CALLING ALL WRITERS, VOICEOVER ARTISTS & VISUAL ARTISTS!

 We’ve gotten some great contributions for the “Swimming” collab! However, this Short Film is still in development. Contribute Scripts, Voiceovers, Visuals & more!

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WRITERS: Write a Script for a Voiceover Narration. Use THIS STORYBOARD as a guide for your Scripts.

VOICEOVER ARTISTS: Choice a Script you like and perform a reading of it.

VISUAL ARTISTS: Contribute Visuals, Backgrounds, Character Designs, or an Entire Scene for this collab. Use THIS STORYBOARD as an example of the Scenes we are looking for.

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Contribute to the “RE: SWIMMING” collab HERE!

ANNOUNCERS: RECord yourself saying "And now… Mr. Joseph Gordon-Levitt" for the opening of our TV show’s episodes. CONTRIBUTE HERE

ANIMATORSMake a 30 second animation - like THIS VISUAL REFERENCE - that will open up our RE: Patterns episode. You can animate the entire Cold Open, or just a portion of it. CONTRIBUTE HERE

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Come work w/ us!

CALLING ALL VOICE OVER ARTISTS & ANYONE W/ A CAMERA!

We’re working on a Short Doc w/ Davis Guggenheim for our episode RE: The Number One, and we wanna know if you think humanity is like The Pando Forest or like The Honey Mushroom.

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ANYONE W/ A CAMERA: Give us your opinion & RECord yourself answering this question: Are we human beings like The Pando Forest or The Honey Mushroom? Be specific with your examples and arguments.

VOICE OVER ARTISTS: Do a reading of THIS SCRIPT

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Contribute to the “UNTITLED NUMBER ONE DOCUMENTARY” collab HERE!

CALLING ALL MUSICIANS!
The next step in making our collaborative Short Film IF I COULD MAKE THE WORLD is to build off of the score that ozie has composed.
WATCH THE REQUEST HERE
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Here’s how you can contribute:
MUSICIANS: Play along with - and add layers to - THIS SCORE by ozie.
==
Contribute to the “IF I COULD MAKE THE WORLD” collab HERE!

CALLING ALL MUSICIANS!

The next step in making our collaborative Short Film IF I COULD MAKE THE WORLD is to build off of the score that ozie has composed.

WATCH THE REQUEST HERE

==

Here’s how you can contribute:

MUSICIANS: Play along with - and add layers to - THIS SCORE by ozie.

==

Contribute to the “IF I COULD MAKE THE WORLD” collab HERE!

Narrated by Gary Oldman, and featuring 295 contributions from the hitRECord community, "The Man With a Turnip For a Head" is a short film that is included on "hitRECorderly #3: Presenting The Fall Formal," the third issue of our quarterly subscription series.
WATCH “THE MAN WITH A TURNIP FOR A HEAD” HERE
Thanks again <3
J
==
Subscribe to get all 4 hitRECorderly issues for $59 HERE.
Purchase hitRECorderly #3 individually for $20 HERE.

Narrated by Gary Oldman, and featuring 295 contributions from the hitRECord community, "The Man With a Turnip For a Head" is a short film that is included on "hitRECorderly #3: Presenting The Fall Formal," the third issue of our quarterly subscription series.

WATCH “THE MAN WITH A TURNIP FOR A HEAD” HERE

Thanks again <3

J

==

Subscribe to get all 4 hitRECorderly issues for $59 HERE.

Purchase hitRECorderly #3 individually for $20 HERE.

RegularJOE - "Vinegar (A Monologue) Joe VO"
295 plays

"Vinegar (A Monologue) Joe VO"

Voice Over by RegularJOE

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RegularJOE (Director) writes:

fallingalice contributed her text record, Vinegar (A Monologue), to the RE: MY FAVORITE THINGS collab.  And obviously, I liked it.  I still can’t predict it, but sometimes certain pieces of writing just make me want to read them aloud.  Well done alice!  

I’ll be curious to see how this might get used to make a little short film or something…

==

Contribute to the “RE: MY FAVORITE THINGS” collaboration HERE!

"Sparrow (Short Story)" 

Story by TheSerpentTheCharmer

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Every night is the exact same thing, over and over again. Like a movie reel that the projectionist forgot to switch, always the same few scenes. I can hear the cackling of pins as the pro-league outcasts and bored teenagers roll their frames. The bowling alley transforms from a place of recreation and relaxation to a much more horrible place, a hell even. And in its infinite pools of fire and brimstone and people who shot themselves, there was me.

