I’ve been listening to Welcome to Night Vale again and While I’m on a gif spree I thought I’d draw this up of a sleepy Cecil accidentally ignoring an important call from Carlos! Or maybe it’s John Peters, you know, the farmer?
A friendly desert community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep.
The desert seems vast, even endless, and yet scientists tell us that somewhere, even now, there is snow.
The arctic is lit by the midnight sun. The surface of the moon is lit by the face of the earth. Our little town is lit, too, by lights just above that we cannot explain.
The sun has grown so very, very old. How long cold, fading death? How long?
Close your eyes. Let my words wash over you. You are safe now.
Rabbits are not what they seem to be.
It is almost complete. It is almost complete at last.
Silence is golden. Words are vibrations. Thoughts are magic.
Weird at last, weird at last! God almighty, weird at last!
Regret nothing, until it is too late. Then regret everything.
Today’s air quality is mauve and speckled.
The policeman in that intersection is not directing traffic. He’s coding an urgent message to all of us.
“This is a story about you," said the man on the radio. And you were pleased, because you always wanted to hear about yourself on the radio.
Look to the obelisk. We don’t know where it came from, but it’s attracting a lot of cats.
Bananas are hardly that slippery. But watch your step anyway.
Your existence is not impossible, but it’s also not very likely.
The optimist says the glass is half full. The pessimist says the glass is half empty. It is only the truth seeker who wonders, why is the glass there? Why is there water all over the floor? Why is it covering every other surface of the house? Who or what is doing this to us?
A) Blinking red light in the night sky. The future is changing, but it’s hard to tell. B) The future is what you make of it! Just know that your supplies are limited.
"You’ll be safe here,” says a whisper behind you.
Hang a map of a place you’ll never go on your living room wall. Draw new streets. Tear off bodies of water. Wait for news crews to arrive.
There is a thin semantic line separating weird and beautiful, and that line is covered in jellyfish.
We report only the real, the semi-real, and the verifiably unreal.
The sun has risen. You are awake. This symmetry is not without meaning.
A friendly desert community where the sun is still hot, the moon still beautiful, and mysterious lights still pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep.
Trumpets playing soft jazz from out of the dark desert distance. They come tomorrow. It is too late for us.
Mountains. Endless mountains! Peak after barren peak. And what lies, restless, in the shadowed valleys? I cannot say. I cannot say!
Does it even matter how many living things you touch today, or where they all are now?
Our black suns move erratically, like drunken bees, and each of them stings. Now, more than ever, we are full of blood and honey.
It takes heart. It takes guts. It also takes cash. It just needs your payment immediately.
Our God is an awesome God. Much better than that ridiculous god that Desert Bluffs has.
A lonely heart, a wandering eye, an empty stomach, a shoulder to cry on. This is what makes us, us.
Perhaps you noticed something strange yesterday. And perhaps you have forgotten it.
Life is like a box of chocolates: unopened, dusty, and beginning to attract a lot of insects.
No one has seen the trees this week. Hopefully, they’ll come back soon.
Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky at night, the sailors are howling and laughing. The sailors begin to surround us, and the night sky is so very red.
Velvet darkness. Silken light. The rough burlap of evening. The frayed cotton of daybreak.
You take the good, you take the bad. You take them both, and there you have spiders crawling out of a red velvet cupcake.
Flying is actually the safest mode of transportation. The second-safest is dreaming. The third-safest is decomposing into rich earth and drifting away with the wind and rain.
The riddle says, “He walks on four legs in the morning. He walks on two legs at midday. And at night, he slithers from dream to dream effortlessly, like the air we breathe. And we love him.”
At a loss for words? Here’s a few you can use:
I sing the body electric. I gasp the body organic. I miss the body remembered.
Listen to your heart. You can hear it, deep under the earth, creaking and heaving, with roots snapping and birds flapping quickly away.
