Earphone Quotes

He grabbed at Rupert’s earphones and gave his colleague a very serious look. ‘What do you know about share dealing?’ Rupert placed a finger on his chin and mulled over the question with a studious look. ‘Now you come to mention it,’ he said, ‘I know absolutely nothing.’ Norman grabbed his arm and began dragging his bewildered companion to the nearest lift. ‘Then we need to find out, and find out fast.

Every day was like a day out of someone else's life. Nothing had ever happened to me, and now everything was happening to me -- and by everything, I really meant Lena. An hour was both faster and slower. I felt like I had sucked the air out of a giant balloon, like my brain wasn't getting enough oxygen. Clouds were more interesting, the lunchroom less disgusting, music sounded better, the same old jokes were funnier, and Jackson went from being a clump of grayish-green industrial buildings to a map of times and places where I might run into her. I found myself smiling for no reason, keeping my earphones in and replaying our conversations in my head, just so I could listen to them again. I had seen this kind of thing before. I had just never felt it.

I wanted to put on earphones and plug into her and know what she was hearing when her fingers performed.

Sometimes Thomas Mackee will stick an earphone into my ear and ask me to listen to a song. When I get over the revulsion of putting something in my ear that's been in his, I sit back and let the music take over, and for a half hour there's something comforting about someone's heart beating at the same rhythm as mine.

So apart from writing letters home to your fantasy girlfriends,"Ben says, walking backwards, "what do you guys do out here without television and phones?" "Men's business. Bit confidential," Griggs says patronisingly. "Wow, wish I were you," Ben says, shaking his head with mock regret. "All I'll be doing tonight is hanging out in Taylor's bedroom, lying on her bed, sharing my earphones with her, hoping she won't hog all the room because it's such a tiny space.

I’m not interested in Bob Marley telling me to ‘lively up’ myself. The only music that satisfies me is Nine Inch Nails and Trent Reznor’s voice crying through industrial rhytms. In the August evenings, I lie on my bed with earphones, letting his laments roll through me like unrepentant thunderstorms. I envy the courage that carries his voice into the world. He doesn’t berate himself for pain and anger; he howls. And this delights me, even though I feel ashamed when my own rage comes to the surface. My anger doesn’t signify courage; it’s just more confirmation that I’m bad.

I had to get out. Move. I ran through neighborhoods, other lives, other worlds. Solipsism. A man on his lawn mower. Green and yellow. A high-school kid with earphones, washing his car, suds creeping down the driveway. High in the bright blue sky the moon showed like a fading fingerprint. It seemed so weak, so out of place, as if it stumbled into broad daylight by mistake. Unseen protons dying by the billions.

During the 1980s, a remote viewing project called Stargate was done at Fort Meade. It used binaural beat tones, transmitted through earphones, that altered brain waves. A hemi-sync that device played two different frequencies into each ear was found to produce altered states of consciousness. Perhaps this technology was derived from these experiments done in the 1960s on MKULTRA subjects.

I was reading a poem by my idol, Wallace Stevens, in which he said, ‘The self is a cloister of remembered sounds.’ My first response was, Yesss! How did he know that? It’s like he’s reading my mind. But my second response was, I need some new sounds to remember. I’ve been stuck in my little isolation chamber for so long I’m spinning through the same sounds I’ve been hearing in my head all my life. If I go on this way, I’ll get old too fast, without remembering any more sounds than I already know now. The only one who remembers any of my sounds is me. How do you turn down the volume on your personal-drama earphones and learn how to listen to other people? How do you jump off one moving train, marked Yourself, and jump onto a train moving in the opposite direction, marked Everybody Else? I loved a Modern Lovers song called, ‘Don’t Let Our Youth Go to Waste,’ and I didn’t want to waste mine.

Not everyone understands what a completely rational process this is, this maintenance of a motorcycle. They think it's some kind of "knack" or some kind of "affinity for machines" in operation. They are right, but the knack is almost purely a process of reason, and most of the troubles are caused by what old time radio men called a "short between the earphones," failures to use the head properly. A motorcycle functions entirely in accordance with the laws of reason, and a study of the art of motorcycle maintenance is really a miniature study of the art of rationality itself.

Five years ago was before Walkman earphones. They can’t imagine that.

Liv runs. Every morning, and some evenings too. Running has taken the place of thinking, of eating, sometimes of sleeping. She runs until her shins burn and her lungs feel as if they will explode...She plugs in her iPod earphones, closes the door of the block, rams her keys into the pocket of her shorts, and sets off at a pace. She lets her mind flood with the deafening thumping beat, dance music so relentless that it leaves no room for thought.

And hither and thither fly--Mere puppets they, who come and go, At bidding of vast formless things, that shift the scenery to and fro.'" His voice was hushed and whispery in the earphones. "Mere puppets," he repeated. "It's Edgar Allen Poe." "So are we the vast formless things?" "Yep." I grinned up at him. "Are you calling me fat and unshapely?" His low laugh tickled my ears. "Quite the contrary," he said. "Jacob can be vast, and I shall be formless. Your form is very pleasing.

How do you turn down the volume on your personal-drama earphones and learn how to listen to other people?

It's not easy to trust people with your earphones, let alone trusting them with your life. So, when someone decides to go against nature and trust another human, don't fail them.

Suppose a song is playing on your phone. If you use an earphone, it will feel like the song is playing in your head. Similarly, your mind is not in your head. Mind is an invisible body which is at a distance from your physical body, but it is connected to your head through a cord. If you disturb this cord, you can have “out of the body experiences”. You can see your own body from outside you.

It'd be cool to date someone who liked the same stuff I did. We wouldn't clash during road trips to see life outside the city. We could share earphones and vibe to the same song while relaxing somewhere quiet.

She spoke loudly in order to be heard above the noise of personal communitainers that were thudding and banging all around them. Some people used earphones, some didn't, clearly believing that as many people as possible should be given the opportunity to appreciate their musical taste. That, combined with the mass leakage from the headsets, created a terrible din and even discreet private conversations had to be conducted at a yell.

