such curious devices

In the hazy aftermath of a wild thursday night I came upon an article regarding a room that audio technicians managed to soundproof 99%, an amount unheard of and incredibly difficult to achieve. The most fascinating point of this article though, was not the precision science involved, but the eerie effect this room has on those that enter for more than 45 minutes. According to the findings, the absolute silence heightens your hearing to the point that you become innately aware of your breathing, your pulse, your stomach growling and all other sounds of your churning bodily functions. Even more frightening is the fact that in the noiseless room, your mind will begin to fabricate sounds that aren't really there in a manner analogous to visual hallucination. Eventually, people experience such utterly bizarre fantasies that they can no longer stand upright and collapse to the floor or are forced to lie down.

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I find mirrors and glass transfixing. Perhaps that is why I have always discovered myself drawn to Lewis Carroll and his luxurious prose illustrating mirrors as mist and glass as permeable gateways into fantastical realms. Though I have yet to stumble into such dimensions I know the feeling of entering and escaping bubbles too well. 

My friends and I often speak in jest about the (i'm sad to say) pathetic number of teenagers obsessed with appearing artistic and independent. I must agree, it's a relatively understandable sentiment- the romanticized escapism and hedonism of On the Road is both appealing and accessible. (wander?)Lust. Libido. Pressure. Suffocation. Do they know what the Beat generation is? Do they know Ginsberg, Dada, Kerouac? Burroughs? Not even Kama Sutra? Well then..... [no eye contact....fade into awkward pause....] Sparking a new movement you say? How non-conformist of you. And how much did those vintage jeans cost you again? You're against animal cruelty, huh? Well you look ravishing in that leather jacket. But go ahead. Toke. Have another needle, hope, pray, plead it's clean. Oxycontin before class? Cute. What are you having? Prozac. To drink? rum and coke? {eyebrow raise} High waisted shorts and studs? Do you know any Bob Dylan songs? Descend Descend Descend. Downtown, you say? This is midtown. Ghetto? This is 2nd Avenue. Collect the ashes. Fold. Fix the hair. Fishtail is in, right? Write? no. Think? no. Create? no. Discover? no. Chalk one up for the onlookers. The moon disappears out of spite and ridicule and I've passed back into the dormant midnight glaze of E 60th.

[shrug] 

Rebellion is healthy they say. Self discovery is healthy they say. Personality is beautiful they say. Different is beautiful they say. 

"Different is the same," I say, "dance to release, bitch."  And cross the street.

[sirens (?)... or morning disappointment]