To White Noise

A room, south of Minneapolis, is the quietest room in the world. 

Everyone hates it.

This is the quietest room in the world.
http://www.radiolab.org/story/91792-hallucinating-sound/

 We think we are oriented visually, that we place ourselves in relationship to the things around us--a wall, the chair, my kid, the avocado I will have for lunch-- but people who have spent time in the quiet room quickly become unmoored, like losing gravity.

Listen right now. The hum of an appliance in the next room. A car in the street passing by. A fan above you. Listen deeper: the light bulb buzz, a clock ticking, the soft bend of the wood floor under some unseen weight.

And then deeper still. When all the other sound is gone, you are the only thing that makes noise. You hear your breath, light then heavy. You realize it’s never really the same twice. Though all you are doing is breathing, it begins to feel like you can’t, like you don’t know how, like you have to try to breath, you have to think about it.

You hear your clothes move against your skin. You hear yourself swallow. You hear the swallow in your throat and in your ears.And then you hear your eyes blink.

And then you hear your own heart beating. You can feel it in your chest, your arms. The rhythm of you. You listen harder; it seems more than a double beat. And then you try not to hear it. You try to hear your breath; you swallow hard.

But you are in the quietest room in the world. You see the floor, the walls but they tell you nothing about where you are. You cannot move against your heart beating. You are the only noise.