a la recherche du silence perdu

Every morning I wake up to the sound of fuzzy buzzing – it isn’t the supposedly fuzzy feeling we’re told we feel when something good happens. It is the clinical sound of a layer of digital cellophilm radiating through and settling in my skull – I live in a place without wi-fi or a landline phone connection. There’s just enough background wi-fi, mobile-signal, digital-TV, satellite scanning radiation to make it through my thin roof.

You know the sound of the back of the fridge – it’s close to that but more invasive, more cerebral and far less obvious. The closest fridge to where I sleep is 10 metres away.

You wake up to it too, you’re just not aware of it anymore.

That’s not to say that you ever were entirely aware¬†of it but that your mind registered it and switched it off as soon as it realised it would have to deal with it for the rest of time.

Every morning I wake to the digital-cellophilm of the city and I think, ‘What’s this radiation doing to the way my mind works?’