I was almost too scared to check it, but then, in my benighted fumbling, my computer and iPad turned on, and they started making sonic ejaculations too, which they hadn’t made for Michael or Whitney. Then, last Thursday night, I was asleep in a very, very rural hotel in Iceland when the phone made the Noise again. The second time, it was when Whitney died, and I was absurdly having gnocchi with certain friends and then other friends rang and we had to pull the whole evening over “to be together in this time of need.” The third time, it was when I got off a plane last week in Rome, and I thought to myself, “Girl, not Janet, not tonight.” It was a false alarm: it was just that English diver announcing that he was fuxing a man. Petersburg, Russia, having just interviewed the homeless-looking and possibly insane conductor Valery Gergiev.
The first time, it was when Michael Jackson died and I was in a fever-dream in St.
My current theory is that the Noises are generated when a critical mass of gays text one another at the same time. Four times in the last few years, it has made a certain series of Noises.
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