I’m marooned at my desk. Sound starved. My headphones are at home so I sit with the toxic mixture of noise that leaks out of the office speakers like steam from a manhole.

What I want is a sonic Equinox. A place where I can work my neurons, sweat out the boredom, scrape off the plasticity. I crave wavelengths of sound. Release!

But as the end of the day approaches I begin to understand something. Resisting the impulse gives me a sense of control. I’m a general deploying troops.

The impulse changes and it’s no longer just sound I crave, but music. And hours later after I’ve biked home in silence, I turn on Tame Impala and skate through a misty neighborhood. Quite possibly the music sounds better than before. It’s more substantial. Louder. It jolts me into a mood.

And for the rest of the night I’m entranced by music. FKJ, Maribou State, Galimatias. A friend puts on Tor’s Origin Mix 01 and whatever plays seems to fit the scene.

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