Once, I had a different voice inside my head.
I guess it's the same for everyone, or most at least. Something, someone, in a second you cannot determine, or slowly and discreetly over time, takes hold of your mental vocal chords and twists.
Next time that voice appears inside you, its sound is unexpected, it jars, makes you stop and think, but whatever angle you examine it from, it's undeniably you, you just don't know how it's you, when you started to sound like that.
My own inner voice, once laid back and amenable has became harsher, more often. The steely notes have been there all along, but somewhere, the fight's become more permanent. I don't know if it's a good thing.
And there's this tinny resonance within which won't allow for natural thoughts of sadness, or frustration or loss. 'What right do you have?' it pipes,Sure, everyone should be reminded of the fact that there are people worse off, but on the hour, every hour? And what about when all the crap in your head is linked to the fact anyway? Oh, I can tell it to shut up, but it never does for long. It's actually rather annoying.
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1 comment:
I thought this was a great bit of writing and an interesting reflection.
On a slightly different note: Do you find that when you really get into a book, you spend the next few days trying to shake the writer's style out of your inner voice? I mean, the entire time I was reading Snow Crash (which is by Neal Stephenson and so excellent that if you've not yet read it, you need to), I found myself narrating my every move in a very similar, snappy, present-tense fashion. If I stay up too late and find myself dredging through the nastier and more pointless parts of the Internet, the jeering playground cadence of their prose haunts the back of my mind for a few hours afterwards until I get quite scared.
Proust's the worst, though. The absolute worst. I am writing this in very short sentences now. That's because if he gets hold of you, the next year of your life is likely to become one very, very long sentence - two or three if you're lucky. Clause after clause of obsessive description and digression. It fair makes your head spin.
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