i subscribed on wednesday.
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two days later the first parcel arrived. i came home from work and carried it to my kitchen table.
the kettle was boiling as i tore it open. contents are a box (glossy white cardboard, blue corporate insignia). i used my car keys to pick off the tape sealing it shut.
i'm reading the brochure (white glossy paper, corporate insignia in blue on front page, blue text on white background) as i make a cup of coffee, the box is still sitting open behind me on the table.
set in a protective foam mould (white) is a small pill bottle (blue translucent plastic, white cap, glossy white label featuring corporate insignia, blue) and an opaque plastic orb (white with blue corporate insignia) with an inset electrical plug compatible with standard domestic power points.
i skim the last of the brochure as i take a seat at the table again, setting my coffee down on a coaster.
i lift the pills and the orb out of their mould, and set them carefully to one side. taking a sip of coffee i lift the mould out of the box. at the bottom there are more brochures with additional information, technical support, and a catalogue of other products and extension packs available or soon to be released on the domestic market.
i take two of the pills (white with glossy sugar flavored coating, complete with corporate insignia printed meticulously on each capsule) with coffee and then carry the orb through to the bedroom and plug it into the wall. a light (blue) blinks twice through the white plastic shell and i slip off my work clothes (stale with sweat and creased from a day of sitting down) and climb into bed, as recommended for optimum initiation in the chapter on initiation protocol.
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at first the humming of the orb is barely audible. i lie on my side and watch the numbers count upwards on my digital clock (compact silver model with red light emitting diode display), slowly becoming conscious of the humming getting louder.
it takes forty three minutes and i'm slowly wondering if there is something wrong, as the humming gives way slightly to a percussive clicking and whirring. i roll over onto my back and try to lift myself out of bed to inspect the orb but out of nowhere i am the dizziest i have ever felt.
i don't know how long it took me to turn my head far enough to look at the clock again, every twitch of my neck or flicker of my eye sent me spinning and falling in place with sickening intensity (the sensation of existence without physical reference and perpetual motion, only the sight of the clock to reassure me of gravity and inertia). i was terrified.
the countless clicks and whirs had long since grown and distorted into a singular churning tone (imagine the sound of a factory floor or a primitive boiler room complete with pistons and gears) that became wavelike (intensity recedes and then returns louder than before, like the tide crawling up a beach).
i lay sweating for hours (i think).
the orb sat and screamed (imagine a computer's imitation of a human being in pain), bellowing and shaking (i could distinguish the faint sound of the plastic clattering against the plaster wall, as if struggling to break free of the powerpoint).
the source of the sound had shifted without my noticing (so preoccupied, was i) and it took me some time to realise that the orb position no longer had any bearing on the sound (my pillows hummed, my sheets roared, the ceiling and the walls and the floor all became conduits of the orb).
at some point i went profoundly blind, not even blackness. a complete loss of even the idea of visual sensation (as if i had been blind since birth). of course it seems impossible now, but i was so consumed by the torture of the sound that i hardly noticed my gradual loss of sight until the last moment when i realised the clock had vanished (so difficult to communicate to you in full the notion of completely losing a sense, that not only could i not see the clock i did not know what the clock looked like or what it was to look like anything or what it was to look. a most horrible revelation) and immediately i was utterly lost in the agonizing tempest of placeless being.
the noise escalated to untold volumes (at this point a singular tone that seemed to possess every possible pitch from impossibly high whines through to screeches and middling to grinds and unending groans and then descending into the deepest of throbs and roars that shook my guts and made me sick) and it never stopped even.
the ordeal worsened as my other senses began to disintegrate in much the way my sight did.
i could no longer smell my own sweat (sour, and pouring down from my forehead and under my arms) and as the cacophony consumed me the concept of smell became meaningless. the same went for taste as the bile that had gathered in my mouth (acidic and thick) drifted out of consciousness and all my memories of food became textures.
