| Funny, this noise without sounds, these waves without ocean. Often I hear a jazzy swoon, which hangs deep in the middle like a heavy hammock; otherwise, it is a dying engine, heavy and sudden and startling for a split second only to judder to a stop. Sometimes there is an insistent prodding, a scratchy glissando in a higher register that distracts more than the others, and some nights it is all at once. I can get tired, with the whoosh and the hum in the same way I doze by repetitive speech. How frustrating to deafen oneself simply by the beating of one's heart which is singing, 'I'm alive, I'm alive!" - joyous news, to be sure, but poor in the method of delivery. |