Mindfulness can be practised throughout the day, not only on the meditation cushion. There are many techniques for this but they all come down to paying close attention to one’s experience of each moment, without seeking distraction. When I go for walks now, I no longer have earphones piping music into my head. I try to stay present to the physical, aural and visual sensations I experience, as well as noticing my mental processes and reactions.

They hate me because I am the worst thing possible. I am the bad mother. But here's a secret: in America there are no good mothers. They simply don't exist. Always, there are a thousand ways to fail at this singularly important job. There are failures of the body and failures of the heart. The woman who is unable to breastfeed is a failure. The woman who screams for the epidural is a failure. The woman who picks up her child late knows from the teacher's cutting glance that she is a failure. The woman who shares her bed with her baby has failed. The woman who steels herself and puts on noise-canceling earphones to erase the screaming of her child the next room has failed just as spectacularly. They must all hang their heads in guilt and shame because they haven't done it perfectly, and motherhood is, if anything, the assumption of perfection.

I put on the earphones of my portable CD player and listen to Non-Stop Trance Adventure. As I dance, I begin to feel warm and turn off the heat. I wonder why I'm such a difficult person and I look up at the heater and think of my stubbornness. Tears stream down my face, but I keep on dancing.

sprint, woodwinds fluttering behind. More instruments join in. Flutes? Harps? The song races, seems to loop back over itself. “Werner?” Jutta whispers. He blinks; he has to swallow back tears. The parlor looks the same as it always has: two cribs beneath two Latin crosses, dust floating in the open mouth of the stove, a dozen layers of paint peeling off the baseboards. A needlepoint of Frau Elena’s snowy Alsatian village above the sink. Yet now there is music. As if, inside Werner’s head, an infinitesimal orchestra has stirred to life. The room seems to fall into a slow spin. His sister says his name more urgently, and he presses the earphone to her ear. “Music,” she says. He holds the pin as stock-still as he can. The signal is weak enough that, though the earphone is six inches away, he can’t hear any trace of the song. But he watches his sister’s face, motionless except for her eyelids, and in the kitchen Frau Elena holds her flour-whitened hands in the air and cocks her head, studying Werner, and two older boys rush in and stop, sensing some change in the air, and the little radio with its four terminals and trailing aerial sits motionless on the floor between them all like a miracle.

Betty once had self-image problems, but she overcame them. A Morninglight poster decorates her wall. Much-read pamphlets sit in her bathroom. Philip Marquard's audio book on self-actualisation plays in her earphones. Fresh signatures fill the forms on her clipboard. Bottles of Morninglight dietary supplements and nutrient pills fill her medicine cabinet. By her bed is an autographed picture of Philip Marquard, the one she secretly kisses before going to sleep. Every night she dreams of freeing herself from her mortal shell and ascending into the cosmos to soar with the whale-mollusc gods. There are new recruits chained to Betty's walls. She has their signatures. They tested as having self-image problems, as she once had. Smiling, she tells them they are all beautiful. She opens them with a knife, shows them the beauty inside. "Look!" she says, tears streaming. "We are all made of stars!" Then she practises eating stars, waiting for enlightenment to take hold.

Some lives work better with routines, and Liv Halston's is one of them. Every weekday morning she rises at seven thirty am, pulls on her trainers, grabs her iPod, and before she can think about what she's doing, she heads down, bleary-eyed, in the rackety lift, and out for a half hour run along the river. At some point, threading her way through the grimly determined commuters, swerving round reversing delivery vans, she comes fully awake, her brain slowly wrapping itself around the musical rhythms in her ears, the soft thud-thud-thud of her feet hitting the pavement. Most importantly she has steered herself away again from a time she still fears: those initial waking minutes, when vulnerability means that loss can still strike her unheralded and venal, sending her thoughts into a toxic black fog. She had begin running after she had realized that she could use the world outside, the noise in her earphones, her own motion, as a kind of deflector, Now it has become habit, and insurance police. I do not have to think. I do not have to think. I do not have to think.

But the cadet was probably just lucky on that particular attempt and therefore likely to deteriorate regardless of whether or not he was praised. Similarly, the instructor would shout into a cadet’s earphones only when the cadet’s performance was unusually bad and therefore likely to improve regardless of what the instructor did. The instructor had attached a causal interpretation to the inevitable fluctuations of a random process.

He's rigged a tiny cassette player with a small set of foam earphones to listen to demo tapes and rough mixes. Occasionally he'll hand the device to Mindy, wanting her opinion, and each time, the experience of music pouring directly against her eardrums - hers alone - is a shock that makes her eyes well up; the privacy of it, the way it transforms her surroundings into a golden montage, as if she were looking back on this lark in Africa with Lou from some distant future.

He is about to hand the earphone to Jutta when—clear and unblemished, about halfway down the coil—he hears the quick, drastic strikes of a bow dashing across the strings of a violin. He tries to hold the pin perfectly still. A second violin joins the first. Jutta drags herself closer; she watches her brother with outsize eyes. A piano chases the violins. Then woodwinds. The strings sprint, woodwinds fluttering behind. More instruments join in. Flutes? Harps? The song races, seems to loop back over itself.

On her first day in Musan, a policeman picked her out of the crowd. “Hey, you,” he yelled at her. After more than two years of living in China, Oak-hee was pale and plump. She used scented shampoo and soap. She looked and smelled different from everyone else. Furthermore, she was also carrying a transistor radio she had purchased in China that picked up South Korean programs. The police officer confiscated the radio and (after asking her to show him the frequencies for South Korean radio and demanding her earphones) turned her over to the Bowibu.

I guess they’re having what you might call panic attacks. It’s an old place and smells a little musty. The hallways are sort of long and narrow. The exhibits are gory. The people are listening to some creepy, nasty stuff on their earphones. It apparently just overwhelms some of them, especially on a busy day when there might be some congestion in the rooms and hallways. You’ll have flippers, fainters and barfers every so often.’ ‘It’s sounding more fun all the time.’ ‘Not as much fun as the heart attacks.’ ‘You get heart attacks?’ ‘I don’t, they do. Not often, though.

