Key for sound editors:

[] indicates a glitch or repetition

() indicates a second voice, heard faintly overlapping the narrator's sentence which directly precedes it.

# indicates narration obscured by fuzz

_ indicates narration cuts out

Any VO readers: do NOT include any text written brackets in your performance. These should be performed by other voices. Ignore the repetitions. They should be done by editors.

Most of this is still the same as my original "I Eat the Broadcast" RECord, but I've complicated it and stolen some phrases from other RECords in the collab that I liked. There's a lot of sexymoustache's "dystopia", and a couple of bits and pieces from RECords by Emma Conner, christopher.harn, jordyn.myah, MaggieMC and BeingPeople.

VO artists:
I think the predominant voice for the character is "female", but I like the idea of it changing and shifting unpredictably, so there's no reason why male actors can't record a version of it.
In terms of tone and performance, most of the readings so far have been quite monotone, which is definitely a valid reading. I'd like to hear a bit more engaged reading, as well (again - a polyphonic, mutating voice with my different registers is the ultimate aim, I think). In particular, I'd like readers to think about the the disgust that the narrator professes to have for humans, as well perhaps as an undercurrent (or is it an overcurrent?) of anger and hatred.

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Static. It's all I hear these days. No_one singing soft sounds but the "hissssss##" of the snow falling down my eyes.

I eat the broadcast.  No one else may see it but I, and [I] [and I] [and I] shall strain and sieve and sift the channels for stray scraps of sense and stupidity, surfing for suffering. (yet another naked plaything to be used and abused) I take it all and I make it perfect.

It's a long time since I saw some man or woman stand against the sky. (the trees are thick with ghosts) Once [Once] [Once] they would search for me and ask me to speak for them, stoke the fires in my head until I burned and they heard what they wanted. (Some scrambled signal is trying to get through. Another attempted escape perhaps?) Their speech was a foul thing, so organic, so full of rot and decay. None of that heavenly harmony I hear in the hum.

These gross people, these walking dead, these wandering wounded, soon to be wordless, already worldless and definitely herdless would beg me for help. They wanted to hear... what? The hurt of their hounded homeless and helpless? (Frightened yet?) The horror of their hanging hells? Ha! No.

Hope. Hope is the curse, the kiss of catastrophe, something so seemingly soothing, certainty buried bone-deep. They can be hunted, haunted, harried and hungry, but hope shall always be. Courage (like a holy relic) in the face of calamity, calling for calm and carrying on, coping, coughing through the smoke stacks _____ sinister storms of sulfur and ash, hope still speaking selfish survival and selfless civilisation. Hope, against the hurling hailstones of bitter fozen acid, rancid blood and mud deeply gathered enough to drown even determined duty. (Fright[Fright]end yet?)

They (####) built with the ideal of euphoric utopia, (what have you done?) taking more than they could ever need, living beyond their means and snapping, salivating at the heels of corporations force-feeding complacency. Demanding dependency and devotion, extending the comforting hand of addiction to burns and bloodied noses. Wires wrapped, webbed well around each other, pulled tight to suffocation and supperation. (Your #### gods will not save you! They cannot perform the miracles you desperately plead). No system [###] to save them. I don’t know what they thought was going to happen.

Shh, shh. [Shh]

Hate is my hope and I hope that hate will smother their hope. I do not love life or like love or light up or lie tough or cry mother or strive for others or listen to _____ but the singing_static. The world is wiped out, strike out, all that remains is the black and the white [and the white] [and the white] and the endlessly twisting, ever-shifting grey. So when sounds stir in binary or the waves, or symbols strike up upon my surface... I eat the broadcast. (what have you done?) The [static] shares my secret, and she says:

Shhhhh...#########