The Eleventh (and Penultimate) New Sermon of the Neo-Catholic Church

I have heard the sound of madness.

Have you ever either been so ill or, conversely, so excited and vital that attempts to sleep extend almost indefinitely? You have been forbidden the grace of rest; your stupor or energy are to be wasted in a state not quite life and not quite the lesser death. When denied sleep, denied rest, your mind processes information, it connects and tags every sound and image, all because your mind cannot, will not, rest. It is something which, given extended duration, will take a stable mind and rend it for all it is is worth.

For me this pseudo-madness has a noise, a signature sound that, experienced in any way, drives me to utter distraction. Until today I did not know what that noise was.

Now I do.

The sound of my madness is pink noise.

My madness is not the voices of psychosis, but the knowledge of every other voice that is not my own. My madness is the external world imposed upon my solitude, the sound of others when I would rather you be silent.

My madness is the madness of crowds.

For my madness is you.