Spoken Word - #gwplWhatsYourSound‬

"It has been said, women should stay silent."

Jag har spelat in en spoken word-tjohejsan!

Det här inlägget är inspirerad av "What's Your Sound"-grejen som Girls Who Powerlift skapade. Det är även inspirerat av en massa andra kampanjer, kvinnor och händelser. Det är något slags försök till spoken word, för att det började som en dikt, som så många andra dikter jag påbörjat, och började låta mer och mer som spoken word, som så många andra dikter jag inte avslutat helt enkelt för att dom inte längre lät som dikter och för att jag ju "inte sysslar med spoken word" och därför inte hade någon anledning till att skapa något som lutar åt det hållet. För första gången under diktskrivandet bestämde jag mig för att just det här stycket faktiskt skulle passa sig väldigt bra som någonting inspelat, med röst, och när What's Your Sound-kampanjen was a thing så bestämde jag mig för att spela in skiten. Först var jag stressad och tänkte att jag måste vara snabb med att skapa och tagga något innan kampanjen blåser över, men sen var det mer som att jag väntade på att den skulle komma igång, för att till slut inse att it was over before it started, vilket friade mig från typ alla time constraints.

Det bör nämnas att jag både skrev och spelade in den här grejen långt innan grunting-incidenten på gymmet, så det är ingen kommentar på det, även om the spoken word stuff delvis ger inblick i hur jag kände när det kom upp. Det bör också nämnas att även om jag hade massa tankar om potentiell transfobi i mina värsta stunder i relation till den incidenten så förstod jag att det bara var tankar, och jag hoppades att det skulle framgå i inlägget där jag skrev dom, vilket jag förstått inte helt varit fallet. Så går det när man inte riktigt tänker på att personer som är berörda av ämnet ifråga kanske läser ens blogg.

I vilket fall så tror jag att det är dags att inte enbart tänka att transpersoner ska förändra hur dom talar för att bättre passa in, utan även fundera över på vilka sätt folk i allmänhet kan förändra sätten som de lyssnar på transpersoner. That's what this is about, basically. Det är också en del i något större jag har påbörjat, nämligen det här med att hitta min yttre röst, eller vad man ska säga. Hela mitt liv har jag letat efter min inre röst, men det är först nu som jag gått med i en kör (Reclaim With Song), det är först nu som jag ansökte om att få gratis sånglektioner av studenter på Malmö Musikhögskola (it's a thing), och det är först nu som jag ska få en remiss till en talpedagog. Det är oklart vart allt det här kommer att landa, exakt, förutom själva sånglektionerna som jag inte blev antagen till. Jag vill ju vara bekväm med min röst och hur den låter för andra, men jag vill även kunna utnyttja den fullt ut för att uttrycka mig, både i tal och i sång. Fasiken vad platt jag låter i min spoken word-grej liksom, upplever jag det som, och detta trots att jag verkligen kände att jag nästan skrek in i mikrofonen ibland under inspelningen. Var tar all den styrka och övertygelse vägen i översättningen till digitalt? Eller är det helt enkelt så att jag aldrig hade någon kraft till att börja med när jag spelade in den här grejen? Detta skall undersökas det kommande året, har jag tänkt. Jävlar vad pondus jag ska skaffa mig! Helst i feminin form, men hur fan det ska gå till vet jag ju inte, och jag tror det finns en konflikt i de två, och jag har inte tänkt operera stämbanden för resultatet är definitivt inte lika med pondus i mina öron.

So, enjoy, spoken word stuff. Varning för cringe utfärdas.

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Transcript

I have a voice. [redacted: “Trust me, it's not Martin Luther Kings”). It has, its own, timbre, quality of tone, loud and clear in theory, who could ask for more, yet I choke, got a bone to pick with it – it's stuck in my throat. My voice, it's prone, to low pitched and not so breathy, not so feminine, but oh so monotone tones – it would seem it's just the way I let myself be known, even though, I am a woman, this I know. And although, the problem might be on the low, end of things, you know, considering, shit still blows, shit still interferes with my flow [redacted: and tempo], and I don't... sometimes I just want to let it all go. Yet I am tuned to more, than just the echo chamber of my own head score, I'm not alone in this verse, for good or worse, of course, therefore, I'll stick with it, and at the end of this spoken word business where I scream myself coarse, I'll undergo a metamorphose, let it all go, release all my vital force. But let's not get off course, we still have doubts to underscore, before we can transform, them... like that I'm afraid that I can't amaze, the ways, in which I seek escape, when I don't celebrate, my ways, and all the days when my uncertainties take the best out of me, when I won't leave me be, when the echo chamber is all of my reality. But it's not, really, yet let us begin, nice and easy, with the ordeals, that I've mentioned already –

