Cold rainy night.
A stereo's vibrations booming from an apartment
next door, I take to bed early, pull the covers up to my chin,
and read how in modern Japan it is "as if silence
was some kind of vacuum that was abhorrent and had to be filled".
Noise is everywhere,
a sign of the useful citizen who produces and consumes, prosperity's uroborosian loop.
Noise is also a strategy to consider how occult forces were instinctively
driving Neanderthal people to surpass themselves, in their
desire to resist the invasion of new methods the
gas is drawn into a series of tubes, in which it solidifies,
and is cut in long needles already solid, since before
becoming an explosive liquid, it takes the form of a fog of
solid spangles of frosty gas and
peoples who had not yet appeared, but whom they guessed would
inevitably supplant them. It is strange that this competitive
prevails for blocking
out other people's noise.
The absence of
noise is shizukasa: "somewhere between silence
and loneliness." It belongs to a myth of a former time, before mass media, when people
were in tune with their neighbors, all singing the same songs.
dreams of pre-
Cagean times, when