Each appliance has its own sound. High frequency, low frequency, intermittent, continuous. The stand-by of the television is a whistle around 10,000 hertz. Do not really feel it. You can tell when you switch it off. The boiler has darker shades, is around 3 kHz. A house - I mean, every house - is suffused with a symphony of sounds. Just stretch your ears. The refrigerator is louder, but is not continuous. Turn on, turn off, turn on, turn off, turn on. The computer is similar to the TV. Change only the color signal stand-by. A district, each district is the sum of many houses, many of the symphonies, of thousands of red lights lit day and night, atonal arrangements. The discharge of water is pretty much on the 300, but I could be wrong. A city is a collection of neighborhoods that are a collection of houses that are a set of sounds. Every city has its matrix, its dominant sound. To all this I was thinking this morning, walking with hands in his pockets and his collar turned up. I thought of the magnificent crescendo of the kettle, the perfect view of the heating pipes, stolen gracefully. I thought the rustling softly in the leaves of ficus in the center of the terraces. At the polyrhythm of walks of people who mix and add to mine. To the explosion of green light. In this orchestra there is room for everyone. There are no files, there are no sections, no podiums, no lights on the lecterns black blacks, no trombone with puzzles a week under the chair. The sun beats time. The night is a crown on a break from the four quarters. But it is only because people are sleeping.
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