Tell me, amigo," said Switters in a voice just loud enough to penetrate the fellow's earphones, "do you know why boom-boom movies are so popular? Do you know why young males, especially, love, simply love, to see things blown apart?" The man stared blankly at Switters brightly. "Freedom from the material world. Subconsciously, people feel trapped by our culture's confining buildings and its relentless avalanche of consumer goods. So, when they watch all this shit being demolished in a totally irreverent and devil-may-care fashion, they experience the kind of release the Greeks used to get from their tragedies. The ecstasy of psychic liberation.

That's bullshit, buddy. And you know it. The trouble was, he DIDN'T know it. He had come face to face with something Susannah had found out for herself after shooting the bear: he could TALK about how he didn't want to be a gunslinger, how he didn't want to be tramping around this crazy world where the three of them seemed to be the only human life, that what he really wanted more than anything else was to be standing on the corner of Broadway and Forty-second Street, popping his fingers, munching a chili-dog, and listening to Creedence Clearwater Revival blast out of his Walkman earphones as he watched the girls go by, those ultimately sexy New York girls with their pouty go-to-hell mouths and their long legs in short skirts. He could talk about those things until he was blue in the face, but his heart knew other things. It knew that he had ENJOYED blowing the electronic menagerie back to glory, at least while the game was on and Roland's gun was his own private handheld thunderstorm. He had ENJOYED kicking the robot rat, even though it had hurt his foot and even though he had been scared shitless. In some weird way, that part--the being scared part--actually seemed to add to the enjoyment. All that was bad enough, but his heart knew something even worse: that if a door leading back to New York appeared in front of him right now, he might not walk through it. Not, at least, until he had seen the Dark Tower for himself. He was beginning to believe that Roland's illness was a communicable disease.

Why does the night have to be so beautiful? As I walked through the night, I remember what Mitsutsuka said to me. "Because at night, only half the world remains." I count the lights. All the lights of the night. The red light at the intersection, trembling as if wet, even though it isn't raining. Streetlight after streetlight. Taillights trailing off into the distance. The soft glow of the windows. Phones in the hands of people just arriving home, and people just about to go somewhere. Why is the night so beautiful? Why does it shine the way it does? Why is the night made up entirely of light? The music flows from the earphones filling my ears, filling me it becomes everything. A lullaby. A gorgeous piano lullaby. What a wonderful piece of music. It really is. It's my favorite piece by Chopin. Did you like it too, Fuyuko? Yeah. It's like the night is breathing. Like the sound of melted light. (The light at night is special because the overwhelming light of day has left us, and the remaining half draws on everything it has to keep the world around us bright.) You're right, Mitsutsuka. It isn't anything, but it's so beautiful that I could cry.

For years before the Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps won the gold at the 2008 Beijing Olympics, he followed the same routine at every race. He arrived two hours early.1 He stretched and loosened up, according to a precise pattern: eight hundred mixer, fifty freestyle, six hundred kicking with kickboard, four hundred pulling a buoy, and more. After the warm-up he would dry off, put in his earphones, and sit—never lie down—on the massage table. From that moment, he and his coach, Bob Bowman, wouldn’t speak a word to each other until after the race was over. At forty-five minutes before the race he would put on his race suit. At thirty minutes he would get into the warm-up pool and do six hundred to eight hundred meters. With ten minutes to go he would walk to the ready room. He would find a seat alone, never next to anyone. He liked to keep the seats on both sides of him clear for his things: goggles on one side and his towel on the other. When his race was called he would walk to the blocks. There he would do what he always did: two stretches, first a straight-leg stretch and then with a bent knee. Left leg first every time. Then the right earbud would come out. When his name was called, he would take out the left earbud. He would step onto the block—always from the left side. He would dry the block—every time. Then he would stand and flap his arms in such a way that his hands hit his back. Phelps explains: “It’s just a routine. My routine. It’s the routine I’ve gone through my whole life. I’m not going to change it.” And that is that. His coach, Bob Bowman, designed this physical routine with Phelps. But that’s not all. He also gave Phelps a routine for what to think about as he went to sleep and first thing when he awoke. He called it “Watching the Videotape.”2 There was no actual tape, of course. The “tape” was a visualization of the perfect race. In exquisite detail and slow motion Phelps would visualize every moment from his starting position on top of the blocks, through each stroke, until he emerged from the pool, victorious, with water dripping off his face. Phelps didn’t do this mental routine occasionally. He did it every day before he went to bed and every day when he woke up—for years. When Bob wanted to challenge him in practices he would shout, “Put in the videotape!” and Phelps would push beyond his limits. Eventually the mental routine was so deeply ingrained that Bob barely had to whisper the phrase, “Get the videotape ready,” before a race. Phelps was always ready to “hit play.” When asked about the routine, Bowman said: “If you were to ask Michael what’s going on in his head before competition, he would say he’s not really thinking about anything. He’s just following the program. But that’s not right. It’s more like his habits have taken over. When the race arrives, he’s more than halfway through his plan and he’s been victorious at every step. All the stretches went like he planned. The warm-up laps were just like he visualized. His headphones are playing exactly what he expected. The actual race is just another step in a pattern that started earlier that day and has been nothing but victories. Winning is a natural extension.”3 As we all know, Phelps won the record eight gold medals at the 2008 Beijing Olympics. When visiting Beijing, years after Phelps’s breathtaking accomplishment, I couldn’t help but think about how Phelps and the other Olympians make all these feats of amazing athleticism seem so effortless. Of course Olympic athletes arguably practice longer and train harder than any other athletes in the world—but when they get in that pool, or on that track, or onto that rink, they make it look positively easy. It’s more than just a natural extension of their training. It’s a testament to the genius of the right routine.