            Cosmic bowling ends at eleven o’clock on Fridays, so when I shut off the breakers to the disco balls and the black lights, the teenagers trickle out. They go out to the old lumber mill and drink beer and fornicate with the other teenagers, sometimes producing a child, sometimes not. They are just living their lives the best they can at the age they are at. But if they aren’t animals yet, they are on their way to becoming such.

            God knows they smoke more cigarettes at the alley than the pro-leaguers do.

            So Stuckey’s in the back, turning off and restarting the pinsetters, swapping out the neon colored pins with the standards. Doing everything I should have been doing, but he is my lackey and I am the boss. So it doesn’t seem like such a big deal after all. He does almost everything without question anyway, not because he’s stupid or scared, but because he likes to keep himself busy. In this business, it pays to do so. Anything else, you start to rot on the inside. You get stagnant like pond water.

            I’ve got wrinkles on my face, liver spots on the tops of my hands. Arthritis and a very, very overactive bladder. All I can assume the cause could be is this place. This cancerous stinkhole of an establishment. With its asbestos laden ceiling panels, the lead paint they used on the cinder block walls. The 30,000 cigarettes that get smoked inside daily. It’s a fucking miracle that I’m not dead yet. It doesn’t dawn on me too often how much I value my life, because I really don’t, but despite all that hoopla about self-loathing and depreciation for one’s well being, it’s pretty incredible I’m still alive.

            I guess that’s really contradictory but I don’t give a damn.

            So, Stuckey’s in the bar lounge, behind the dark doors with the big “NO CHILDREN ALLOWED” sign. He’s sweeping up peanuts and stray ash off the floor, gathering up broken glass from one of the regular wenches who had a little too much sauce. Stuckey is humming so loudly you can hear it through the doors, it vibrates the glass. I suppose I should call it singing but his accent is so thick you can’t understand a damn thing he says. He’s either Irish or Scottish, can’t really remember which one, but being stateside hasn’t done much for his accent or pronunciation.

            He tried to speak at Alice’s funeral way back in ’06, considering he was one of the three people that actually attended it. The other two were the preacher, who only stayed up until halfway through Stuckey’s poorly enunciated parting words, and Alice’s older brother Mansfield, who was so old he couldn’t even remember his own name, let alone his family. I drove him back to the retirement home they put him in ten years prior. The old man was eighty-seven years old, Alice’s senior by nineteen years. The bastard just wouldn’t die. I checked in last year to see if he had croaked and it turns out he actually has become more active.

            He’s taken up crossbow archery. Apparently, he hustles the other residents for gelatin cups. Just like kids on the playground before lunch.

            Born Stewart Isle Stukonic, Stuckey went to school in England after his parents had gotten a job transfer. He graduated at the top of his class with a degree in Business Management. Now, after the big storms came and the United States lost a shit-load of its businesses and its business, he works for me. He left his company, which is now underwater on the east coast, and came out to Vegas, where the ocean couldn’t touch. Pipe dreams though, he realized the second he got out here that business was just as bad as everywhere else. So he took any job that came his way.

            Insurance salesman. Quit.

            Janitor for Caesar’s Palace. Fired.

            Groundskeeper for the Las Vegas Zoological Society. Fired.

            Brave’s Landing Lanes and Pub, Janitor. Fired.

            Sparrow’s Alley. Janitor. Content, or so it seems.

            He seems complacent enough at my establishment. If you can call it that at all. After his shift he always comes over and shakes my hand and nods. Then he drinks away his paycheck in the bar. Since he works here and can’t afford an apartment, trust me because I pay his wages, he sleeps in the loft above the pinsetters, a nice little attic with vaulted ceilings and shag carpet. I don’t even charge him for the place as long as he opens on time every day. He might as well be another manager like me.

            There we were, at our lives and our homes and our graves, just sweeping up broken glass and drinking soda from the fountains out of Styrofoam cups. Breathing in smoke older than the week itself. Getting sicker and older with every passing moment, all the asbestos trying to clog up our lungs and weaken our resolve. But alas, we are the salt of the earth, we are the people that can’t be put down by smoke or time or cancer.

            We are the everlasting.

