Less Soothing Sounds to Fall Asleep To
Do you lie awake in your home upstate, yearning for the sirens and drunken shouts that used to permeate your bedroom in the city? Is your toddler suddenly sleeping a little too well? Sounds like you need Disquietude, the latest line from the Somnia sleep-sounds app: a collection of sleep sounds for people who require a dose of anxiety in order to drift off.
Close your eyes and surrender yourself to the relief of a cleansing spring storm. It’s pouring outside, but you’re cozy beneath your sheets. Listen to the rain hitting your window panes, nourishing your garden, creeping under your foundation. . . . Wait a second—did you ever actually get that sump pump? Maybe you should go check. You’re pretty sure you declined that extra flood insurance because you thought it came with your homeowner’s insurance, but what if your existing insurance covers only damage from a flood you didn’t cause, and what if you caused this by not getting a sump pump? Lie back down and try to enjoy the sound of rain on your roof. Shit, your roof. When was the last time you thought about the structural integrity of your shingles?
The air is crisp, but you’re wearing a thick flannel shirt and warming your hands by the fire. Ah, the fire. So comforting to crawl into your sleeping bag and doze off to its crackle. This is how your ancestors slept—bathed by warming firelight in a dark forest. Your ancestors, however, would probably know how to keep this fire from going out. You’ve used dryer lint, a YouTube instructional video, and some lighter fluid, but these logs still won’t catch. At least you don’t have to worry about flying sparks—or do you? And, wait, did you lock up all the food? Was that sound the fire finally starting to catch, or did a bear just step on some twigs on its way to maul you?
The womb: the primal bed. The place where you spent nine months cradled by your mother’s nourishing warmth. Hear the whooshing of her blood, the steady beating of her heart, her cooing, “They didn’t care about pregnant women smoking and drinking in my day, but you turned out fine!” Wait—don’t hear that. And don’t pay attention to your mother trying to convince you that the government is being bribed by Big Pharma to vaccinate people, just like it was bribed by Big Sugar to keep us all addicted, and, while she’s talking about sugar, you look like you’ve gained a few pounds. Was this the kind of stuff she was telling you as a fetus? Lie awake considering this.
You’re a kid, safely tucked under the covers upstairs while the grownups finish their dinner party. Glasses clinking, forks scraping against plates, muted laughter from below. You’ve had your dessert, you’re in your pajamas, you’ve said good night to the guests, and now there’s nothing for you to do but drift off to sleep without a care in the world. Hold on—do you detect a note of disapproval in the way your father is telling the guests that your mother no longer eats gluten, so he had to make the cake with almond flour? Now your mother is joking about how your father loads the dishwasher. Is this just Mommy and Daddy teasing each other, a natural part of a thriving marriage? Or is the entire family structure you’ve taken for granted for so long about to fall apart?
It’s nighttime in the Amazon. You’re curled up beneath a mosquito net. Revel in the croaking of frogs, the skittering of insects, the gentle susurrus of a waterfall. Listen to the playful shrieks of the golden lion tamarin, which has lost ninety-seven per cent of its original rain-forest habitat, and is classified as a critically endangered species. Hear the purring of the jaguar, whose numbers have been reduced to near-extinction levels owing to wildfires. Now a dolphin is chattering, but she won’t be for long—her species’ population is reduced by half each decade because of droughts and water pollution. Thank God Bolsonaro wasn’t reëlected and allowed to continue his deforestation campaign, but there’s always the possibility of a coup. Speaking of a coup, it’s almost 2024. . . .
You’re on the most epic journey known to man: a trip to outer space. Let go of gravity and sink into the whooshing void of an atmosphere light-years away. A void, just like the moral leadership of late capitalism’s most erratic plutocrat, who brought you these sounds on his way to colonize Mars. How is income inequality such that he can casually drop forty-four billion dollars on a social-media company, whereas you can’t even afford the toothpaste recommended for your sensitive enamel? Lie awake in rage. ♦
"sound" - Google News
May 12, 2023 at 05:00PM
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Less Soothing Sounds to Fall Asleep To - The New Yorker
"sound" - Google News
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