Episode 43: Here, Now

Welcome back to Nowhere, On Air, folks-- to the here and now that is the radio.

The voice of Tanner is Chuck Raymond. The voice of River is Achilles Friesen. The voice of Clark "British" Olsen is Shaun Pellington.

CW: Mentions of blood and injury, derealization, existentialism, paranoia, and raised voices.

Transcripts available through our Buzzsprout hosted site! 

Sound Effects in this episode from Freesound.org contributors:  brainclaim, ecfike, dazero, soozenextthing, nicstage, jeanet_henning, dhi67540, szelestamas, and geoneo0. 

This episode features  a trailer for Soul Operator!

Nowhere, On Air is created, voiced and produced by Jesse Syratt. Cover art by Moon Hermit Crab on Instagram.

We'd love to hear from you! Email us at nowhere.onair@gmail.com. Or, find us on the app formerly known as twitter, @NowhereOnAir

Transcript

THEME MUSIC 

JESS: Welcome back to what’s left of Nowhere, On Air– friends, enemies, travellers, the thing that wanders amongst the grain silos that is very lonely and the last of its kind. Feels like its been awhile. It was just yesterday evening I was sitting here, doing this same thing. But it feels different now. I don’t know how to describe it. Like I’m sitting here but also sitting beside myself. I can feel the table under my arms but… they’re not my arms. Not just. Not quite. Something’s shifted. Just slightly. Like double vision but for existence. Maybe its just me. 

JESS: “Nowhere” is an interesting word, isn’t it? I’ve been… ruminating on it lately. More so than usual. Metaphorically unfocusing my mental eyes and just, considering without intention. 

A combination of no, and where. Meaning, no- where. Where being a situation or place. So, in no situation or place. “No where” even evokes an idea of non-existence. Remote. Inaccessible. 

Let’s not forget the less commonly used nowhat: meaning “not at all”, and nowhen: “at no time ever,” but neither of them, to me, sound as hollowing or harrowing as nowhere. Not in or at any place. To no place. Not going anywhere, at all. An unknown, distant, obscure place or state. 

The blankest of blanks, emptiest of empties. The farthest point from all other points. 

But everywhere is stull somewhere, isn’t it? It has to be.  So even nowhere is somewhere, because it is a where, right? It's in the name. When we are nowhere, we are still somewhere, right? Or is it an absence-dependent definition. Is nowhere simply the lack of a “where”, the way cold is just the absence of heat? 

When I called this place, this show nowhere, what am I saying? And I the host, what does that make me? What am I evoking? What am I invoking? The space between no and where, what lies there? 

But, I suppose, if you’re breaking it up differently, nowhere can also become “now, here.” Now being the current, present, occurring moment. Now is a rapid cascade of happening. Now is now, and what is now will change again and again. But still it is always now. Here. Here, the answer to where. And here, now, is where we are. When we are. And I am doing the radio. 

So, welcome to that. I don’t think radio is somewhere, necessarily, but- what do I know? 

Anyways! All this to say: Welcome back. 

In terms of updates for you folks who are still tuning in, we’ve actually got a few. And they’ll come up as I think of them. Cause that’s our format now. We… no longer have a producer [CLEARS THROAT] so, that’s… yeah. 

Last night, I heard the sound of something being tucked under my door. At first I wasn’t all that disturbed, I thought I had dreamt it, though the sound of paper scraping along the floor of my room did rouse me from my less than deep sleep. Concern, however, only kicked in after I  stumbled out of bed, and opened the door to find no one was there. It was dark, quiet, and still. This morning I asked around and everyone swore it wasn’t them, so. I’m not entirely sure where it came from, or how it came to be tucked under my door unless someone broke in… but this isn’t exactly the first time this kind of thing has happened so… I’m not that worried about it, I guess. 

It's a note. With words and stuff, y’know? Information, you might say. Which– if it's going to be a creepy, unexplained happening in the middle of the night, the least it can be is informative, you know? If- ambiguously so. 

I hummed and hawed sometime about this note, deliberating whether or not I wanted to share it with you, to be entirely honest, listeners. Especially after today’s earlier activities, but– well, I came to the conclusion that, at the end of the day… which is where and when we are now… what does it matter? What does anything matter? But that’s a question for another time. 

The note, dear listeners, in both unnerving, intriguing, and what I might call direct obscurity, simply read “THE MUSEUM” in all capital letters and purple ink, and underneath, in smaller, messier writing, it read “you’ll know when you find it.” There was a smiley face at the end, which certainly softened any edge of formality, and even dulled a bit of the foreboding sense that pricked at my spine. 

