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"Don't feel bad," the receptionist said to me on my way out. She led me through a glassed-in corridor to the south wing of the complex. From there, we looked down into a small courtyard with otherwise normal-seeming people scattered around it, some sitting peacefully under artificial trees or reading quietly beside an artificial brook. "These people are here because they've had their lives fucked-up by living in somebody else's world of fabricated, amped up volume, till it buzzed," she said. And if you listened hard, you could even hear |
some of this, playing so loud in their minds, it bled over a little into the ambient sound just outside their heads.
Book: TABLE OF CONTENTS |