soundproof ovenbird In the soundproof booth of the hospital audiology department where I once worked as an infant hearing technician I discovered how loud silence is. When the air was cleared of every noise and I was confronted with the cacophony of my own living, breathing body, I wanted to rip my way out of my skin and cast it off like a molted exoskeleton. Closed into a tiny, silent space, the ringing in my ears became symphonic. My own breathing was oceanic. I could hear my heart beating like a harbinger of war. These are the sounds that underlie every moment of my life, and when isolated they were insanity provoking. I emerged from that booth with a new appreciation for the background hum of the everyday–pink noise made from a mix of songs sung by the refrigerator compressor, electronic hiss, the shower running in the unit next to mine, air purifier fans, my dog breathing, wind wending its way from the west, susurrus of leaves. When I ask for silence I mean the egg-carton foam muffling of a peaceful day. Complete silence screams too loud to be endured. 250527 what's it to you? who go blather from