The music is clearer, richer. The bass is more pronounced. The speakers are placed from left to right, and of course, there are more of them. There is a small walk to the bed; there's a little cost to not having the volume just right, or the wrong song in your playlist. Its wider, and somehow more cramped here. The walls seem to be collapsing into each other; there's this restless feeling of energy, of having to do something that makes me roll off the bed every five minutes; a force that drives, and somehow also enervates. Everything ends up in this eventual state of flux, where I can pick up books and read them for a good 20 minutes, maybe even half an hour. Then the bed that slopes upward in the middle becomes more pronounced. And my head starts sloping back more, even though I know it can't be possible. And in this half-sapped, half frenzied state I go to sleep again. If the music is still on, it seems like its coming from a long distance. Anyway, its too late to turn off the music. That can come after the exhaustion passes.
There is no comfort on the bed, not for long anyway. There is some sleep, with a blanket over my face and under my legs. Its warm and somehow I'm shivering under the blankets. I think that I've gotten too used to thick walls and a swarthy, sweaty room. There are drawers full of things that I've collected, drawers that I enjoy searching at odd times when there is slightly more calm around the room. The fast heart rate is too disconcerting. I calm myself down, I take long deep breaths, but nothing seems to work. My stomach feels leaden; sometimes it feels like the bottom of my stomach has never been light.
The world outside this room is cheery though. It relaxes immediately, like some slow hypnotic tape playing in the background. There are sounds from the TV, which I might have turned on a while ago myself. The sounds from the kitchen, the light flooding the lounge from the garden, the sounds of cats and birds. The children are playing upstairs, and hearing them is sometimes a relief, always a pleasure. Sometimes I walk up, unresisting. Other times I can just sit outside, reading a newspaper, or flicking channels, hearing them play, scream, call for help or just run about. Their voices make it seem like everything was always right, like nothing ever changed across the boundaries of the room and the world outside. The world outside is numbing, soothing. Sometimes I think the room is sound proof, which is what gives it its eerie look. But my mind is never at rest inside my room. It is the place for flux, for thought, for reading four different books at a time, for looking around, sometimes furtively, at the objects around me; the objects that are half mine. Even now, the music in the background is just that: background music. Its not blocking anything concrete: there's no noise, not a sound outside but the suction pump, and its steady beat is more soothing than disturbing. The only thing it might be blocking is the walls, or what my mind makes of the walls. And with all noise, all 'alien' thought, all but fear blocked, I can come and try this one more time.
I think the two hour wait was worth it. The little starbursts in Motion Picture Soundtrack have been imagined perfectly, with the camera moving and twisting along like a spacecraft hurtling underwater. The music is still clear, the music is still rich. There is no bass at all. Thom Yorke's voice is gliding over the screen, if such a thing is possible. When the words come scribbling over the screen, as the song starts again on repeat, it seems like there is help on the way. And the music is still so clear.
There is no comfort on the bed, not for long anyway. There is some sleep, with a blanket over my face and under my legs. Its warm and somehow I'm shivering under the blankets. I think that I've gotten too used to thick walls and a swarthy, sweaty room. There are drawers full of things that I've collected, drawers that I enjoy searching at odd times when there is slightly more calm around the room. The fast heart rate is too disconcerting. I calm myself down, I take long deep breaths, but nothing seems to work. My stomach feels leaden; sometimes it feels like the bottom of my stomach has never been light.
The world outside this room is cheery though. It relaxes immediately, like some slow hypnotic tape playing in the background. There are sounds from the TV, which I might have turned on a while ago myself. The sounds from the kitchen, the light flooding the lounge from the garden, the sounds of cats and birds. The children are playing upstairs, and hearing them is sometimes a relief, always a pleasure. Sometimes I walk up, unresisting. Other times I can just sit outside, reading a newspaper, or flicking channels, hearing them play, scream, call for help or just run about. Their voices make it seem like everything was always right, like nothing ever changed across the boundaries of the room and the world outside. The world outside is numbing, soothing. Sometimes I think the room is sound proof, which is what gives it its eerie look. But my mind is never at rest inside my room. It is the place for flux, for thought, for reading four different books at a time, for looking around, sometimes furtively, at the objects around me; the objects that are half mine. Even now, the music in the background is just that: background music. Its not blocking anything concrete: there's no noise, not a sound outside but the suction pump, and its steady beat is more soothing than disturbing. The only thing it might be blocking is the walls, or what my mind makes of the walls. And with all noise, all 'alien' thought, all but fear blocked, I can come and try this one more time.
I think the two hour wait was worth it. The little starbursts in Motion Picture Soundtrack have been imagined perfectly, with the camera moving and twisting along like a spacecraft hurtling underwater. The music is still clear, the music is still rich. There is no bass at all. Thom Yorke's voice is gliding over the screen, if such a thing is possible. When the words come scribbling over the screen, as the song starts again on repeat, it seems like there is help on the way. And the music is still so clear.
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