The top surface of the computer is smooth except for a fisheye lens, a polished glass dome with a purplish optical coating. Whenever Hiro is using the machine, this lens emerges and clicks into place, its base flush with the surface of the computer. The neighborhood loglo is curved and foreshortened on its surface. Hiro finds it erotic. This is partly because he hasn't been properly laid in several weeks. But there's more to it. Hiro's father, who was stationed in Japan for many years, was obsessed with cameras. He kept bringing them back from his stints in the Far East, encased in many protective layers, so that when he took them out to show Hiro, it was like watching an exquisite striptease as they emerged from all that black leather and nylon, zippers and straps. And once the lens was finally exposed, pure geometric equation made real, so powerful and vulnerable at once, Hiro could only think it was like nuzzling through skirts and lingerie and outer labia and inner labia. . . . It made him feel naked and weak and brave. The lens can see half of the universe -- the half that is above the computer, which includes most of Hiro. In this way, it can generally keep track of where Hiro is and what direction he's looking in. Down inside the computer are three lasers -- a red one, a green one, and a blue one. They are powerful enough to make a bright light but not powerful enough to burn through the back of your eyeball and broil your brain, fry your frontals, lase your lobes. As everyone learned in elementary school, these three colors of light can be combined, with different intensities, to produce any color that Hiro's eye is capable of seeing. In this way, a narrow beam of any color can be shot out of the innards of the computer, up through that fisheye lens, in any direction. Through the use of electronic mirrors inside the computer, this beam is made to sweep back and forth across the lenses of Hiro's goggles, in much the same way as the electron beam in a television paints the inner surface of the eponymous Tube. The resulting image hangs in space in front of Hiro's view of Reality. By drawing a slightly different image in front of each eye, the image can be made three-dimensional. By changing the image seventy-two times a second, it can be made to move. By drawing the moving three-dimensional image at a resolution of 2K pixels on a side, it can be as sharp as the eye can perceive, and by pumping stereo digital sound through the little earphones, the moving 3-D pictures can have a perfectly realistic soundtrack. So Hiro's not actually here at all. He's in a computer-generated universe that his computer is drawing onto his goggles and pumping into his earphones. In the lingo, this imaginary place is known as the Metaverse. Hiro spends a lot of time in the Metaverse. It beats the shit out of the U-Stor-It.

Walkman cassette player was temporarily put on hold when market research indicated that consumers would never buy a tape player that didn’t have the capacity to record and that customers would be irritated by the use of earphones. But Morita ignored his marketing department’s warning, trusting his own gut instead. The Walkman went on to sell over 330 million units and created a worldwide culture of personal music devices.

What in the—? My begonias!” he heard someone say behind him. Nick looked over his shoulder. A small but muscular woman in sweaty workout clothes was stepping out of a big shiny car in the neighbor’s driveway. She was gaping in horror at the chewed-up flowerbed and the smoking lawn mower. Scowling, she turned toward Uncle Newt’s house. And the scowl didn’t go away when she noticed Nick looking back at her. In fact, it got scowlier. Nick smiled weakly, waved, and hurried into the house. He closed the door behind him. “Whoa,” he said when his eyes adjusted to the gloom inside. Cluttering the long hall in front of him were dozens of old computers, a telescope, a metal detector connected to a pair of bulky earphones, an old-fashioned diving suit complete with brass helmet, a stuffed polar bear (the real, dead kind), a chainsaw, something that looked like a flamethrower (but couldn’t be … right?), a box marked KEEP REFRIGERATED, another marked THIS END UP (upside down), and a fully lit Christmas tree decorated with ornaments made from broken beakers and test tubes (it was June). Exposed wires and power cables poked out of the plaster and veered off around every corner, and there were so many diplomas and science prizes and patents hanging (all of them earned by Newton Galileo Holt, a.k.a. Uncle Newt) that barely an inch of wall was left uncovered. Off to the left was a living room lined with enough books to put some libraries to shame, a semitransparent couch made of inflated plastic bags, and a wide-screen TV connected by frayed cords to a small trampoline.

I knew you forever and you were always old, soft white lady of my heart. Surely you would scold me for sitting up late, reading your letters, as if these foreign postmarks were meant for me. You posted them first in London, wearing furs and a new dress in the winter of eighteen-ninety. I read how London is dull on Lord Mayor's Day, where you guided past groups of robbers, the sad holes of Whitechapel, clutching your pocketbook, on the way to Jack the Ripper dissecting his famous bones. This Wednesday in Berlin, you say, you will go to a bazaar at Bismarck's house. And I see you as a young girl in a good world still, writing three generations before mine. I try to reach into your page and breathe it back… but life is a trick, life is a kitten in a sack. This is the sack of time your death vacates. How distant your are on your nickel-plated skates in the skating park in Berlin, gliding past me with your Count, while a military band plays a Strauss waltz. I loved you last, a pleated old lady with a crooked hand. Once you read Lohengrin and every goose hung high while you practiced castle life in Hanover. Tonight your letters reduce history to a guess. The count had a wife. You were the old maid aunt who lived with us. Tonight I read how the winter howled around the towers of Schloss Schwobber, how the tedious language grew in your jaw, how you loved the sound of the music of the rats tapping on the stone floors. When you were mine you wore an earphone. This is Wednesday, May 9th, near Lucerne, Switzerland, sixty-nine years ago. I learn your first climb up Mount San Salvatore; this is the rocky path, the hole in your shoes, the yankee girl, the iron interior of her sweet body. You let the Count choose your next climb. You went together, armed with alpine stocks, with ham sandwiches and seltzer wasser. You were not alarmed by the thick woods of briars and bushes, nor the rugged cliff, nor the first vertigo up over Lake Lucerne. The Count sweated with his coat off as you waded through top snow. He held your hand and kissed you. You rattled down on the train to catch a steam boat for home; or other postmarks: Paris, verona, Rome. This is Italy. You learn its mother tongue. I read how you walked on the Palatine among the ruins of the palace of the Caesars; alone in the Roman autumn, alone since July. When you were mine they wrapped you out of here with your best hat over your face. I cried because I was seventeen. I am older now. I read how your student ticket admitted you into the private chapel of the Vatican and how you cheered with the others, as we used to do on the fourth of July. One Wednesday in November you watched a balloon, painted like a silver abll, float up over the Forum, up over the lost emperors, to shiver its little modern cage in an occasional breeze. You worked your New England conscience out beside artisans, chestnut vendors and the devout. Tonight I will learn to love you twice; learn your first days, your mid-Victorian face. Tonight I will speak up and interrupt your letters, warning you that wars are coming, that the Count will die, that you will accept your America back to live like a prim thing on the farm in Maine. I tell you, you will come here, to the suburbs of Boston, to see the blue-nose world go drunk each night, to see the handsome children jitterbug, to feel your left ear close one Friday at Symphony. And I tell you, you will tip your boot feet out of that hall, rocking from its sour sound, out onto the crowded street, letting your spectacles fall and your hair net tangle as you stop passers-by to mumble your guilty love while your ears die.

