From American Internet Celebrity to God Among Men

209: Chapter 209 The Exhaustion of Deep DiveMorning sunlight filtered through the blinds, cutting stripes of light and shadow across Alex’s desk. He was reviewing the weekly report for the Grand Bazaar project sent by Team K, which mentioned an interesting new discovery: near the site of the ”Contract Arcade,” historically famous for the writing and notarization of contractual documents, a weak but stable infrasonic frequency had been consistently detected. Its intensity increased regularly on Friday afternoons (the Islamic day of congregational prayer), subtly synchronizing with local religious activity cycles. The report cautiously speculated that this might be a long-term trace of a ”ritualistic resonance,” a remnant left behind by centuries of continuous, high-focus collective activities—writing, negotiating, and contracting—under the specific physical structure of that space.

Just then, Taylor walked in wearing a bathrobe, rubbing her eyes. Her hair was a bit messy, and her face showed clear signs of fatigue. She walked behind Alex without a word, rested her chin on the top of his head, and wrapped her arms around him.

”Morning.” Alex stopped what he was doing and held the hands she had wrapped around him, feeling they were a bit cold. ”Stayed up late again last night?”

”Mm...” Taylor’s voice was muffled and nasal. ”I was working on the ’Speculation and Mirroring of Agreements’ section of the second movement... I wanted to use different cultural musical styles as a ’decoding grammar’... I tried so many combinations—Bach’s counterpoint, Indian raga cycles, blues chord progressions... but it always felt like something was missing. It was either too deliberate, like a collage, or too blurry and lacking focus... My brain is about to explode.”

Alex could feel the fatigue and slight frustration radiating from her body. When creation enters deep waters, especially with complex works where the concept comes first, the most draining part is finding that delicate balance—having a clear conceptual skeleton without letting technique crush the soul of the music.

He turned around, pulled her onto his lap, and gently massaged her temples. ”Put it aside for now. Eat something, have a cup of hot tea, or just take the whole day off. Inspiration is the kind of thing that runs away the more you chase it.”

”But I’m stuck...” Taylor buried her face in the crook of his neck, her voice sounding a bit aggrieved. ”There are so many good ideas, but I just can’t pull them together... I feel like I’m spinning in circles.”

”Then spin.” Alex said calmly. ”Creation isn’t a straight sprint. Sometimes you need to turn in circles to pack the earth beneath your feet and see the angles you ignored before. Remember your breakthrough when you found the ’impurities’? It was because you were ’too clean’ before, forcing yourself into a dead end. It might be the same now; you’re so desperate to ’do it right’ for the second movement that you’ve become trapped by the concept of ’getting it right’.”

Taylor looked up, her eyes a little red. ”Then what should I do?”

”Forget about the ’second movement’ for now,” Alex looked into her eyes. ”Treat today as play. Go listen to those strange sound materials you’ve collected—not to use them, but just to listen, like a child playing with building blocks. Or, go fiddle with that pile of effects pedals you bought, twist the knobs randomly, and record all the ugly sounds. We could even go for a walk by the sea and listen to the real, aimless sound of the waves.”

Taylor stared at him, dazed, her tense shoulders slowly relaxing. After a moment, she sighed softly, a faint curve appearing at the corner of her mouth. ”You really are my ’emergency brake button’... Fine, I’ll listen to you. No ’creating’ today, just ’playing with sound’.”

Alex kissed her forehead. ”That’s the spirit. I’ll go make you breakfast. You want your eggs sunny-side up, right?”

Watching Taylor shuffle off in her slippers to wash up, Alex knew clearly that what one needs most during a creative block is often not specific advice, but unconditional support and the sense of security that comes with being allowed to ”pause.” His work as a ”Translator” had transformed here into the simplest form of ”Companion.”

After seeing off Taylor, who was readjusting her mindset, Alex continued reading the email from Team K. Aside from the infrasound discovery at the Grand Bazaar, a seemingly casual addition was attached to the end of the report:

”Interestingly, the characteristic infrasonic frequency of the ’Contract Arcade’ has a simple integer relationship (approximately 1:3) with the fundamental frequency of the periodic resonance of a megalithic site somewhere in the South Pacific’s ’Silent Triangle’ recorded in our database. This is highly likely a coincidence, as the physical mechanisms and scales of the two are vastly different. However, the phenomenon of ’frequency ratio’ itself is often used in information encoding as a basis for synchronization or frequency division. We have recorded this as a ’fun connection’ with no actual weight, intended solely for expanding our train of thought.”

Coincidence? Alex stared at that ”1:3” ratio. Indeed, one was a frequency that might have been unintentionally ”imprinted” by centuries of human collective ritual activities, while the other was a physical resonance frequency of a non-natural structure in the deep sea; linking them was truly far-fetched. But after everything he had experienced, the word ”coincidence” had become less convincing. Perhaps, at a deeper level regarding the laws of ”how information leaves structured traces in space-time through vibration/wave forms,” human activity and non-natural creations shared some fundamental ”grammar” that had not yet been understood?

He didn’t dwell on it, simply noting down this ”fun connection.” The mysteries of the world sometimes hide within these seemingly absurd, distant correspondences.

Marcus’s video call request popped up. His face wore a complex expression, a mixture of excitement and annoyance.

”Alex, the first draft of the ’Sensory Empathy Design’ toolkit is finished, and the response has been great! Public space management agencies from Seattle, Portland, and Austin have already inquired, and there’s even interest from Canada!” He started with the good news.

”But?” Alex caught the shift.

