i have recently installed a new telephone answering machine. It operates through my modem on my computer, therefore it sometimes behaves unpredictably. On occasion it has recorded my voice as I answer the phone. I do not like my own voice.
This may help explain why I have written nothing for two months. Once I was kinda liking my voice, a couple years ago when I would sing, alone in my apartment; a therapy of sorts to help me come out of hiding. And I used to write.
through our voice—whether spoken literally or spoken figuratively in actions, arts, or letters—we touch the world. The work we do and the choices we make are all part of our unique vocalization of the person we are inside. Even children—whose voices are entirely their own—are themselves expressions of their parents' selves; they are the results of statements which were spoken directly to society at large, words which drew the attention of one or two others, which then became casual whispers. Eventually those whispers became intimate, intended exclusively for one particular other—who whispered also. And in time those secret words became flesh.
Or somewhat less poetic, consider the voice of a craftsman, rich with meaning, spoken with feeling and love in the careful carpentry of a Victorian house. Or watch a brief dance, the dancer's perfect execution of it resulting from many agonies in training and sacrifice—all of it done with the intention of making a clear statement, and with the hope of expressing something fine and undeniable.
And the world responds. To be social means to engage in a dialogue with all of life; with events as they occur, with individuals as we encounter them, and with full awareness of each moment. To be anti-social means to shun and fear that exchange.
i have been in the throes of increasing social anxiety, so much so that the actions of sociopaths like Timothy McVeigh, the Oklahoma City bomber, or Andrew Cunanan, the serial killer who murdered Gianni Versace, are starting to appear reasonable to me, as are the actions of people who favor the death penalty. This scares me.
Fear is an amazing thing. Sean, whose voice you have heard by this time, came to my house in the wee hours of this morning wanting to spend the night. He had with him a guy whom I have never met. Sean wanted him to stay also. I said no, and offered to get my cordless phone so they could call a cab from the front door of my building, but despite my reluctance, Sean insisted that I allow them into my apartment. This is the apartment where I gave him a blow-job without telling him that I was HIV positive—the same apartment to which he returned twice (after I told him my status) for more of the same. When I told him I was positive (the second time we met), he said, "Well, we didn't really do anything unsafe, so, as long as we're careful, we can keep having sex." We continued to be careful—two more times.
As it turned out in the progress of my relationship with Sean, I was not ready to persue a lover nor was he. Also, everytime he visited my apartment, it seemed he needed to 'borrow' twenty bucks for one thing or another, and that was a little too reminiscent of other relationships in my past which I have chosen to not repeat. We parted quite amicably. Until this morning.
Once inside my apartment this morning, he revived his request to stay the night. For all I know, it might have been great fun; I used to love sucking his dick, and here he was bringing someone new in addition to that. Plus, I live in a studio apartment with nothing to sleep on but a small futon. I guess it might have been cozy, but at 3:30 AM it just did not feel right. It still does not feel right—or safe. Anyway, his disregard for my wishes and his repeated demands that I let them stay cemented my decision that they should leave. Finally, his repeated insistence that I give him twenty bucks instead of the eight dollars which I did offer inspired me to withdraw my offer of cab-fare and use of my phone. I told him to leave. His friend, far more considerate of my stated wishes than Sean, was already leaving and asking Sean to follow.
I don't like my voice, because it can do things like Sean's voice did.
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