When speaking of disabilities, the blind and their needs are most often used as an example. It is deceivingly simplistic since accessibility is something most of the population can benefit from. We all benefit when we are tired, in bright sunshine with a mobile, are forced to use a gaming mouse with too-high sensitivity or receive the text version of video clips when we have forgotten our earphones and are in a quiet environment.

Can you arrange help with the housework? Can you pay someone for a while? What about asking one of your relatives who keeps burbling on about ‘wind’ to do the shopping or the dishes or something practical instead? Can you put in some earphones and let your baby cry while you clean up? You will feel much better, and chances are your baby is going to cry anyway whether you walk the floor with her or clean the house. If you can restore order you will feel better, more in control and she may go to sleep.

We stand by our products and we want you to be 100% satisfied. Therefore, we promise you that every pair of GGMM earphones comes with an unconditional Lifetime Warranty. No wear, no tear, and no excuses - our earphones are built to last.

Translators were poised for the novel rendition of simultaneous translation into the earphones at every seat.

The young man plugs his earphones back in and perches on the edge of a bench, bopping along to his music. his hairstyle and face remind Ki-yong of Bart Simpson, and his loose red T-shirt is emblazoned with Che Guevara's face. He is probably listening to Rage Against the Machine, or some similar band. The most capitalist country in the world produced these far-left lyrics, and on the CD—filled with the imagery of a Vietnamese monk sitting cross-legged while engulfed in fire, young Seoulites throwing Molotov cocktails—the singers swear, scream, and yell that we have to smash the system. It's fitting music for the kid in the Che Guevara shirt. If Stalin and Lenin were alive to hear this music, what would they think? Would they feel the urge to send the band to the Siberian archipelago?

Hiro’s view of Reality. By drawing a slightly different image in front of each eye, the image can be made three-dimensional. By changing the image seventy-two times a second, it can be made to move. By drawing the moving three-dimensional image at a resolution of 2K pixels on a side, it can be as sharp as the eye can perceive, and by pumping stereo digital sound through the little earphones, the moving 3-D pictures can have a perfectly realistic sound track. So Hiro’s not actually here at all. He’s in a computer-generated universe that his computer is drawing onto his goggles and pumping into his earphones. In the lingo, this imaginary place is known as the Metaverse. Hiro spends a lot of time in the Metaverse.

Night flying over charted country by the aid of instruments and radio guidance can still be a lonely business, but to fly in unbroken darkness without even the cold companionship of a pair of ear-phones or the knowledge that somewhere ahead are lights and life and a well-marked airport is something more than just lonely.

My computer had been equipped with a slightly different program which M.I.T. called Colossus IIA; it was aptly named. I felt flea-sized in its presence, and punched the computer keys with a good deal of reverence, as I availed myself of the services of this giant. That is, until it and I started to disagree and it refused to give me the answers I sought. Then I lost my temper. Flash an “operator error” light at me, will you, you stupid goddamned computer, and I would sputter and stammer until the soothing voice of Tom Wilson14 or one of the other instructors came over the earphones and unctuously explained how I had offended their precocious brat.

Foster couldn’t remember a time when these expressions of testosteronal discharge did not leave him feeling alienated and more than vaguely annoyed—his own early attempts to participate had felt unnatural and somehow indicting—and he rolled his eyes and returned the earphone to his head.

How had I coped with difficulty before? I would go for a walk with earphones in, disappear into the city, and come back in a few hours when I felt better.

Night flying over the charted country by the aid of instruments and radio guidance can still be a lonely business, but to fly in unbroken darkness without even the cold companionship of a pair of ear-phones or the knowledge that somewhere ahead are lights and life and a well-marked airport is something more than just lonely. It is at times unreal to the point where the existence of other people seems not even a reasonable probability. The hills, the forests, the rocks, and the plains are one with the darkness, and the darkness is infinite. The earth is no more your planet than is a distant star — if a star is shining; the plane is your planet and you are its sole inhabitant.

ZontSound’s mission is to help people find quick solutions to common sound problems with audio devices like speakers, headphones, earphones, soundbars, etc. We provide practical and easy-to-follow guides and how-to articles that show you just what you need to do to restore normalcy and get the best sound output from your investment. Our goal is to help reduce the time you spend searching for a solution to your faulty audio device or even queuing at a technician’s shop by providing straight-to-the-point answers in an easy-to-read and friendly style. Everyone uses audio devices, which have become a part of our lives. So when they break down from a common problem or fail to provide top-quality sound like they used to, ZontSound aims to be the rescue tech site the millions across the globe can trust for quick solutions.

Since neither of us needs sleep we take night buses, sharing earphones and listening to knitting podcasts. If anyone else on the bus notices anything about us they assume it’s because they’re drunk. I’ve

Fuzz Pellet Josh sat alone. His head was tilted down, his hair hanging in front of his face like a curtain. His expression—and Grace guessed that he only had this one—was sullen. He bit into the taco as if it insulted his favorite grunge group. The earphones were jammed into place.