            So, Stuckey’s pushing the electronic cart that cleans and oils the wood and I’m smiling at him, I remember watching him hum the little tune he always hums and I kept smiling. Because regardless of the education, the job searching, the moving around, he stayed content in the least likely place he could of. A giant, run-down, shit-smeared ashtray of a bowling alley.

            That’s inspiration enough for me.

==

MattConley (Community Director) writes:

"Such vivid writing - I felt like I was in this run-down establishment surrounded by stale smoke and foul conditions. But I also really felt a connection to the observations of the Everyman narrator and his perspective on things. Great job on this!"

CALLING ALL VOICE OVER ARTISTS &amp; ILLUSTRATORS!
Come work with us as we make an Animated Short Film together based on THIS TEXT by wirrow.
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Here&#8217;s how YOU can contribute to this collaboration:
VOICE OVER ARTISTS: Get hold of a mic and do a reading of this text in your best mythological-sounding voice!
ILLUSTRATORS: Use this circle template &amp; draw all kinds of shapes within the circle. Please hand draw them and use lots of colors!
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Contribute your records to the &#8220;Outsiders Creation Myth&#8221; collaboration HERE!
==
NOTE: We have 2 WEEKS to finish this entire short film so we need to get started right away! :oD

CALLING ALL VOICE OVER ARTISTS & ILLUSTRATORS!

Come work with us as we make an Animated Short Film together based on THIS TEXT by wirrow.

==

Here’s how YOU can contribute to this collaboration:

VOICE OVER ARTISTS: Get hold of a mic and do a reading of this text in your best mythological-sounding voice!

ILLUSTRATORS: Use this circle template & draw all kinds of shapes within the circle. Please hand draw them and use lots of colors!

==

Contribute your records to the “Outsiders Creation Myth” collaboration HERE!

==

NOTE: We have 2 WEEKS to finish this entire short film so we need to get started right away! :oD

LET&#8217;S TELL THE STORY OF OUR REMIX PROCESS THROUGH THE &#8220;808 BEAT&#8221; COLLAB!
Your contributions to the "808 Beat" collaboration have taken Krrr&#8217;s original beat in so many unexpected directions. We were thinking it&#8217;d be cool to tell the story of how a simple resource evolved into a ton of great songs!
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VIDEO EDITORS &amp; NARRATORS: Tell the story of how this collaboration evolved from one resource into so many different resulting audio records. Splicing together all the different versions could be a key element to the storytelling process.
==
You can contribute to the &#8220;808 Beat&#8221; collaboration HERE!

LET’S TELL THE STORY OF OUR REMIX PROCESS THROUGH THE “808 BEAT” COLLAB!

Your contributions to the "808 Beat" collaboration have taken Krrr’s original beat in so many unexpected directions. We were thinking it’d be cool to tell the story of how a simple resource evolved into a ton of great songs!

==

VIDEO EDITORS & NARRATORS: Tell the story of how this collaboration evolved from one resource into so many different resulting audio records. Splicing together all the different versions could be a key element to the storytelling process.

==

You can contribute to the “808 Beat” collaboration HERE!



"November" (Tiny Film)

REmix by Kubi

Visual REsource by mirtle

Audio REsources by DustyGrandDreams and megancarnes

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Contribute to the Tiny Films Vol. 2 collaboration HERE!

mirtlemyth:

November (a tiny film for hitRECord)

a love story made by kubi

illustration & story by mirtle

voice over by DustyGrandDreams

CALLING ALL VOICE OVER ARTISTS (and ANYONE w/ a Microphone!)
We wanna hear your creative Voice Overs for the characters in our NEW SHORT FILM!
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Here&#8217;s how YOU can contribute to this collaboration:
VOICE OVER ARTISTS: RECord yourself performing the dialogue spoken by the Girl &amp; the Lizard from &#8220;the hat incident&#8221; HERE. Be as creative as you&#8217;d like - try different accents &amp; do multiple takes!
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Here is the DIALOGUE:
Line #1 (Girl): &#8220;We wear similar hats.&#8221;
Line #2 (Lizard): &#8220;Mine is not a hat.&#8221;
==
Contribute your Audio Records to the collaboration HERE!

CALLING ALL VOICE OVER ARTISTS (and ANYONE w/ a Microphone!)

We wanna hear your creative Voice Overs for the characters in our NEW SHORT FILM!

