...of sound

At first I was afraid; this familiar music had demanded action, the kind of which I was incapable, and yet had I lingered there beneath the surface I might have attempted to act. Nevertheless, I know now that few really listen to this music.
I sat on the chair's edge in a soaking sweat, as though each of my 1, 369 bulbs had every one become a klieg light in an individual setting for a third degree with Ras and Rinehart in charge. It was exhausting - as though I had held my breath continuously for an hour under the terrifying serenity comes from days of intense hunger. And yet, it was a strangely satisfying experience for an invisible man to hear the silence of sound. I had discovered unrecognised compulsions of my being - even though I could not answer "yes" to their promptings. I haven't smoked a reefer since, however, not because they're illegal, but because too see around corners is enough (that is not unusual when you are invisible). But to hear around them is too much; it inhibits action. And despite Brother Jack and all that sad, lost period of the Brotherhood, I believe in nothing if not in action.

[Invisible Man, Ellison, R.]