October 1973 “Hey Doc, would you mind flying straight and level for a little while? I’m not feeling too well.” This request came through the earphones of my helmet as I controlled the T-28 Trojan from the front pilot seat. I had just completed a barrel roll; it was about my twelfth one in a row as I tried to make each one a little more precise than the previous one. This was the first thing Bob had said for some time, and I was wondering why he had become so quiet. I turned my head as far as I could to one side and was just able to catch sight of him in my peripheral vision, sitting behind me in the rear pilot’s seat. Bob’s face definitely looked a little pale and seemed to even have a slight tinge of green to it. (Page 213)

If I don't speak the name of this thing, it still feels like it isn't real. Does that make any sense?' The ColU spoke to them now, whispering in their earphones. 'It makes plenty of sense, Mardina Eden Jones Guthfrithson. The power of names: probably one of the oldest human superstitions, going back to the birth of language itself. To deny a name is to deny a thing reality. And yet now it is time to name names.

The rest is drowned out by sound breaking in through his earphones, coming in from Reality:

When it comes to generating writing material, teenagers are gold. Their world is a narcissistic, anarchic, paranoid hell of anxieties and stresses about how they look; how popular they are or aren’t; and how fast or slowly, big or small their private parts are growing. As an observer, it’s fantastic. Hilarious, at times. Poignant and heartbreaking. It is all the stuff of great human drama because, before your eyes, you get to witness character transformation. Boy grows into man. Girl grows into woman. Writers strain to make this shit up. But – and here’s the catch – we dare not discuss any of this if we want our kids to trust us or ever talk to us again. And that’s because, lifts and pocket money aside, teenagers crave privacy – the need for which hatches both swiftly and silently while we’re sorting out the laundry. It’s as if they suddenly wake up one day creeped out by the thought of all those years we wiped their butts and helped them put on their undies and they go into lock- down. They smoke us out, put up walls, close their doors, shut down their stories, and waft, earphoned, through our homes in a shroud of hormones and appetite. Their lives – in which, until recently, we participated with Too Much Information and gross oversharing – suddenly become ‘none of our business.

Brilliantly engineered with high-quality dynamic drivers, these earphone will produce unbelievable tones. The metal housings will also minimize sound distortion to produce crisper sounds.

I eat alone in a room filled with groups of people talking and laughing loudly. I hog a table and shut these people out with my earphones and submerge myself into the world of fiction.

He took a stool two away from Enid. She didn’t look up from her drink or glance his way. On the other side of him a guy wearing a porkpie hat was bouncing his head up and down as though to music but no music was playing and he wasn’t wearing earphones. A rainbow of rusted license plates took up most of the back wall—probably plates representing all fifty states, but Simon wasn’t really up for checking. There were neon signs for Miller High Life and Schlitz. An oddly ornate chandelier hung from the ceiling. This place, like the inn, was all dark wood, but that was the only similarity, like this was the poorest of poor cousins of the inn’s rich dark wood. “What’ll you have?” The barmaid’s hair was the color and texture of the hay on that hayride and done in a quasi mullet that reminded Simon of an ’80s hockey player. She was either a hard forty-five or a soft sixty-five, and there was little question she had seen it all at least twice. “What kind of beer do you have?” he asked. “We have Pabst. And Pabst.” “You choose for me.

The Grand Illusion "No one can create an illusion for you but you, and no one can free you from an illusion but you." John-Roger, DSS When I was on a trip to the USSR back in 1988 with J-R our group went to a Russian "Circus". I was anticipating lions and trapeze and tight rope walkers. What we saw there was much different than that, we saw a hypnotist. It was a huge arena that was filled to the gills and our group had our earphones in listening to the show through our group translator. As the "mesmerizer" hypnotized the entire hall he called out people to come down to the stage. Some in our group went down. Zombies alive!! I believe the translator was hypnotized as well. It was wild. I thought of this today thinking how we are in a world of illusion. The world that we "see" seems solid and firm but is made up of mostly space and vibration. We have hypnotized ourselves into believing we are victims or we are helpless, or we are stuck or fearful. It's like a strongman believing he is weak. Superman has touched Kryptonite. The kryptonite is our misbeliefs. We believe we are in a limited world and we are the victims of that world. In truth, we are part of God. We create our reality. We are powerful. You create, promote, or allow everything in your life. “The breezes at dawn have secrets to tell you Don't go back to sleep! You must ask for what you really want. Don't go back to sleep! People are going back and forth across the doorsill where the two worlds touch, The door is round and open Don't go back to sleep!” -Rumi Wake up to the wonder. LLS Richard Powell Essence-into-form.com

Ever tell you about my bike accident, Stu? Changed my life." He ignored her. "Changed. My. Life." He sighed and dropped his earphones onto his neck. "Okay. Make it quick." "Know why?...Because I saw something terrible." She blinked into the darkness. She'd been so scared. "You waiting for a drumroll or something?" "The truth. That's what I saw." "Wow. The Dalai Lama. In my cab. Drunk. I'm so honoured.

By drawing a slightly different image in front of each eye, the image can be made three-dimensional. By changing the image seventy-two times a second, it can be made to move. By drawing the moving three-dimensional image at a resolution of 2K pixels on a side, it can be as sharp as the eye can perceive, and by pumping stereo digital sound through the little earphones, the moving 3-D pictures can have a perfectly realistic sound track. So Hiro’s not actually here at all. He’s in a computer-generated universe that his computer is drawing onto his goggles and pumping into his earphones. In the lingo, this imaginary place is known as the Metaverse. Hiro spends a lot of time in the Metaverse.

Hatred is a easy thing everyone can do this , it doesn't take courage to hate someone , you can hate anyone just by their appearance ,like you hate that stranger in a bus who is listing music while putting his earphones , or you can hate the colour of someone bag or his brown hair, your hate is genuine just like hemlock and sharp as eagle eye, but above all hate is a easy thing love takes courage, it's difficult to love someone without any expectations, but some uncommon humans can do this, They are the one who will carry the light and bloom the flowers of love .

Richard had a plan to make some quick money: he could buy pot in El Paso for next to nothing and sell it in Los Angeles for considerably more. Without telling anyone, Richard left El Paso for good on a dirty, battered Greyhound bus. He’d just turned eighteen. Richard listened to heavy metal music over earphones and slept when possible.

