Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Cell from hell

The music fires on all cylinders, shrill metallic and craving instant attention.
I let it hurt my eardrums and then I steel my resolve to turn it up a little more.
Now it has begun to really hurt. I like this. Am I a masochist? Am I empty?

Maybe yes. Maybe yes. A little louder please.

YES. now I have reached the point where I cannot hear myself speak anymore.
Ha! so this is what it is like to be like you...
No wonder you like it so much.

Now let us try closing the eyes. Sensual overload. the one single sense stimulated to

exhaustion has borrowed the other unused 4 sensory amplifiers. Is there something left in

Winamp's tank to test this barrage of parallel amplifiers? Apparently yes.

Now I can hear the scratches of fingers on fretboards of distant guitars. The screech of

mikes hissed upon at close range.

And then silence. Changeover. The next track is anti-climactic in its mellow lilt. I don't

like it.

Hit J and jump to the next track. A gradually escalating song which had once been my 48

hour loop track. As it escalates, I brace for the assault. Now the volume is at the max. My

neighbour looks at me stunned at the fact that my headphones are interrupting her

conversation on the phone. At the periphery of my vision I see her mouthing the word

P-S-Y-C-H-O to her unseen friend on the other end of an Airtel connection.

Like I care.