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I have many voices. And I know they're all mine.

There is a problem sometimes in picking one voice at a time. Years ago, a friend of mine told me that I pack a great deal of information into what I'm saying, even when I'm not actually speaking.

In the most superficial sense, I'll sometimes change pitch, tone, and accent in the middle of a sentence. I think I've annoyed some people that way. I've mirrored, mimicked, and aped. It's by design. It's all cellophane to protect the message from spoiling. Or a gel coating to make the idea easier to swallow. Or wrapping paper to make it more pretty.

I'm always keenly, sometimes ashamedly, aware of what's beneath the crunchy candy shell. I'm not just the workers on the assembly line: I own the blueprint and the raw materials. I've studied my process, the processes of others and streamlined accordingly. I've incorporated suggestions from outside consultants. I can say things the way they would have said them--but I can't help but want to reply to the unspoken.


One of my voices, and usually my favorite, is slower than the others. I think it might be somewhere off in space sometimes, reporting by radio from the far side of the sun. It's expression is always prototypical. I have to invent new metaphors, new analogies, new words, new packages, new deliveries in order to ship it to the consumer. Sometimes the pieces fit together so strangely that things can come out seeming awkward, misshapen, disjointed--no matter how long it took, no matter how many internal revisions occurred before the public prototype finally rolled out.

I like hearing that voice. I like how it can say many things at once, but nonetheless speaks alone. I like that it has no blueprint. I like it even when it says things wrong, or says wrong things. Among things, I like most of all the ones that draw that voice out. Among people, I like most of all the ones that understand what it says.

This journal is friends only and the current layout is by fruitstyle.