Because I have a voice, in theory, a “choice”, but it's not all days that I embrace it, it's not always, that I dare to use it, to its fullest extent, but even when I don't, it's still there, tense, suspenseful, a vital force waiting to announce its presence and intent, a mouthful, my spirit meant to extend, manifest and come out into the third dimension – when the time is right and it's meant to. But it's not always that it feels like the right time to, not always that it feels like the right thing to do, not always that I go through the motions of making the sounds that I wish to. Because I have a voice, but it's not always that I'm happy with it, the way I phrase things, not always, that I'm pleased with the way in which I explain things, not always, that it behaves, not always, it conforms to my ideals, or the expectations of others, it's not always, that it appeals. And I don't think it's just me, who wishes I'd have a voice that appeased, could be taken at face value, at ease, not just me, who thinks things would be easier if I were to have a more female-sounding vocal tapestry, didn't have the audacity to sound like me, not just me, but my surroundings, who'd be more comfortable around me, if I were to iron out the kinks of my gender discrepancies, make my voice more agreeable with the sound of my exteriorities. And although I won't bow to those who'd just want me to settle down, settle into the background, I fear what norms I myself may conform to when I don't allow, the differences within and outside that abound and surround and sound the arrival of me, afraid that to fit in I might make a move toward not-living blessedly, lose sight of what's important and sound, turn the merry-go-round of my contrasting vocal and local modalities into a burial ground, and burrow down, hide in plain sight from myself and those around. And what forms might I lose if I make this questionable move, how might my abilities of expression lessen when I stick to correcting and convention, that's one of the questions, and, put another way, what aspects of me might get lost in translation when I quicken to settle for lesser transgression and a fuller transition.

And if it weren't hard enough to change how my voice sounds, the voice training experts that aim to help trans women find their inner chorus now, claim that being female is also about, what your voice sounds. And sadly, I believe them...

I know that the what, of being a female's mostly about being polite, about letting others, mostly men, think they're right, letting others correct you while you're just being correct and helpful, a darling accurate, always looking for the proper conduct, a beauty-ful way to-be, goody two-shoes guaranteed, always showing courtesy, always with the common decency, always curtsying, straight's the key, on the up and up, a good demean-or a nice décor, and finish, a good girl without a blemish - mean-while your lack of exacting self-respect leaves you down, you demeaning yourself, leading you in a downward spiral – yet you better not make a sound, else you bring others along with you, down. I know that with every wide smile, you're perceived as more female, at least for a little while, hopefully not perceived as “letting anyone on” now, you're less of a downer when you sing that cheery song, more fun to be around when you play along and don't prove anyone wrong, every docile move or non-move doesn't get in the way of someone else's “groooove”, doesn't get in the way of someone's else's opinion of you – somehow you're more convincing when you're groveling to be approved. And so you fall in line and give up some privilege in exchange for an image, only problem is I don't want to give them an inch, but I don't want to be perceived as a Grinch, either – I want to be heard for who I truly am – pronoun her – both female and strong, sometimes in the right, sometimes in the wrong, polite but not the kind of polite that leaves me barely hanging on, gee I'd rather stand tall, and scream, from the top of my lungs, grunt and growl, laugh and cry, and do so without worrying about how I sound, where the dotted line, to sign is and what lines which I cross might define me, lessen my position in society, how someone somewhere might get sour or cross from this smudging-the-lines types of heresy of me [forgot: singing out of key, lacking consistency] standing tall and standing up for me. I know that being female can be all about taking on the world, taking no shit, talking how I see fit, how about for once I let others do the work of being correct, especially when it comes to their perceptions of me, and my “alleged”, gender, discrepancies. I deserve their respect and shouldn't have to say please, or please them in any other way than that which pleases me, and believe me, I am polite, just not the kind of polite that would make my voicing and making sounds in any way not right.

