakfast, and I eat it again and again, to celebrate the morning of my 30th birthday.

We were not meant to last forever. There is no peace in eternity. What shapes all of this is the boundaries. The birth, the death, even the pain in the knees, the forgotten wallet. You are bounded and so within, you are bound-less-. Without boundaries, I have no shape, I have no pain in my knees, and so I forget I have them. I forget my body. That’s all. I just wanna remember my body.

There is a dark planet of awesome size, lit by no sun. Its orbit is wild, it serpentines through space. Even with the most powerful telescopes we would not be able to find it. But at some point, we will all see it, clear and plain as our own faces, in the blue of the sky. We will look up on a day where we had a dentist appointment, where we had to pick up the kids by 4, where the basketball game was on down at the bar, and there will be a planet of awesome size, lit by no sun. An invisible titan, all thick black forest and jagged mountains and deep, turbulent oceans.

The planet will be so close that you will be able to see details on its midnight surface. Are those cities that you see upon it? Vast and cavernous cities? Empty windows and empty rooms. No one built those cities, but they are there.

I’m Lee Marvin. I’ve always been Lee Marvin. It has always been my 30th birthday.

This afternoon, on my birthday, I had a vision. I was at a conference table in a conference room, in a building full of rooms exactly like that one. A place of business where money is not made but is procured from those who deserve it less. I wondered, if I searched those offices for all of my birthdays after, would I ever find an exist? But I did not search. I sat at the conference table. Across from me was an unsmiling man. His hands were folded in front of him on the table. I did not greet him, because I felt that we had already exchanged small talk and now it was time to get to the meat of it. But I didn’t know what the meat was. I didn’t know what he wanted from me. Neither of us said anything from either side of our conference table. The tinted window looked out over a parking lot, full of identical silver sedans.

My afternoon routine is like so. I put on my hat and I go into town. I do my shopping and say hello to the people I know and the people I don’t. There’s still somehow people I don’t know even after all this time. However much time it has been. They often wish me a happy birthday and I say thank you. But what I mean is, please don’t. Please, no more.

Sometimes there’s a party and I poke at the cake with the side of my fork. I go home with my groceries and I put them in the fridge, throwing out the identical groceries I’d bought the day before. Then I have an afternoon coffee out in the back yard, staring at my lawn which remains green and lush, even though the heat is intense this time of year, even though I have never in my life watered it.

Grass is like me. I spit a little coffee on the grass. Imagine having no shape, no form. Imagine a clumsy endlessness. Imagine me. Picture me.

In an emergency, it is recommended that you look for the nearest exit. That’s all I’m doing here, looking for the nearest exit.

There is a dark planet lit by no sun. An invisible titan, all thick black forest and jagged mountains and deep, turbulent oceans. I feel that I walked there once long ago. I know the bitter crunch of its lifeless soil. I know the ice fizz of the waves along its shores. I know the smooth glass of its mountainsides. The dark there is complete.

I wish I could take you by the hand, and together you and I could step onto its surface. We could know it the way one knows a home. We could find warmth in its absolute chill. We could make light in its total darkness. But that won’t happen. Because when we visit that planet, we each must visit it alone. But we can take comfort in those who have gone before, and those who will come after. There is a dark planet lit by no sun, and one day we will go there.

This evening on my birthday, I had a vision. I was climbing a chimney of rock. The rock sat tight around my shoulders. There was hardly room for my body. By wedging myself outward, I was able to make myself stable and then wiggle myself just a little bit higher and a little bit higher after that. I knew that my climb would last for the rest of my life, and that the rest of my life would last forever. And still I wiggled myself an inch at a time. Far above me was a dot of light. Pale orange of sunrise or sunset, it never changed. The sun was always setting or else it was always rising, and anyway I was far beneath, wiggling my way up a chimney of rock. Far below, I could see cave water, absolutely clear and impossible deep and brutally cold. If I wanted I could simply relax my body and fall through the rock into that cold and clean water. All I would need to do is relax for one second. But I didn’t. I kept climbing toward the sunrise or else the sunset.

