Day Forty-Four: Losing Sleep to Electronic Invasion

by Tom Noonan

I haven’t been sleeping well recently.  This fan that normally provides white noise to drift into has started screaming, its mechanics falling out of place.  Something doesn’t fit, and the result is reminiscent of a Spielbergian gremlin laugh.  My bedroom has become silent and dense, the un-broached air above my bed feeling gravitational in its imposition.  I’m hemorrhaging sleep by the hour.

In my insmoniatic desperation, I try to demolish the EDM-based infrastructure that has worked its way through radio rock (which, of course, was already the least palatable form of rock).  Muse emits lyrics into the gas-burning cylindrical machinery that shapes their appeal.  “M-m-m-m-mad-mad-mad”.  The Olympics support radio rock.

Imagine Dragons drop the bass, effectively breaking their brauny hook over substance approach.  Wearing the masks of all possible genre, there is no humanity in this chorus’s eyes.  “Welcome to the new age” while I hope for an Orwellian intervention.  We build these structures, massive and arresting, but take dynamite to them and try to locate a beating heart, a pulse, and you’ll find programming code.

Even that fucking Owl City kid is in it.  I scroll through my Twitter feed and read that The Postal Service is getting back together in 2013.  I wonder where that Owl City kid is hiding, trembling in fear of Benjamin Gibbard’s metaphoric revenge.  I try the fan again; it’s still fucked up.  There’s nothing worse than that sound.

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