==

Here’s how YOU can contribute to this collaboration:

VOICE OVER ARTISTS: RECord yourself performing the dialogue spoken by the Girl & the Lizard from “the hat incident” HERE. Be as creative as you’d like - try different accents & do multiple takes!

==

Here is the DIALOGUE:

Line #1 (Girl): “We wear similar hats.”

Line #2 (Lizard): “Mine is not a hat.”

==

Contribute your Audio Records to the collaboration HERE!

1,609 plays

"Voyager (Living Doll Mix)"

REmix by Malicore

Audio REsources by aszarkowski and bellaarts

Text by Emma Conner

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Here I stand, yet another naked plaything to be used and abused by whoever my current Keeper is. Eventually, I’ll be discarded and left somewhere to gather dust when they acquire something younger and prettier to entertain them. That doesn’t worry me - in fact, I’m looking forward to that day. I’m sure I don’t need to explain why that is.

Frightened yet? You should be. Because pretty soon this is gonna be you.

What’s that? Don’t me make me laugh! I know what is right around the corner, okay? I am living it, as you can see. I get it though, the denial. I remember that arrogance well. That bone-deep certainty that nothing bad could ever really happen. Even though history shows that something bad is always crouched around the corner, waiting to strike.

CRACKLE, CRACKLE.

Some scrambled signal is trying to get through. Another attempted escape perhaps? They are wasting their time. 90% of the planet are slaves by now, and if you ain’t in the 10% of free-range citizens of earth, you’re not going anyway.

Trust me, I know.

==

You can contribute to the “RE: Voyager” collaboration HERE!

CALLING ALL VOICE OVER ARTISTS / AUDIO PRODUCERS &amp; MIXERS / SOUND DESIGNERS!
==
We&#8217;re making a series of SHORT FILM EPISODES featuring multiple messages from Voyager &amp; we need to create Audio Landscapes for the character to communicate through!

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VOICE OVER ARTISTS: Select some Text Records from "RE: Voyager" collaboration &amp; RECord yourself reading the dialogue. Please upload your audio w/out any effects.
AUDIO PRODUCERS, MIXERS &amp; SOUND DESIGNERS: Remix &#8220;Voyager&#8221; Voice Overs however you&#8217;d like! Make &#8216;em as creepy, minimalistic, or musical as you want! We&#8217;ll be looking to create a definitive soundscape for the character, so please save your audio settings when you&#8217;re remixing.
==
You can contribute to the RE: Voyager collaboration HERE!

CALLING ALL VOICE OVER ARTISTS / AUDIO PRODUCERS & MIXERS / SOUND DESIGNERS!

==

We’re making a series of SHORT FILM EPISODES featuring multiple messages from Voyager & we need to create Audio Landscapes for the character to communicate through!

==

VOICE OVER ARTISTS: Select some Text Records from "RE: Voyager" collaboration & RECord yourself reading the dialogue. Please upload your audio w/out any effects.

AUDIO PRODUCERS, MIXERS & SOUND DESIGNERS: Remix “Voyager” Voice Overs however you’d like! Make ‘em as creepy, minimalistic, or musical as you want! We’ll be looking to create a definitive soundscape for the character, so please save your audio settings when you’re remixing.

==

You can contribute to the RE: Voyager collaboration HERE!