You might be, like I was, wondering what this could possibly have to do with anything– and more specifically what it could possibly have to do with me. Fair enough! I admittedly don’t have much more to say on the matter than that. I don’t recognize the handwriting– though, to be fair, I’m not sure I’d even recognize my own handwriting sometimes– and everyone here denies writing it, so… I guess if the writer of the note wanted to be identified, they would have signed it-... the combination of purple ink and mysterious arrival reminds me of a cease and desist letter we received here, ages ago… well, not here, at the old station… similar writing. Though less imposing. Hmm. 

[WHISPERS RISING.] Oh, my god. 

Sorry folks, I’ve been doing my best to ignore it, and I know we don’t talk about it all that often, but that– stupid tattoo mark dumb thing behind my ear has been talking nonsense all day. 

It's so loud– you folks might be able to hear it today. I apologize if it ever gets distracting, overwhelming, or too unsettling. Just imagine living with it, huh? Waking up to it in the morning, or at odd hours, or forgetting it’s there and suddenly experiencing the spine-tingling sensation of someone whispering behind you, but when you turn around, there’s no one there. The sound moved with you. It's a part of you. 

[WHISPERING INCREASES. MUSIC]

On a totally and utterly unrelated note, we actually do have a community update for you, listeners! A one and only item on the community bulletin, an echo of the good old days when we had structure, sponsors, and a studio. 

And our community update for you folks is this: 

There has been a theft from the Braedon museum, where, apparently, the journal of Elder Braedon Jamieson, the founder of our little community, was on display. But, not anymore. A window was smashed to enter– so, I guess there has been a break-and-enter as well. The journal had been displayed on an open shelf where the public could interact with it and read it, an exhibition that was set up back when it was the town’s 150th birthaversary. 

We don’t have any more details we’re willing- uh, we can share- at this time. But, that is a thing that happened. Unrelated to uh, anything we– meaning I– talked about earlier for sure. 

On another totally not related note–  a quick PSA for you, listeners: did you know that breaking glass functions as some pretty effective stress relief? Of course, if you are not careful, it can also function as a pretty effective means of obtaining painful lacerations on your hands. Not that I am at all speaking from experience. It is recommended that, if you are going to break glass, you do so with an elbow covered in a good layer of clothing, or thickly gloved hands, if you want that shattering and immediate satisfaction of punching something. Otherwise, without adequate protection, you might be left in the dark of a space you are not supposed to be in, with nothing but the not so healthy catharsis of bleeding hands and your own stupidity. However, we must encourage you to engage in such behaviors responsibly.  

[JESS WINCES, THEN, DISTANT]

Shit. Tanner do you know where Clark and/or the bandaids are?

[TRANSITION]

Last night, I went for a walk, for likewise, a totally unrelated reason to anything we have talked about on this show so far, certainly not participating in any activities illegal or otherwise. I was not feeling reckless or antsy, certainly not for any particular reason, and there was nothing I needed to clear my head about. 

However, before we continue, this anecdote will also now briefly double as a weather report: you have probably noticed, like I did on my outing, that the snow is gone. 

So effectively in fact, it is as if it was never there. If any of you were, as I was, walking sometime around 3 or so in the morning, you may, like I did, have had the unsettling privilege of watching the snow actually vanish. Not melt. Not dissolve. Simply— not be there anymore. In a blink, a blip, gone far quicker and far more jarring than it arrived. As if the earth and the elements realized they’d made an error, and hit some sort of cosmic, weatherly undo button. Because, unlike what I have long understood to be the usual convention of the disappearing of snow, the ground was immediately dry. Almost too dry. Like the dirt was hungry— or, thirsty, I guess. Struck by a great and sudden need, and in a flash, had consumed every last drop, every last hint of moisture. And, in the wake of this, the earth itself looks and feels and seems duller. Drained. Like laundry, wrung out to dry and then forgotten in a greedy sun. 

I even watched a drop of blood from my bleeding hands disappear into the earth on my way home, like sand slipping through a crack.

That being said, you know how the sky looks at night, when there's snow on the ground? How it's almost– light? Pink and hints of purple in a covering of clouds, like the great big cosmic porchlight is still on? That lingered for a while longer. Though, seeing as there was no snow to reflect the light, its difficult to say where exactly that light was coming from. It was like the sky got the memo 47 minutes late. But in a blink of an eye, it too soon darkened to what seemed to be the appropriate level. Just about. It was a little too jarringly dark for my taste, but that is likely because I was wandering outside, alone, in the dark, as one shouldn't do. 

