Voice

Eerily, my spoken voice is changing- the voice of which Zizek made so much in his Perverse Cinema review last week. The voice stands outside of the self.

Anyway, mine has been alarming both me and my significant others while it's lowered to Garbo depth and developed a Joplin-esque rasp. Proximate causes include my persistant cough from smoking fags and Niddrie hash (nothing new), but distal and different are that I can go for days without intentionally using my larynx, apart from gutteral remonstrations or cooing to the cat. That larynx is maybe almost literally rusty.

Made up for Trappism today by talking for sigma 5 hours on the phone to mum, sister and old friends, and had regained at least five tones in voice range by the end of this marathon. Clearly I should take up singing exercises and spoken soliloqies to exercise the voicebox.

The 'Dispatches' 9/11 Falling Man docu last week stopped short of exploring an association with the tarot's hanged man, also inverted, silent and peculiarly free.