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(it is an amazing thing to note the composition of our memories. every moment of our lives we fall back on a personal tissue of knowledge and experience, a quilt from which we derive meaning and significance. this relationship between memory and meaning leads us to a false conclusion; the notion that our memory consists fundamentally of raw meaning which we can use as a reference when dealing with day to day experience. on closer inspection, we recognise the flaw. the fabric of memory is woven of the five senses, five threads in a tapestry of exquisite complexity... but there is no sixth thread. there is no direct, transcendental experience of inherent meaning. if you disagree, try to imagine language without imagining the sound of the vowels, the shapes of the alphabet, the feel of the words as you form them in your mouth. the concept of meaning is illusory when examined microscopically, it is merely a rapid fire association between countless sensory images that forms a coherent image at a distance.)
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touch was the last to go (the sheets and the pillow and the prickle of sweat on my skin all faded) and i was completely lost to sound, consciousness sacrificed to the gnashing of the orb (whose din had grown more and more human, composed mostly of snatches of screams and cries and senseless chatter).
i must have fallen asleep some time after that.
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i was woken by the sound of the sun shining through my window.
it was early morning and i could not quite hear the traffic or my kettle rattling over the sound of birds singing.
my bathroom tiles hummed.
i stirred my coffee for perhaps a full three minutes or so, listening to the chime every time the spoon twinkled against the mug.
i lay in bed until afternoon, turning over frequently for the velvet tones of my bedspread's shifting.
at around one i walked into the kitchen smiling faintly. this was delicious.
i tipped the extra papers out of the box onto the table, listened to them fluttering softly.
i walked out of my front door and through the yard to where the bin stood near the street, threw out the box.
(it was with a note of displeasure which gave rise to mild, rising panic that i noticed that the indescribable warmth that had swaddled me all morning had faded somewhat as i left the confines of my house, and the birdsong was now indistinct, blended with the grey rush of traffic and the sound of distant industry).
i walked back to my house faster than i had walked away from it, and slammed the door behind me.
i sensed my own alarm which, after a morning of dull satisfaction, felt like the memory of a bad dream.
turning on the radio to calm myself down, i was overjoyed to hear the mellow tones and melodies of the radio announcers' voices, though i found it difficult to make out exactly what they were saying.
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i stopped going to work.
a few days later i ran out of food and had to drive to the shops (everything beyond the door hollow and cold, as if life had lost its marrow).
i lay around the house running my hands over surfaces (which resonate) or playing albums.
my boss called me personally and threatened to fire me.
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i woke early and made toast, reading one of the brochures as i packed my briefcase and shuffled out the front door, picturing the orb in my bedroom, telling myself it would be there when i got back.
sitting in my office i felt heavy. i made a point of clattering my pens on my glass desk, typing harder than necessary, clearing my throat or rubbing my feet on the carpet. everything lacked clarity. other sounds got in the way. nothing was special (the sense that every single sound i experienced was unique, beautifully crafted and significant to me) anymore. i felt tired. the sky was grey.
i got caught in a traffic jam driving home and a headache from the storm drumming on the roof of my car.
it was gone as soon as i stepped through the front door and i couldn't stop smiling at the sound of the drops and the water cascading from overflowing gutters, catching some sun as it fell.
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it took me a week to save up enough. i ordered it at work on the computer.
it came in the mail two days later, same packaging (only smaller).
i took it out to the car and unplugged my stereo to make room for it.
driving to work made me giddy, the car was reverberant with the placid thunder of the engine, and i checked the rear view mirror constantly to see the little white orb sitting neatly, reflected in the back window.
when i got to my office my boss walked past and found me plugging it into the point beneath my desk. i looked up and he shook his head, telling me to unplug it. not in the office, he said. he was pointing with his thumb out the door, he didn't want to see it again.
i sat in quiet fury all through the morning, and he would periodically peek his head through my door to see if the orb was still sitting, silent, on my desk.
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