All that glitters is not gold. Particularly that thing over there. That’s, maybe, a giant insect of some sort. It’s really too dark to tell.
“This is a story about them,” says the man on the radio. And you are concerned, because this is not a story you were ever supposed to hear.
Act natural. Act like all of nature. Act like the entire cycle of life and death and change and rebirth.
Snow is falling somewhere. Many things are falling, or will fall, or have fallen, but temporary triumph is still triumph.
True beauty is on the inside, where everything is red, and glistening, and full of practical organs and sharp rocks.
Think back. Look forward. Listen timelessly.
Home is where the heart is. We found it one day in the sink. It hums things late at night, but they are not songs.
Look, up in the sky. It’s a bird. It’s a plane. It’s a cloud. It’s a moon. Also, some stars. There are so many things in the sky.
Now is your chance. Well, that was it. It’s over. Did you do it? Have you achieved what you wanted? No? Ah, well.
[[The wind out of the desert is changing. I feel it. You feel it. A shiver in the midday heat. A crackle in the television broadcast. A shift in your immune system. It is September, and something is different. It is September, and the days have gone sinister – from first eye’s open to last slow breathing. It is September, and so, listeners – dear listeners – Night Vale Public Radio is proud to introduce The September Monologues.]]
The secret to a long life lies in how acutely you perceive time.
Let me be brief. Let us all be brief. Let us, briefly, be.
It is autumn, and nature is vanishing. It is autumn, and nature is beautiful.
Breathe deep. Deeper than that. Get far below sea level and breathe. Breathe in a cave. Breathe in a deeper cave. Breathe deeper and deeper until you can’t find your way back.
If it looks like a duck, and it quacks like a duck…you should not be so quick to jump to conclusions.
Condos: At last, we are alone. At last we are, all of us, alone together. At last, every human, alone together, on this earth.
The Debate: We found a little piece of heaven here. It is black, smooth, oblong. It hums a soft but discordant note, and we are afraid to touch it.
TAH/WTNV Crossover: Today, you will meet a beautiful stranger. Actually, hundreds of beautiful strangers. Everyone is beautiful, and you know almost none of them.
Night Vale has proven that you can have a dramatic romance story without having the characters go through break-ups, affairs, love triangles, and other typical TV drama we’re so use to. The sources of drama in the relationship are also very relatable; Cecil having to realize that Carlos isn’t perfect, Carlos being a workaholic, etc. However, despite these challenges it always remains clear that the two still love each other and are happier together than apart. The story isn’t centered on the obstacles their relationship face, but on the love they have for each other that sees them through those obstacles. That is how you write a romance my friends!
The series continues Night Vale’s journey into the weird heartland
of America, with Nicole playing a truck driver who sets out on a
cross-country search for a wife who was formerly presumed dead. Along
the way, she’ll meet characters, creatures, and conspiracies spawned
from the annals of weird fiction—an aesthetic that should be familiar to fans of Night Vale.
Alice Isn’t Dead hails from Night Vale creators Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor and features music by Night Vale composer Disposition. The podcast will air an initial season of 10 bi-weekly episodes written by Fink, running March 8–July 5.
In a statement, Nicole said she was drawn to Fink’s creepy writing,
which blends homespun Americana with plenty of horror and supernatural
elements. “When I first read through the scripts,” said Nicole, “it was
on a beautiful sunny day and I still felt creeped out. The food I was
eating got cold, but I just couldn’t stop reading.”
The series will be the first non-Welcome to Night Vale show produced by their new podcast platform, Night Vale Presents. It will star Jasika Nicole (Fringe, Scandal, Welcome to Night Vale) as
a truck driver who traverses America in search of her wife, who was
previously presumed to be dead. According to a press release, Nicole’s
character “will encounter not-quite-human serial murderers, towns
literally lost in time, and a conspiracy that goes way beyond one
missing woman,” so it sounds like it’s right up the alley of fans of the
duo’s first series.