Hey, what’s that sound?

by illimitableoceanofinexplicability

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TRUE! –nervous –very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses –not destroyed –not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily –how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

– Edgar Allan Poe, The Tell-Tale Heart

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This life, which had been the tomb of his virtue and of his honour, is but a walking shadow; a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

– William Shakespeare, Macbeth, act5 scene 5

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If you were to stop by THE INSTITUTE for a visit on any given day (other than Tuesday) you would, at some point, and probably on at least several other occasions during your stay, hear the sound of me loudly calling out something quite indecipherable. At first, if previous visitors serve as any indication, you would, in an instinctual way, just as our ancestors (naked and afraid) did so long ago, jerk your head about quickly looking for any possible source of danger. Then, realizing you were in the comfortable and secure surroundings of my luxurious PRIVATE RESIDENCE, you would relax your body and begin to contemplate the sound you heard and any possible meaning it may have had. After some time in fruitless pursuit of an answer your reverie would be most disturbingly broken by the still mysterious and now somehow even more frightening recurrence of my strange and angry cry coming from somewhere beyond the room you were occupying. At this point having been left to your own devices for longer than seemed polite you would hesitatingly make for the front door thinking I may have forgotten you were even there, or perhaps, depending on the depth of your paranoia, imagine I, in some secret walled off room, was making preparations for God knows what abominable rituals of which you’d be forced to take part. Then, as you reached out to turn the handle and make good your escape, you’d once again hear, now seemingly coming from somewhere inside your own head, that inexplicable and horrifying sound. Now, terrified to your very core, you’d flee for your life from my PRIVATE RESIDENCE, down the stairs and across THE INSTITUTE’S park like setting looking back once and only briefly to see me standing there in the doorway waving my arms frantically and calling after you, “Wheremyclogsat”?

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IMG_3891They were by the back door the whole time!

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