[SOUNDS RISING- OUTDOOR, WIND AND NIGHT AMBIENCE]

And, in that darkness, and the almost desert-like quality of the earth, in a moment where the wind swelled, smelling like change and vaguely like Farmer Daniels’ field, I saw a tumbleweed roll by. I watched it pass, not realizing I was holding my breath until it was gone. As I did, I couldn’t help but think of that Town Council representative. From years ago. Who turned into a tumbleweed before my very eyes, and disappeared. I think of him sometimes, when I am overwhelmed by asking. 

What are the things we become when we are asked questions unanswerable? Faced with the unfaceable– how do we make sense of things? Do we make sense of things? Or do we mold ourselves into things that offer us the escape that keeps us sane and happy? Perhaps the change in us is often more metaphysical than… so atomically drastic, but… what do we make ourselves to escape the unexplainable? 

As I continued on my walk, I couldn’t help myself, my feet leading on to some unconscious intention I wasn’t aware of until I was standing, compelled, toes to the edge of the sinkhole. A sort of open tomb for our friend… our dear friend, Officer Don Carlton… I think it's gotten wider. In fact, I’m terribly sure it has. Its edges have stretched, reaching. A toothless mouth, a dark maw in the earth, smiling a smile that is not kind or welcoming. Smiling the smile of absence. 

And I stood there over the edge. The precipice. Pitch dark, and an absence so deep you can feel it in your bones overlooking it. I got so dizzy staring down into that nothing, I didn’t know how long I had been there, my eyes beginning to play tricks on me, dictating moving shapes in the depth. [WHISPERS] Surrounded by whispering, from the cavity before me, and from my ear behind me. 

The void was dark below me, and, as I looked up, the sky was dark above me. Darker than it used to be. More and more stars were… gone. It's undeniably noticeable now. I hate to make claims I can’t exactly back up, but… they’re vanishing. They have to be. 

And those lights and sounds that often waft over the town and the river from the building on the far side of it, I noticed for the first time, have changed. Where there used to be a swirling mass of colours, there was now just one: a dark, blueish grey that was hard to even make out at times against the night sky. The sounds were less mechanical, less active, and more like a low, churning rumbling I could almost feel in my feet, even from where I was. A soft and constant thundering. I don’t know when that happened. I don’t know when those things changed.   

As I was listening to the distance, standing over the sinkhole, thinking about change, and about death… I heard a loon calling, somewhere in the distance. [LOON CALL SOUNDS] I don’t remember the last time I heard a loon call. Mournful and piercing. Lamenting. A haunting beacon, like…

TANNER: Hey–

JESS: What’s up?

TANNER: What were you broadcasting last night? 

JESS: What do you mean?

TANNER: Last night– I could hear it. 

JESS: I- I wasn’t broadcasting. 

TANNER: Fine. Don’t tell me. 

JESS: I’m serious. What time?

TANNER: Like two or three?

JESS: I wasn’t even here. 

TANNER: What?

JESS: I went for a walk. 

TANNER: Seriously?

JESS: I’m literally talking about it right now. 

TANNER: Just a walk?

JESS: Yeah. I needed to… clear my head. 

TANNER: And you didn’t hear it at all?

JESS: No…?

TANNER: It was you. 

JESS: I swear it wasn’t. 

TANNER: It was your voice. 

JESS: What? You want me to make a blood pact to prove it? I’m telling you it wasn’t me. 

TANNER: No, like, it was you. Speaking. It was you and– all these voices that sounded like you but weren’t- and they were saying all this– It was pretty freaky, some of it sounded familiar– [BEAT] You seriously have no idea what I’m talking about?

JESS: Seriously. Is that it? I’m kind of in the middle of broadcasting right now–

TANNER: Yeah- how have you been doing it, by the way? 

JESS: Doing what? 

TANNER: The like– sounds. 

JESS: “Sounds?”

TANNER: Yeah. Sometimes you do segments and there’s… more sounds. I thought we only had the music. 

JESS: We do only have the music. We’ve only ever had music. 

TANNER: Then where are the sounds coming from? 

JESS: [ITS RUDE, SNAPPY, BUT GENUINE. LOTS OF ‘TUDE, THOUGH] Dude, again, I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about, okay? 

TANNER: [SCOFFS] What is your problem? 

JESS: If you hadn’t lost your temper yet again–

[REALIZING THE CONVERSATION IS ABOUT MARTHA:]

TANNER: You could have apologized. 

