It follows me through the house, wherever I go. Unceasing chatter in a booming cacophony of voices in tongues I do not speak, hounding me around every door frame, at every hour. The pox walks the streets, so I’m not safe out there. So I’m stuck in here with the endless volume, accosting me as I eat, as I sleep, as I read. I take no pleasure anymore. I can find no peace. There is only the endless drone of null information, wearing my brain down to a nub. A numbness fills me. There is only pain and fear. And noise.
Paddy Dobson
17th January 2021