"Sarah Cohn Revisited"
REmix by fraeulein
Text REsource by phenomenaaa
Audio REsources by Reality Blonde and Madrond101
Video REsources by 13 RECorders
==
The Horrifically Mundane Life of Sarah Cohn
My life didn’t become such a mundane affair until Oliver dumped me.We used to go on adventures, Oliver and I. Every day was a new kind of journey – into the woods, into the cinema, into each other’s beds. He had a kind of danger to him that brought out a kind of danger in myself. He was a mess of life and color. He was foreign cigarettes in his breast pocket, chestnut brown hair and bright green eyes I often dreamt of, and ironic clothing that looked as though he raided my dad’s closet in 1975. Every night, he’d make music out of things that were not musical instruments and sing me to sleep.I wasn’t sure what he saw in me, but I tried not to argue. People we knew and didn’t know and didn’t really care to know complimented our combined appearances, so we thought we were doing things right. When my brother celebrated his Bar Mitzvah, Oliver was there wearing the yamaka my parents bought him and saying “L’chaim” to everyone he spoke to. When his parents threw a large Christmas dinner, I was there. Oliver in his sweater vest, I in my vintage shoes, anxiously awaited a long winter’s screw.We marveled at one another for fifteen months. He’d say I had his heart raving. He’d say he wanted no other moments than those that occurred with me.It was a drizzly Tuesday when at our favorite café, between drags, Oliver suggested we see other people. My chest actually started hurting. He kissed me goodbye, whispering “I’ll always be with you” before he walked out, never uttering another word.Every afternoon from 2:30-5:30, I sit in the café; not waiting for him to return, but looking for some kind of closure, nursing a festering, still very much open wound.The police wrote me off as a suspect long ago, so it is no longer odd that I sit here every afternoon, doing little more than smoking his favorite brand and drinking coffee. Not strange or suspicious—just sad. People pity my loss. No one knew quite what to say or do when his body was found strung up in the woods, missing only the eyes.My room was searched, but never my attic. In an antique chest of drawers is a velvet box that once held earrings Oliver bought me for my birthday. The earrings are always on my ears. His eyes are nestled neatly where they once sat.A piece of him would always be with me. He was right.

"Sarah Cohn Revisited"

REmix by fraeulein

Text REsource by phenomenaaa

Audio REsources by Reality Blonde and Madrond101

Video REsources by 13 RECorders

==

The Horrifically Mundane Life of Sarah Cohn

My life didn’t become such a mundane affair until Oliver dumped me.

We used to go on adventures, Oliver and I. Every day was a new kind of journey – into the woods, into the cinema, into each other’s beds. He had a kind of danger to him that brought out a kind of danger in myself. He was a mess of life and color. He was foreign cigarettes in his breast pocket, chestnut brown hair and bright green eyes I often dreamt of, and ironic clothing that looked as though he raided my dad’s closet in 1975. Every night, he’d make music out of things that were not musical instruments and sing me to sleep.

I wasn’t sure what he saw in me, but I tried not to argue. People we knew and didn’t know and didn’t really care to know complimented our combined appearances, so we thought we were doing things right. 

When my brother celebrated his Bar Mitzvah, Oliver was there wearing the yamaka my parents bought him and saying “L’chaim” to everyone he spoke to. When his parents threw a large Christmas dinner, I was there. Oliver in his sweater vest, I in my vintage shoes, anxiously awaited a long winter’s screw.

We marveled at one another for fifteen months. He’d say I had his heart raving. He’d say he wanted no other moments than those that occurred with me.

It was a drizzly Tuesday when at our favorite café, between drags, Oliver suggested we see other people. My chest actually started hurting. He kissed me goodbye, whispering “I’ll always be with you” before he walked out, never uttering another word.

Every afternoon from 2:30-5:30, I sit in the café; not waiting for him to return, but looking for some kind of closure, nursing a festering, still very much open wound.

The police wrote me off as a suspect long ago, so it is no longer odd that I sit here every afternoon, doing little more than smoking his favorite brand and drinking coffee. Not strange or suspicious—just sad. People pity my loss. No one knew quite what to say or do when his body was found strung up in the woods, missing only the eyes.

My room was searched, but never my attic. In an antique chest of drawers is a velvet box that once held earrings Oliver bought me for my birthday. The earrings are always on my ears. His eyes are nestled neatly where they once sat.

A piece of him would always be with me. He was right.

"Point and Shoot"
REmix by librarygirl6
Text REsource by fractaldust
Audio RESources by deeasherself and reneg88
Visual REsources by 12:42, horrorshock666, librarygirl6
==
Point and Shoot
i watch my life unfold through a camera lens; 
it goes in and out of focus.
only inside of my mind do the albums exist,
filled with the snapshot memories of years past.
with each experience i want to cherish,
i reach for the shutter release,
(point and shoot)
but even those moments, frozen in time,
(click and reload)
are lost forever.

"Point and Shoot"

REmix by librarygirl6

Text REsource by fractaldust

Audio RESources by deeasherself and reneg88

Visual REsources by 12:42, horrorshock666, librarygirl6

==

Point and Shoot

i watch my life unfold through a camera lens; 

it goes in and out of focus.

only inside of my mind do the albums exist,

filled with the snapshot memories of years past.

with each experience i want to cherish,

i reach for the shutter release,

(point and shoot)

but even those moments, frozen in time,

(click and reload)

are lost forever.