I'm in love. Oh yes. But not with you. That would be silly. That would be most unbecoming of me. But I am in love. With these (see pics below). I use the The Underground often you see. Scurrying forth with my whiskers twitching before me through the subterranean world of LondonTown. The Rat Man. Early morning shifts - late night burrowing - weekend traipses - people browsing. That's me. Catch me if you can. I'm your friendly Underground rat. Commuters - Tourists - Grinding wheels - Booming trains - I flit through this belching, heaving, sweating beehive of humanity unnoticed. The morass. Immune to it. Inured I am. Because I have these. You see the thing is, one is constantly under attack. One's personal air-space violated. One's sovereignty questioned by 'noise'. You feel like a beleaguered castle whose ramparts are permanently under attack...by 'sound' / 'noise'. Pollutant of the airwaves. Modern Contemporaria Scourga. "ChatChat - cough - sneeze - laugh - profanities - profundities - giggle - lament - ooh & ahhs - music - rumble - mumble - mobile - squeal - retch - drum&bass - belch - yawn - gabber-gabber - yapper". You need a defence mechanism against this tirade. Earwax genes would help but I'm not blessed with such genetic gifts. A weapon you need. Here's mine: Twin weapons. One for each ear. A pair of Sennheiser IE8 Noise Isolation Headphones.
Featuring powerful neodymium magnets for; and here I repeat what it says on the beautiful box, 'for outstanding out-of-this-world sonic clarity'. What does that mean? Especially since I've never been 'out of this world'? Who cares.
Take these babies out of their box. Carefully...like undressing a women (sexist me?). Unwrap...slowly. Select the correct sized buds from the selection and then slip em' in. Plug. Play. And then? And then watch the world dissolve away. It's almost like sex but without the histrionics and regret. Aural Orgazma. You'll be transported. Though not by London Transport. You won't even feel the train rumbling beneath you when you wear these. Be careful though - you'll miss the important station announcements. You'll miss your stops. You'll miss the screaming kid on its mothers lap next to you. You'll miss the gorgeous sultry morbid babe sitting opposite. You'll; if you're lucky, even miss the end of the Universe. So good are these, for they block out 'all' noise. Not a squeak gets through. Everything. Apart from that noise living in your head. Yes, that one. Finally you can hear yourself think with these. Hell, I can hear myself scream whist reading Fyodor Dostoevsky - Yes, that's how good they are and that's how you spell his name! - D-O-S-T-O-E-V-S-K-Y.
These babies are compulsory for the professional London Underground rat. If you don't own a pair of these, you're not a true Tube Rat. Don't come near. Don't wanna know you. That's me. Acerbic. Acidic. Aesthete. With these I am no longer harangued, abused, invaded by the tyranny of noise. Time to enjoy the silence. In the big city. The silence of your thoughts and not others. I flit through crowds unmoved, unfazed, untainted, invisible. I don't exist, except in a world of my own devising. Not this world. Not yours. Not theirs. Mine own. In my head. In there. Where you can't get to me. But I'll let you climb in. If only you'll give me a kiss.
You ready? Let's go. Climb in. The cockpit. Let's go.
I
wanna fly and run
till it hurts
sleep for a while
and speak no words
In the Underground.
________