JESS: What?

TANNER: You’re blaming me for driving her away? It wasn’t a one man job. You did nothing to help and you know it. 

JESS: You’re the one who reamed her out.

TANNER: And you’re the one she looked to for help. To defend her. And you didn’t. Be angry at me for what I did, fine, but I don’t think I’m the reason she left. 

JESS: Everything is my fault, isn’t it? I get sucked into this stupid little town, entangled in all of your lives, and try to do something about what’s happening, because why not, and apparently if I just hadn’t talked about it, if I had just did what I was told, if I hadn’t done all the stupid shit I did, none of this would have happened! 

TANNER: That’s not what I said-

JESS: You didn’t have to say it! I know. God, I know! Everything was better before I got here the first time. Everything was better when I was gone. I should have stayed away. I shouldn’t have come back- 

TANNER: No one promised you that everything was going to be better if you came back. I get that you’re struggling, but–

JESS: You have no idea-

TANNER: No, I don’t! And I’m getting pretty sick of hearing that from the person who refuses to say anything. You think I don’t walk around every day carrying the weight of everything that’s happened to me, so heavy it hurts? That I don’t walk around missing my wife, missing the life and love that I used to have-? Things suck. Things change and disappear and are ripped from us and sometimes there’s nothing we can do about it. Except talk about it. Which you won’t. So I can’t help you. Unlike you, I won’t force someone to talk. 

JESS: I’ve never done that. 

TANNER: What about all that transparency you used to preach? How “anything could be helpful so talk about everything, go into the details, no matter how much they hurt or how much risk you’re putting yourself in.” That’s just for everyone but you, huh? 

JESS: I’ve risked plenty— 

TANNER: —At our expense—

JESSs –I told my story. 

TANNER: Not this one. Not this one you keep… hinting at. How are we supposed to trust you? 

JESS: And this-- agression, this isn't forcing me to tell you? How many times have we had this exact fight, Tanner— how many times do we have to repeat ourselves-?

TANNER: What did you lose? 

JESS: Don’t. 

TANNER: Seriously. What did you lose? 

JESS: Everything. 

TANNER: Oh? Really? We’re still here. We’re still here and we waited for you– we hoped for you. We didn’t give up—

JESS: I’ve told you, you don’t understand. What about that is so hard to grasp? 

TANNER: What did I do? You’ve been more of an ass since you got back, but… you, I don’t know, do you hate me now? Did I do something? Cause I’ve been wracking my brain trying to think–

JESS: Aside from you also being an ass? 

TANNER: Maybe I just thought that finally, someone understands even a little bit what it was like. Someone who—- and then you weren’t that. 

JESS: Yeah. I let you down. I let you down. I let Martha down. I’ve let everyone down. I know that. Don’t you think I know that? 

TANNER: Okay, you know what? Just- get back to the show. I’m really not interested. 

[HE WALKS AWAY]

JESS: Great, thanks. [SIGHS, QUIET] Shit. 

[SNIFF. MUSIC.]

JESS: You could accuse me of being grumpy today, folks. Maybe I didn’t realize just how… bad of a mood I’m in tonight. Not just today I guess, but… I think I’m entitled. I’m entitled to feel how I feel, aren’t I? To an extent. 

Sure. I’m not entitled to be an ass or antagonize, and it’s certainly no one’s issue but my own that life has been pretty unideal and unkind as of late, and I’ve not been—... yeah. 

But, I hope in our fairly long withstanding and trust-based relationship that you all understand it’s not personal. There’s only one person I’m angry with, and she’s currently stuck in a feedback loop of futility and function, running an arguably pointless radio show just to fill these present days with something to try and feel normal and ignore the awful sinking feeling that…  it's too late. 

And just— feeling pretty stupid. Very stupid. Just a– stupid dumb little stupid little guy. Who’s been a shitty person and a worse friend. 

Not that I expect or want anyone to feel sorry for me. I don’t need that. I just— 

This show has always been personal, right? I’ve always done my best to be genuine and honest. And sure, not as careful as I could or maybe should have been, but… you’ve always known that it's coming from a good place, right? 

I don’t know what I’m saying. 

I guess maybe I’m kind of apologizing. Or starting to. Badly. Weirdly. [SIGH] I guess I just want to- 

RIVER: What were you playing last night?

JESS: Don’t sneak up on me like that. In the middle of something here. 

RIVER: This is important. What was it?

JESS: Like I already told Tanner, nothing. I have no idea what you’re talking about. 