The boys prodded the brush with long sticks, tearing away the thickly matted branches and leaves. The job was slow, difficult, and unrewarding. Now and then they looked up and saw men with earphones and sounding equipment working around the shore. When the sun was high overhead, one of the men gave a shrill whistle. He signaled the others and the crew climbed the hill, carrying their lunch boxes and gear into the shade of the trees above. “They’re going to have lunch, I bet,” said Chet. “How about us?” “Soon,” Frank said briefly. Both Hardys were intent on their job.

So Hiro’s not actually here at all. He’s in a computer-generated universe that his computer is drawing onto his goggles and pumping into his earphones. In the lingo, this imaginary place is known as the Metaverse. Hiro spends a lot of time in the Metaverse. It beats the shit out of the U-Stor-It.

One morning, the moon still high in the sky, Peri watched from her window a female student -- wearing earphones, her cheeks flushed -- running through the quad. She herself had tried it a few times back in Istanbul, despite the obstacles the city peppered along her trail. Here it was a privilege, of sorts, not to have to worry about broken pavements, potholes in the roads, sexual harassment, cars that did not slow down -- even at pedestrian crossings. The same day, she bought herself a pair of trainers.

Money can’t buy you happiness but it sure can buy the Hammer truly wireless earbuds, and we are certain the feeling is pretty much the same! With festival season being round the corner and no good ideas on what to gift your loved ones whatsoever, Hammer presents to you its wide range of athleisure products ranging from the truly wireless earbuds, wireless earphones, Hammer bash headphones, fitness bands going all the way to its smart watch and so much more! It’s time to finally go all out and ditch those old school gifting trends with something different than the age-old gifts like clothes and sweets for your friends and family! At Hammer, we understand festivals are full of bliss and joy, and we are all about spreading the joy with our luxurious products in a budget that ensures that you and your loved ones get the best quality and comfort all in one single product. All Hammer products are equipped with the latest Bluetooth V5.0 technology, sweatproof or waterproof, and pairing, along with long hours of battery support. All Hammer products will not only make this special day full of traditions but also a day to appreciate one another and send out gifts as a small token of appreciation for all the special ones in our life. In addition to this the entire range of these Hammer products also make perfect corporate gifts to employee or business clients and partners that will be appropriate for those work calls or that zoom meeting, all while giving you just the right opportunity to make those professional bond all the stronger and for rewarding those hardworking employees together with the most valuable clients of your business this festive season. So now put a stop to your gift hunting all while collecting those precious Hammer devices that will incontestably make for the best festival present this season while you still have time! Hammer best selling products in India for the festive season 1. Hammer KO Sports True Wireless Earbuds with Touch Controls. 2. Hammer Pulse Smart Watch for Body Temperature Measurement 3. Hammer Bash over the Ear Bluetooth Wireless Bluetooth Headphones with HD Mic. 4. Hammer Airflow True Wireless Earbuds with Bluetooth v5.0 (Black, White, Blue Color). 5. Hammer Grip Sports Wireless Bluetooth Earphones.

Hammer Airflow truly wireless Bluetooth earbuds comes with the latest Bluetooth v5.0 technology. Through this you can easily pair any Bluetooth enabled device within 10 Meter of radius. Get a long battery backup with a magnetic charging case(400mah). This truly wirelessBluetooth earphone is the best wireless Bluetooth for music. You can enjoy music with deep bass and answering the call by built in Microphone feature. Hammer Airflow Truly Wireless Bluetooth Earbuds (TWS) Hammer Airflow Truly Wireless Bluetooth Earbuds Features Usage: Hammer Airflow truly wireless Bluetooth earphones are designed for calling, music, gaming, sports and active lifestyle. Battery: Hammer Airflow wireless Bluetooth battery backup is up to 4 hours with music and calling on a single full charge. This wireless Bluetooth earphone is charge quickly within only 1.5 best truly wireless earbuds in India hours and 100 hours of standby time. Bluetooth 5.0: Airflow wireless Bluetooth earphone having latest technology Bluetooth v5.0. Which is maximizes the stability, performance and connectivity of Bluetooth earbuds which effectively reduces the power consumption. Stylish charging case: Hammer Airflow wireless Bluetooth earbuds comes with a stylish magnetic charging case (400mah) which makes the earbuds safe & dustproof. Monopod capability: Hammer Airflow wireless earphone buds can be used as two independent monopods. Comfort fit: Super-secure Airflow buds come with 2 ear-tips which provide perfect fit and comfort for all-day wearing with no distractions Product description TWS EARBUDS WITH ULTRA LONG BATTERY LIFE: Earbuds with charging case of 400 mah can charge your truly wireless earbuds about 7 to 8 times. Once the Bluetooth earbuds are in the charging case, they will be charged automatically and only takes about 1 hour to fully charge. You get about 4 hours of music playback time in a single charge of earbuds. TRULY WIRELESS EARBUDS WITH MIC: Truly wireless Bluetooth earbuds are best for calling. You will never have to worry about the wire linking, as Hammer Bluetooth earbuds are cable free and the Bluetooth connection has a strong signal upto 10 meters. BLUETOOTH EARBUDS WIRELESS PAIRING TECHNOLOGY: Pressing the right earbud thrice will make it the master earbud. Turn on Bluetooth on your phone, scan available Bluetooth devices, select Hammer Airflow the main earbud voice prompts your device is connected. The earbuds are connected successfully, now you can use it for music or calls. true wireless earbuds for sports INTEGRATED CONTROL BUTTON: With multi-function button you can play / pause music, next/ previous song, increase/ decrease volume, answer / reject calls and activate Siri / Google voice assistant. Additional Features: Bluetooth Headphones, Siri Google Assistant, Wireless Earphones, Long Lasting Battery, 3-4 Hours Playtime, Wireless Earbuds Headset Mic Headphones, True Wireless Design Bluetooth 5.0, Stylish Earphone, Deep Bass, Mono Calling (Single Earbud), Working Distance 10M, Standby time 60 Hours Compatible Devices: Compatible with iOS/Android Brand: Hammer Model number: AIRFLOW Battery Cell Composition: Lithium Polymer Item Weight: 40.8 g Warranty Details: Hammer Airflow comes with 6 months Replacement warranty only in case of manufacturing defects. Product Registration is mandatory at Warranty page within 10 days of your purchase to claim the warranty. Customer Care: Email: info@hammeronline.in MOB: 9991 108 081

