An Automated Voice

I am speaking to you now with my tongue, but this is not my real voice. And now, I am going to speak, and I am going to use my real voice - so you know the difference.

I lost my ability to speak a few years ago. My tongue was torn out of my skull by a member of a neo-nazi group down south, if only for sleeping with his ex girlfriend. Honestly… I didn’t even know who he was before that.

There have been a lot of assholes on my naughty list. The guy who took my tongue is just one of them. The guy who took my legs, another one. And someday, I’m sure I’ll meet the one who will take my life.

Speaking is for losers. Speaking is for people who don’t think about what they’re going to say next.

For me, every word is precious. Every word is calculated. Every word takes time. So, I just don’t fuck about. I don’t diddle. I think carefully, and then I speak through this machine. It records my words in text format as well… so one day… one day I’ll be able to read every single word that I’ve ever spoken to anyone. That record is in here. It is permanent.

Speaking… it’s so fucking cliche. And it’s so boring.

Another reason why I’m glad that I don’t have to speak anymore, is that since everything that I’ve ever said to anyone since I started using this machine is recorded in here - I get to just use my old speeches again, and I’m not worn out by the fact that it’s the same shit again. The exact same words, fifty times in a row. Nearly half of my communication is done this way. It leaves me more time to do what I want, in the time it takes for the other half of the parley to hear my words. These words you’re hearing right now, I wrote them two years ago. It’s true what they say - there’s nothing new under the sun.

The tongue is necessary for human speech.

Everyone speaks. Even owls speak. Even dogs speak. Even cats speak. And dolphins. And bears. Everyone speaks.

But no one speaks like those with the human tongue, which is perhaps why we don’t understand anyone but us, and why, for some strange fucking reason - the only people who can understand me are… the Heirs of Slytherin.

Must Float On, Must Float On

I used to hear stories about whale riders, and Maori warriors, and the spirit brethren of the Makah - and along came the fucking Earth First and Greenpeace and the rest of the LSD charade of the late 90's - and those stories of whale riders are gone. Mixed emotions.

To be fair, I do believe that without Greenpeace, the whales would all be dead now. So, there is that. But there was a love - a pure and unbidden love - held aloft in those stories of whale riders that I used to hear. And now when the conversations move onto whales, I'm only ever hearing about the end of the world in all its varying manifestations.

So, when I heard this story today, it nearly broke me in half.

Someone just told me at dinner tonight about an Orca whale near here who lost her child and has been carrying it around for the last sixteen days, and for some reason, in that moment, I had to hold back tears. All of the stories of my childhood, and all of the majesty of the Orcas - it punched my gut with a fist.

And there was something else.

In that moment, I could reach out across the sea and feel her pain. Here I am, empathising with a fucking whale. I could hear her crying.

And then an hour ago, it came back to me. I thought of Lezley McSpadden, and Sybrina Fulton, and Gwen Carr - and all of those mothers who have had to outlive their children. I cried.

Heavy sigh.