RIVER: Jess. 

JESS: I know I’ve had a habit of it, but if there was something playing last night, it wasn’t me. I swear. 

RIVER: You swear? 

JESS: Okay, what even was it? Everyone seems pretty rattled–

RIVER: It was- you. Your voice, your voice but not your voice. Some of it was you, some wasn’t.

JESS: What was it saying?

RIVER: You were broadcasting. But– it didn’t sound like here.

JESS: [KNOWINGLY] What? 

RIVER: Maybe you should listen back to the recording when you’re finished here. Ask Todd to show it to you. 

JESS: Okay… sure. 

RIVER: Good. 

JESS: You’ve got this look like you know something I don’t. Like it’s a big deal. Not that you’d tell me if it was, right? 

RIVER: There are implications that things may be more serious than… 

JESS: Than what? 

RIVER: Than we’d hoped. 

JESS: What do you mean? 

RIVER: Things were said that… I did not expect to hear. 

JESS: Okay. But it’s, it’s just— noise. At the end of the day, isn’t it? It’s not like it’s the be all-end all of– [BEAT] River? What’s that face for? 

RIVER: I need to go for a walk. 

JESS: Okay. 

RIVER: Listen to the recording when you get a chance. 

JESS: Sure. Okay. 

[SIGHS]

Well, seeing as it's come up twice, I feel like I should address this… mystery midnight show. If anyone was listening and disturbed, I apologize. Not that I had anything to do with it. I swear. And this isn’t like the museum incident I didn’t have anything to do with. I was nowhere near the equipment last night. I wasn’t here, as you know. I know I have a history of sneaking broadcasts, but… that was not me. Well, like, apparently it was, but it wasn’t. 

I’m kind of nervous to hear to it, personally… 

[THE WHISPERING STARTS RISING]

Speaking of hearing… Sorry, folks. [TO THE WHISPERING] Oh my god, just shut up-!

CLARK: Jess…? Everything alright? 

JESS: It's fine. 

CLARK: Who were you talking to? 

JESS: Nothing. Just go away, okay? I’m on air– 

CLARK: Look, I know everything’s quite stressful right now, but, you know, if you ever needed someone to talk to–

JESS: You know we still don’t trust you, right? 

CLARK: I- uh–

JESS: I lied to you, figured letting you loose was the best way to see what you’re all about, and so far you’re doing pretty good I’ll grant you that, but… you haven’t earned it all back yet. So don’t push it, okay? 

CLARK: From what I hear, neither have you. 

JESS: What?

CLARK: They don’t trust you either. 

JESS: Maybe not. But at least they know I’m me. 

CLARK: Sure. 

[HE WALKS AWAY. SHE SIGHS.]

JESS: Dammit. [BRIEF WHISPERING. SIGHS AGAIN] Um. Okay. Cool. Interruptions galore tonight, sorry folks. And now for a really weak segue into our outro because… I’m done for tonight I think. 

I don’t really have like, anything planned. 

Um… oh. Give me just a second- 

[CHAIR PUSHING BACK. TRANSITION]

I’m going to uh, read something for you listeners. A poem. From… a new book I have. Don’t worry about it. Forgive me if I stumble, I’m not the best at reading cursive. 

[CLEARS THROAT. MUSIC STARTS TO SWELL AS SHE READS, GETTING MORE DISTORTED]

I dreamt alone of the ruined valley 

The end makes mountains nothing 

A dream eclipsed into the morning ablaze 

Last unto the howling earth, swallowed

In the sky, an eye will open into nothing  

And all places will crumble 

Roaming / waiting / No end / swimming  

I dreamt the world became fog, and faded 

Sounds upon the dark fields

Then, rising, burning, closer 

Into impartial walls, the puncture of a stranger’s voice  

The wandering, falling echo

Out of the void omens give way, come forth  

Lungs, a buried oblivion 

I am the lost, the heavy, the wild and wailing

The body glowing in the hallowed below 

I wade into decay, the deep quiet storm 

Under the edges of Burrowing summer 

Burying us 

And to all be noiseless

The thing to pass through, in the distance forgotten.. 

The open to roam, where the weary walk into a dream 

And stalk the too-red pathways that swallow all and steep; 

Dark under the weight 

A hunger that cannot be quenched

Valley opens for the burning body, crawling out 

I dream of nowhere

A great becoming 

And all roads lead to it 

[SIGH. CLOSES BOOK.]

And, uh, that’s all we have for you tonight, folks. And all I’ve got in me. So, thanks for tuning in.