What does True Wireless Earbuds Mean Where are my earphones? Ahh!! There they are….and they are tangled (with irksome scream inside your head). There is nothing more frustrating than going on a search operation for your headphones and finally finding them entangled. Well thanks to the advance technology these days one of your daily struggles is gone with the arrival of wireless earphones in the market. No wire means no entanglement. ‘Kill the problem before it kills you’, you know the saying. Right! So what actually truly wireless earbuds are? Why should you replace your old headphones and invest in wireless ones? Without any further delay let’s dig deep into it. image WHAT ARE TRUE WIRELESS EARBUDS? A lot of people misunderstand true wireless earbuds and wireless earphones as the same thing. When it’s not. A true wireless earbuds which solely connects through Bluetooth and not through any wire or cord or through any other source. While wireless earphones are the ones which are connected through Bluetooth to audio source but the connection between the two ear plugs is established through a cable between them. Why true wireless earbuds? Usability: Who doesn’t like freedom! With no wire restrictions, it’s easier to workout without sacrificing your music motivation. From those super stretch yoga asanas to marathon running, from weight training to cycling - you actually can do all those without worrying about your phone safety or the dilemma of where to put them. With no wire and smooth distance connection interface, you have the full freedom of your body movement. They also comes with a charging case so you don’t have to worry about it’s battery. Good audio quality and background noise cancellation: With features like active noise cancellation, which declutter the unwanted background voice giving you the ultimate audio quality. These earbuds has just leveled up the experience of music and prevents you from getting distracted. Comfort and design: These small ear buddies are friendly which snuggles into your ear canal and don’t put too much pressure on your delicate ears as they are light weight. They are style statement maker and are comfortable to use even when you are on move, they stick to your ear and don’t fall off easily. Apart from all that you can easily answer your call on go, pause your music or whatever you are listening, switch to next by just touching your earplugs. image Convenience: You don’t necessarily have to have your phone on you like the wired ones. The farthest distance you could go was the length of the cable. But with wireless ones this is not the case, they could transmit sound waves from 8 meter upto 30 meters varying from model to model. Which allows you multi-task and make your household chores interesting. You can enjoy your podcasts or music or follow the recipe while cooking in your kitchen when your phone is lying in your living room. Voice assistance: How fascinating was it to watch all those detective/ secret agent thriller movies while they are on run and getting directions from their computer savvy buddies. Ethan Hunt from Mission Impossible….. Remember! Many wireless earphones comes with voice assistance feature which makes it easy to go around the places you are new to. You don’t have to stop and look to your phone screen for directions which makes it easier to move either on foot or while driving. Few things for you to keep in mind and compare before investing in a true wireless earphones :- Sound Quality Battery Life Wireless Range Comfort and design Warranty Price Gone are those days when true wireless earbuds were expensive possession. They are quite economical now and are available with various features depending upon different brands in your price range.

Musicians rely heavily on synchronous auditory feedback of their own performances—hearing the music they play as they play it. When that synchrony is artificially manipulated through earphones, musicians lose confidence in their abilities and become distracted trying to understand the asynchrony, which then impairs their performance. So, as Majid wrote, presence is “when all your senses agree on one thing at the same time.” Presence manifests as resonant synchrony.

In person Kaltenborn was lanky, with a clipped moustache and thin hair. He was described as “confident but not conceited,” “pompous,” “unpretentious,” and by many other contradictory adjectives. His capabilities were vast. He was the only newscaster in radio who could strap on a pair of shortwave earphones, listen without translation to speeches by Hitler, Mussolini, or Daladier, go on the air immediately with only his cryptic notes as a script, and deliver a polished analysis. He was a rapid-fire commentator but spoke in simple sentences packed with one-syllable words and was easy to understand. He could read a one-line news bulletin and immediately give a quarter-hour explanation of its significance and probable consequences. He died in 1965.

We had portable music before the iPod, most commonly in the form of the Sony Walkman and Discman (and their competitors), but these devices played only a restricted role in most people’s lives—something you used to entertain yourself while exercising, or in the back seat of a car on a long family road trip. If you stood on a busy city street corner in the early 1990s, you would not see too many people sporting black foam Sony earphones on their way to work. By the early 2000s, however, if you stood on that same street corner, white earbuds would be near ubiquitous. The iPod succeeded not just by selling lots of units, but also by changing the culture surrounding portable music. It became common, especially among younger generations, to allow your iPod to provide a musical backdrop to your entire day—putting the earbuds in as you walk out the door and taking them off only when you couldn’t avoid having to talk to another human.

Back in my room I put my earphones in. Put on A Tribe Called Red. They’re a group of First Nations DJs and producers based out of Ottawa. They make electronic music with samples from powwow drum groups. It’s the most modern, or most postmodern, form of Indigenous music I’ve heard that’s both traditional and new-sounding. The problem with Indigenous art in general is that it’s stuck in the past. The catch, or the double bind, about the whole thing is this: If it isn’t pulling from tradition, how is it Indigenous? And if it is stuck in tradition, in the past, how can it be relevant to other Indigenous people living now, how can it be modern? So to get close to but keep enough distance from tradition, in order to be recognizably Native and modern-sounding, is a small kind of miracle these three First Nations producers made happen on a particularly accessible self-titled album, which they, in the spirit of the age of the mixtape, gave away for free online.

..allowing the music produced by marketing alchemists specializing in teenage romance to flood her thoughts via thing earphone wires.

uttered by this brand new race. All through a large set of earphones snugged to his head. The video screen near their ship's