So, Night Vale fans...

  I'm nearly ashamed to admit this but I wrote fan fiction. Well, sort of.

 It's a fan poem for Night Vale and I don't really even like poetry. So when considered in the context of part of what I think Welcome to Night Vale is about, I decided poetry was clearly the way to go.

  It pretty much fits with my sci fi theme that's been going on in this neglected corner known as my journal.

  Anyway, this little clip of the Night Vale twitter is also the title. Woot for poetic license.


When I woke up the radio was on.

Such a small fact.

With such long strides reality had folded to keep up with the speed.

My dog sniffed my hand.

Such a sweet feeling.

And yet I knew there would be no glorious afternoons at the dog park.

Outside I hear a crackle

A  not quite small sound.

And I hope it's a deer, who despite being terrible, deceitful, and vile also know math, telepathy, time travel.

Or maybe

I'm afraid

And don't want to know. The radio speaks my fears. I fear for anyone caught between what they know and what they don’t yet know that they don’t know.

Outside I see lights, over the Arbi's

Small, mysterious lights.

And I think about the man, the bar, the jacket, the deerskin suitcase...poor deer. My mind, still waking, is stumbling around. (Poor Deer? What?)

I know, distantly, I don't have a dog.

Never have. A cat, yes. Named...

I don't remember. And now I don't remember what I was trying to remember.

When I woke up,

I realized my bookshelves were missing.

The dog had three eyes.

I wondered where my iPhone was.

Silly thought.

An eyePhone, maybe.

But only council members had those.

From the radio, which had not been on my dresser or even in my room the night before,

came the deep tones and soothing voice

much better than desert bluff's

Stupid Kevin.

“And now, the weather.”


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