My evening routine is like so. I listen to the radio to hear the news and nod thoughtfully at what the world is up to when I’m not involved. I take off my socks. I like how my feet feel against the carpet in my living room. Sometimes I hear a voice from the living room wall. The voice sounds like me.
“There must be more than this,” the me in the wall says to the me in the chair.
“I wish it were so,” I say to the me in the wall.
“Could you, could you help me out here, I think I’m stuck?” says the me in the wall. And I shake my head sadly. If I could have helped myself, I would have already.

I don’t like to sleep, so I binge an old 90’s sitcom like “Five in the Pit” or “The Thin Man Commences”. I don’t fall asleep, I know I don’t. I count every hour until the next day. And yet I find myself waking again in my bed and it’s my 30th birthday. As it is always my 30th birthday.

If I’m not given a boundary, I will have to create a boundary for myself. I will have to be the inventor of my own end. Listen against a window. Do you hear the soft murmur of the weather outside?

[“Sicilian Crest” by The Mountain Goats, http://www.mountain-goats.com
http://ionlylistentothemountaingoats.com]

I have lived a very long time. Perhaps longer than anyone. Hmh. And yet there is still so much I haven’t done. I’ve never been to Poland or Bolivia, or New Zealand or Svitz. I’ve never been to North Carolina or North Dakota or North Florida or Germany. I’ve never seen a giraffe in person. Or a boar. Or a praying mantis or an eagle. I’ve never been to space, I’ve never been in a come and I’ve never tasted kale or kimchi or lamb or (-) [0:20:37].

There are big things I’ve never done. I’ve never written a book or recorded an album. I’ve never built a house. Choosing the location and materials, laying down the foundation and constructing the framework upon it. Putting in insulation, installing drywall, getting permits from the city. I’ve never led an army over a mountain pass, saying to them: “Today we go down in history!” I’ve never gone down in history. I mean, most of us haven’t and most of us won’t, but me too I guess. I’ve never been to the dark part of the ocean floor where the sun can’t reach through the sheer liquid mass, and the strange creatures live whose beauty does not rely on our sense of beauty, because their existence does not rely on our sense of existence. Or the volcanic vents pump heat into the blue-black abyss.
I’ve never been married, although I have been divorced. I’ve never sky dived or even been on a plane. I don’t know what flying feels like. I imagine it feels a little like dreaming and a lot like waiting.

There are small things that I’ve never done. I’ve never had a picnic. I’ve never made whole wheat pasta. I’ve never parallel parked or spent a few hours picking up litter from the side of the road. I’ve never pulled a weed. And I’ve never bought a hat. I’ve always owned this hat. I don’t remember where I got it. I’ve never driven any car but a Dodge Durango. I’ve never seen a single movie except “Forgetting Sarah Marshall”. No that new remake but the original 1960’s classic starring Frank Sinatra as every character. I can’t imagine any other movie being better, so I’ve never bothered.

Exotic things I’ve never done. I’ve never time traveled, although I do get the brochures in the mail each week like everyone else. I’ve never danced in the ballet. Huh, although I’ve daydreamed of it many times. I’ve never printed counterfeit money, nor ordered a hit on anyone, nor otherwise committed a crime. I’ve never been bitten by a vampire or by a werewolf or by a child.

Simple things I’ve never done. I’ve never mailed a letter. I’ve never owned a dishwasher. I don’t know what a sauna feels like. I’ve never been in a hot tub. I’ve never kept a flower in a vase, long after it was time to throw it away until it is the brown memory of a flower that once was. I’ve never done Pilates or yoga or Crossfit. I’ve never taken a run, although I’ve always owned running shoes.

My life, like all lives, is more of a list of “I never”s than “I have”s. Because the world is bigger than we can reach. Not even if we spend our entire lives reaching. We clear a little circle around ourselves. We sit in that circle, and that is our life. But it’s OK. I don’t have to do everything. I will leave an endless list of the “not done”s and the “meant to”s and the “should have”s, and that’s fine. After all, past performance is not a predictor of future results. After all, death is only the end if you think the story is about you. After all, after everything, after it’s over, what then?

Good night,
Night Vale,
Good night.

Today’s proverb: A group of Chihuahuas is called a committee. A group of Labradors is called a jumble. A group of Golden Retrievers is called a butter dish.