Signal to Noise

There is stasis coming. I can smell it on the air like ozone. Like garlic the next day. Like ads for tiny hearing aids: "Trouble understanding voices in a crowd?"

There is a voice in the crowd—a tiny voice—not saying much. In fact, saying the same thing over and over. Only I can't hear what it is. Which is an improvement, because before, I didn't even know it was there.

Eventually I'll hear it. It will be clear, like the Times Square reader board dreams I've had, where books and stories were spelled out in front of me, one word after the other, only I can't write fast enough in dreams to take it all down, and I wake with nothing—only an impression—but the impression is good.

And the voice in my head like radio through hills and trees: off/on; off/on; off; on.

Off.

On.