Wednesday, February 24, 2010

sing to me

Sometimes I hear things. I hear things in the white noise of a ceiling fan, in the dull tumbling of the drier, and in the forced air of the furnace. What I hear sounds like a band. Or a voice. Like a distant radio, it’s faint but nonetheless present.

Though I can almost make out a tune, I’m quite sure the dishwasher isn’t really playing music. My refrigerator didn’t come equipped with the AM/FM option and the microwave isn’t tuned to my frequency. So what am I hearing? And why?

I don't know. Perhaps it’s a subconscious thing. Is my brain conditioned to create rhythm or cadence from an otherwise bland sound? Maybe it’s an inner attempt to spice things up a bit. Of course, I could just be going crazy.

The faucet speaks to me, too.

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