Symphony for the Misophoniac

There’s no such thing as thinking straight these days—we walk through an unending din of ads upon directionless gossip upon soapbox rants. The world is a schizophrenic with no meds to speak of, and we’re the voices who don’t know how to keep our louds to ourselves. Thinking crooked is all that’s left.

I know and you know and everyone who’s ever tried to quiet their mind—be it right or left—knows that the white noise lacerations make it hard for us to cut into deeper conversations. The nagging sting is enough to turn us gun-shy, but the music we stuff in our ears is an analgesic, blinders to calm your skittish, endeavoring deaf.

The very human machines who pull you into their sound waves’ undertow will sneer at the little world you build yourself. They will want to tie you down and make you participate in their shrieking parade. Don’t get down on the hair triggers in your ears. Keep listening, keep rocking. Go on and wrestle the trash into something you can handle. Nod your head, know that if the deaf were to lead the blind in a tango, it would sound wonderful.

If you promise to lead, I will build a playlist for when the world shanghais your peace of mind.

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