They tried to give me advice; about what I should eat, where I should live, who I should be.
But all I wanted was silence.
In one place, the planes flew overhead in endless torrent. And the motorway hushed like a sick, polluting sea. The song of birds was violently shadowed by the walls of industrial, mechanical, perpetual droning.
But far in the tiny family flat, there was endless nattering, criticism, thoughtless superstitious, pontification, the buzzing of constant electronics deep in the walls.
All I wanted was silence. My brain, victim of a million sonic bullets, needed the morphine of silence.
All I wanted was silence. Maybe that was a lot to ask. Too much? Where in the cosmos is it truly silent?