I'm happy that I workout in a space where screaming works out, which is how I've collected all the material of my screaming you're hearing in the background. But certainly, there are places where people would rather scream at me than letting me scream my lungs out madly, people commenting my videos that I shouldn't scream so loudly, or proudly, when I'm lifting weights they'd classify as easy, and lifting “not heavy” and screaming, they claim makes me “gay”, making them uneasy. Well, I should bow to their expertise, as they see it, but see, I'm gonna make this real easy, as I see fit – I applaud your gay radar, but I take offense that my homosexuality, somehow would make me a lesser being, seeing as I know it to make me achieve, all the great things that matter to me, it doesn't shame me, it's what drives, gives tenacity and makes me the best of what I can be, you see? People have been known to perceive, homosexuality as a disease, a contagion, even and if that's the case, I guess that makes all the weighs I lift gay, tagged non-fit for straight occasions, marked in a lesbian liaison, unfit for your sorry lifting slash hate keyboard marathons. See I'm pumping a different beat to my training sessions, being gay is where my strength comes from, after all, and it's in my hiding and not speaking up that I learned, my lesson, from my being out and proud that I unearthed, this admonition – your hate makes you a light weight, you need to listen, but not only to my person, but to your loving inner ways, those authentic pieces of pure joy which don't have the decency to go away, even in the face of the most strongest and scary of adversaries, pieces whose presence you must affirm for them to have stay-ing power, and for you to have, peace, at this trying hour. And I know and appreciate that you might be afraid, but you can't live life hiding the best parts of you or you might suffocate, turn to hate, instead you have to embrace, that which without (switcheroo: which/without) you wouldn't be here in the first place – love – because that's the heart, beat, singing every second of your life, letting you catch your, breath, making all the right sounds for you so that you can carry your own weight, handle the weights that you aim to carry, which I know you carry proudly – you wouldn't be commenting, sharing your fury, if you didn't share my passion for carrying, if you didn't care, if lifting and loving didn't make you happy, and therefore sometimes despair.

And so we're in this together in a sense, but still, my voice is and forever will be only mine, hence, there is also separateness, and with that a need for good citizens, willing to be listening, accepting ambivalence and working toward equivalence, or at least as a bare minimum shut up and keep to themselves. And so we're in this together in a sense, but still, the challenges that lie ahead, of us are different, they're not equivalent, my struggles having to do with taking care of myself, keeping in mind that being nice and content although let's you know you're a darling, are common and harming false self components, keeping in mind that dumb blond acts might give me some sort of access, but unfortunately are a form av false innocence, keeping in mind and reminding myself, that sometimes getting well means getting with, the sickness... as to your struggles and their contents, I have no pretense to guess and understand – that's up to you if you want to share – decide for yourself if that's important and fair. But my voice is mine, and my voice sounds the way it sounds, when I talk, when I lift, it's the way I open up to and interact with the crowds, and I refuse to let my seeming lack of synthesis specify, what range the size of my soul should be bound to because I aim at, and I'm bound to, express myself with all the range that I can do, and have to, may it be in the form of a roar of a lion standing up to someone they realize have a better hair-do, than they do [redacted: “sorry, I just had to put in a joke, or two”], or the meow of a kitten who had far too much to live up to and needs some tried and true TLC to muster up the will to carry through. My voice will be, sometimes the sting of a bee, and sometimes the silence of falling trees, but always in some sense without an audience, without pardon, my voice, and your voice, ultimately the manners of royalty. I Am that I Am, or why not - let my people go... and growl, let them be heard, let them be out, let them be proud.

In the end, we're all lions and kittens needed to be pet on, who need to rumble when we're stepped on. From my voice you've mainly heard thunder, but my voice also cracks, sometimes I mumble, I stumble, sometimes, over words, my voice and what's important to me, of this you heard already, and at other times over other things, but ultimately, there's a crack in everything, and that's where the light comes in, so that's OK, see. Through that crack of liminal insecurities, we accept life as is, get with it and come out to face the world like nobodies business, hearts on our sleeves, at ease, but ready to sting when need be. Through that crack we come out, and let others go about getting to know us inside-out, it's through that crack that we connect, understand and accept, each-other, blessed be, our differences and the way we celebrate or set them aside in order to be free. So peace out, live in peace, and don't forget your true voice, its sanctity, however it may sound, take if from me, the one who still struggles with her voice [forgot: daily], yours truly.