146 - The Birthday of Lee Marvin

Howdy, Jeffrey Kraner here.

You probably know that Welcome to Night Vale does live tours.

We've done seven of those tours, in fact.

If you never got to see these tours, or even if you did and you want to relive them, we have live recordings available to you right now over at nightvale.bandcamp.com.

You can find those seven different live show performances, including our most recent show, The Attic.

We've also got some one-off events like our Thrilling Adventure Hour crossover show, our first-ever live show, Condos, as well as The Debate.

These albums are only $5 and they're so much fun.

So while we're between tours, tide yourself over with our live albums.

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Every evening's disappointment is the next morning's hope.

I'm Lee Marvin.

Welcome to my birthday.

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 of food.

I think it smells empty, like a home that you lived in for many years but have cleaned out and repainted and you're standing in it for the last time and it is once again a stranger to you.

I think it smells like that.

I am 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, 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 a.m.

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 a.m.

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 cornflakes.

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 cornflakes 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 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 boundless.

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 want to 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 four, 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 am Lee Marvin.

I have 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 exit?

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 are 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 is 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 had bought the day before.

Then I have an afternoon coffee out in the backyard, 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.

The grass is like me.

I spit a little coffee on the grass.

Imagine having no 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 impossibly 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 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 of 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 90s sitcom like Five in a 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 am 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 the window.

Do you hear

the soft murmur of the weather outside?

In these

times of wanting prophecy

And false

witnesses

up to all manner of deviltry

Drench your kitchen ragged heretics blood

Wash your windows and prepare for the flood Look to the west

Look to the man

bearing the Sicilian dress.

Words

in the sky

say that the time is near

Dile

into the segment

coming in loud and clear

Sacrificial victims out of the cage

Smiling as they're taking the stage Lord to the west

Look to the men

bearing a Sicilian breast

out of the blue

everything's learned

All the talk we heard was true

Legends we all heard once,

the whispers from the star fronts.

Hope for the best,

prepare for the worst.

We wait

like stockpiled landmarks

Ready to burst

Wait all your life to see what you see

Open up your eyes and be free

Look to the right

Look to the main

bearing a civilian crest.

Hey, it's Jeffrey Kraner with a word from our sponsor.

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In the water, surrounding you, lurks a mythical beast with two large eyes and many long arms.

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Like the deepest sea, the Kraken should be treated with great respect and responsibility.

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I have lived a very long time,

perhaps longer than anyone.

And yet, there's still so much I haven't done.

I've never been to Poland or Bolivia or New Zealand or Switzerland 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 coal mine.

I've never tasted kale or kimchi or lamb or redikyo.

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.

Where the volcanic vents pump heat into the blue black abyss.

I've never been married, although I have been divorced.

I've never skydived or even been on a plane.

I don't know what flying feels like.

I imagine it feels a little like dreaming 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 weed 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.

Not that new remake, but the original 1960s 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 the mail each week like everyone else.

I've never danced in the ballet,

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 have always owned running shoes.

My life,

like

all lives,

is more of a list of I-never's than I-haves.

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 okay.

I don't have to do everything.

I will leave an endless list of the not-dunes and the meant-tos

and the should-haves.

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.

Welcome to Night Vale as a a production of Night Vale Presents.

This episode was written by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Kraner and produced by Disparition.

The voice of Lee Marvin was T.

L.

Thompson.

Original music by Disparition.

All of it can be found at disparition.info or at disparition.bandcamp.com.

This episode's weather was Sicilian Crest by the Mountain Goats from their new album, In League with Dragons.

To hear songwriter John Darnell and Night Vale creator Joseph Fink have an hour-long discussion of this song, check out the new season of their podcast, I Only Listen to the Mountain Goats, wherever you listen to podcasts.

Comments, questions, email us at info at welcometonightvale.com or follow us on Twitter at nightvale radio or live your best life, whatever that means to you.

Check out welcometonightvale.com for more information on all sorts of nightvale merch we have.

From logo shirts to logo earrings to shirts that say, sleep like there's nobody nobody watching.

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.

I'm Amy Nicholson, the film critic for the LA Times.

And I'm Paul Scheer, an actor, writer, and director.

You might know me from the League Veep or my non-eligible for Academy Award role in Twisters.

We love movies, and we come at them from different perspectives.

Yeah, like Amy thinks that, you know, Joe Pesci was miscast in Goodfellas and I don't.

He's too old.

Let's not forget that Paul thinks that Dune 2 is overrated.

It is.

Anyway, despite this, we come together to host Unschooled, a podcast where we talk about good movies, critical hits, fan favorites, must-sees, and in case you missed them.

We're talking Parasite the Home Alone, From Greece to the Dark Knight.

We've done deep dives on popcorn flicks.

We've talked about why Independence Day deserves a second look.

And we've talked about horror movies, some that you've never even heard of, like Kanja and Hess.

So if you love movies like we do, come along on our cinematic adventure.

Listen to Unschooled wherever you get your podcasts.

And don't forget to hit the follow button.

Hey, Jeffrey Kramer here to tell you about another show from me and my Night Vale co-creator, Joseph Fink.

It's called Unlicensed, and it's an LA Noir-style mystery set in the outskirts of present-day Los Angeles.

Unlicensed follows two unlicensed private investigators whose small jobs looking into insurance claims and missing property are only the tip of a conspiracy iceberg.

There are already two seasons of Unlicensed for you to listen to now, with season three dropping on May 15th.

Unlicensed is available exclusively through Audible, free if you already have that subscription.

And if you don't, Audible has a trial membership, and if I know you, and I do, you can binge all that mystery goodness in a short window.

And if you like it, if you liked Unlicensed, please, please rate and review each season.

Our ability to keep making this show is predicated on audience engagement.

So go check out Unlicensed, available now only at Audible.com.