My Voice

Have you heard my voice? You may recognize it more easily than you think.

My voice is the shrill klaxon of alarm sirens signalling that you are an 8 hour workday away from drowning in mundane mediocrity.

It's the expectant hush that falls over the concert hall as the soprano inhales just before hitting a note of such astonishing height and clarity that listener perceptions are forever shifted.

It's the giggles of a corkscrew curled princess as she creates crayon dragons to guard her kingdom while clad in a floor length acetate gown and sparkly flip flops.

It's a profanity laden stream of consciousness spouted by an aspiring comedian as he stands before his very first audience on a beer soaked, dimly lit 'Open Mic' night.

It's the soft scraping of pastels on paper as the artist frantically sketches in scarlets and golds to capture his perfect sunset.

It's the propane hiss of a blowtorch waiting for the sculptors spark to bring it to task, reshaping realities in a fusion of hot metal and plexiglass.

It's the electronic plugged in pop of an electric guitar as a teenager prepares to strum his first notes of a garage-bound maelstrom of music.

It's the steady click-click-click of the keyboard as the writer rushes to get concepts committed to the hard drive before the imagery fades.

My voice is a red hot poker to the psyche saying "Get off your ass! Go MAKE something! WRITE something! SING something! SAY something!"

My voice can be a real pain in the ass sometimes.