”But... when it comes to actually promoting and implementing it, that’s where the trouble starts.” Marcus scratched his head. ”The New York Department of Transportation worked out because we happened to have that experimental opportunity, and they had people on the inside who understood it. In other cities, just navigating the bureaucratic processes, finding the right person in charge, and explaining clearly that this thing isn’t ’public art’ or ’noise control,’ but a ’methodology for experience design’... that’s already a headache. Not to mention the practical issues like budget, maintenance, data privacy, and liability. One agency even asked us if we could guarantee that after installing the ’filters,’ citizen complaints would drop by five percent? How could I possibly guarantee that!”

Alex smiled; this was reality. ”It’s very normal. Any new thing, from concept to adoption, has to cross this ’wall of reality.’ When we were working on ’Echo,’ didn’t we also feel our way across the river stone by stone?”

”That’s true...” Marcus felt slightly comforted. ”So what do we do now? Go and chew on the hard bones one by one?”

”Adjust the strategy.” Alex said thoughtfully. ”Make the toolkit open-source and free to lower the technical barrier. But we need to shift from ’selling solutions’ to ’cultivating partners.’ Host online seminars, invite interested city representatives, community planners, and sound artists—not to teach them how to use the tools, but to share our philosophy, case studies, and user stories we’ve collected. The focus isn’t on getting them to launch projects immediately, but on planting the seeds of ’Sensory Empathy Design,’ letting them think and experiment based on their own local needs. At the same time, we can select one or two partners who are the most sincere and have the best conditions to provide deeper technical support and joint research opportunities, creating a few in-depth models. It’s slower, but the roots will grow deeper.”

Marcus’s eyes lit up again. ”Cultivate an ecosystem, rather than selling a product... I get it! This way there’s less pressure, and the long-term impact might be greater. I’ll go adjust the plan right now!”

After finishing with Marcus, Alex leaned back in his chair. The expansion of the platform and the promotion of the philosophy were also a form of ”weaving” that required patience and wisdom; it couldn’t be rushed. Interestingly, this was, to some extent, similar to dealing with Taylor’s creative block and interpreting the hidden clues from Team K: all required understanding the underlying logic and needs of the other party (users, cities, signals, creators) and finding that ”interface” that could both adhere to the core and flexibly adapt.

After lunch, Alex went to check on the studio. Taylor wasn’t racking her brain in front of the computer; instead, she was sitting on the carpet, surrounded by that pile of old tapes, effects pedals, and small percussion instruments. She was closing her eyes, gently striking a strangely shaped copper bowl she’d scavenged from a flea market, listening to the long, ethereal overtones it produced, her face wearing a relaxed, almost meditative expression. Hearing Alex come in, she opened her eyes and smiled. ”This sound... doesn’t it sound like a temple bell, after being blown by the wind for a long, long time?”

”It does.” Alex nodded and sat down next to her. ”Find anything fun?”

”Nothing ’useful’,” Taylor tapped the copper bowl again, listening to the lingering echoes. ”But I just think... it sounds good. It makes my heart quiet. Maybe the second movement doesn’t need so much complex ’grammar.’ Sometimes, a sound that is clean enough and has enough sense of space is, in itself, a kind of ’protocol,’ inviting the listener to use their own heart to ’mirror’ and ’speculate’.”

Alex didn’t comment on whether it was right or wrong, simply saying, ”That sounds like a good direction.”

He knew that Taylor had emerged from the anxiety of ”solving problems” and had returned to the source of ”feeling sound.” This in itself was the greatest progress.

In the evening, Alex received the latest routine monitoring briefing from Team K regarding the Sahara’s ”Silent Ruin No. 1.” Everything was normal; that massive underground ”mailbox” remained in deep sleep, with only the faintest ”vital signs.” However, in the summary of the ”Global Anomaly Monitoring Network” routinely updated at the end of the briefing, it was mentioned that the ”active detection” pulse frequency of the South Pacific SPO-α signal source had shown a statistically insignificant but persistent, extremely slow upward trend over the past month, with an average intensity increase of about 0.7%. The report emphasized that this was entirely within the normal range of periodic fluctuations and was accompanied by no abnormal environmental activity, serving only as a record.

0.7%... An insignificant change.

But it was ”increasing.”

Slowly, persistently.

Alex looked at that short record, and the string in his heart regarding the ”distant buzzing” was plucked, ever so slightly.

No alarm, no sense of urgency.

Just a feeling: a corner of that sleeping system, that ”sentry” still on ”duty,” seemed to be... trying harder to ”listen” or ”call out” to something. Even if the degree of effort was so weak it could be ignored.

He archived the briefing, took no action, and didn’t worry too much. He simply stored this tiny change, like the ”fun connection” from the Grand Bazaar, into a corner of his cognitive map.

As a connector, as a translator, he needed to receive and process information streams from all directions, no matter how weak or seemingly irrelevant they were. What was important was not to react immediately, but to maintain the breadth and patience of listening, waiting for patterns to emerge on their own, or, perhaps, never emerge at all.

Outside the window, the sky grew dark, and the city lights lit up once again, merging into a warm sea of light. In the studio, the ethereal sound of Taylor striking the copper bowl came occasionally, mixed with the faint sound of traffic from the distant streets.

The sentry in deep space was increasing its signal, ever so slowly.

The stones of the bazaar remembered centuries of prayers and trades.

A stranger in the subway had a slightly better ten minutes because of a gently processed piece of noise.

His lover beside him, in her play with sound, had rediscovered inner peace.

All of these—near and far, grand and minute, ancient and new, critical and daily—coexisted in his world, interwoven into a complex and magnificent silent symphony about ”how existence expresses and connects.”

And he, this fortunate listener and weaver, only needed to continue doing his work: understand, support, connect, create, and in every present moment, cherish those warm notes in this symphony that belonged to ”humans.”

He turned off the computer and got up to walk toward the studio. It was time to remind that musician, who had lost track of time playing with sound, that dinner was ready.