- adenoidal: if someone’s voice is adenoidal, some of the sound seems to come through their nose
- appealing: an appealing look, voice etc shows that you want help, approval, or agreement
- breathy: with loud breathing noises
- brittle: if you speak in a brittle voice, you sound as if you are about to cry
- croaky: if someone’s voice sounds croaky, they speak in a low rough voice that sounds as if they have a sore throat
- dead: if someone’s eyes are dead, or if their voice is dead, they feel or show no emotion
- disembodied: a disembodied voice comes from someone who you cannot see
- flat: spoken in a voice that does not go up and down. This word is often used for describing the speech of people from a particular region.
- fruity: a fruity voice or laugh is deep and strong in a pleasant way
- grating: a grating voice, laugh, or sound is unpleasant and annoying
- gravelly: a gravelly voice sounds low and rough
- gruff: a gruff voice has a rough low sound
- guttural: a guttural sound is deep and made at the back of your throat
- high-pitched: a high-pitched voice or sound is very high
- hoarse: someone who is hoarse or has a hoarse voice speaks in a low rough voice, usually because their throat is sore
- honeyed: honeyed words or a honeyed voice sound very nice but you cannot trust the person who is speaking
- husky: a husky voice is deep and sounds hoarse (=as if you have a sore throat), often in an attractive way
- low adjective: a low voice or sound is quiet and difficult to hear
- low adverb: in a deep voice, or with a deep sound
- matter-of-fact: used about someone’s behaviour or voice
- modulated: a modulated voice is controlled and pleasant to listen to
- monotonous: a monotonous sound or voice is boring and unpleasant because it does not change in loudness or become higher or lower
- nasal: someone with a nasal voice sounds as if they are speaking through their nose
- orotund: an orotund voice is loud and clear
- penetrating: a penetrating voice or sound is so high or loud that it makes you slightly uncomfortable
- plummy: a plummy voice or way of speaking is considered to be typical of an English person of a high social class. This word shows that you dislike people who speak like this.
- quietly: in a quiet voice
- raucous: a raucous voice or noise is loud and sounds rough
- ringing: a ringing sound or voice is very loud and clear
- rough: a rough voice is not soft and is unpleasant to listen to
- shrill: a shrill noise or voice is very loud, high, and unpleasant
- silvery: a silvery voice or sound is clear, light, and pleasant
- singsong: if you speak in a singsong voice, your voice rises and falls in a musical way
- small: a small voice or sound is quiet
- smoky: a smoky voice or smoky eyes are sexually attractive in a slightly mysterious way
- softly spoken: someone who is softly spoken has a quiet gentle voice
- sotto voce adjective, adverb: in a very quiet voice
- stentorian: a stentorian voice sounds very loud and severe
- strangled: a strangled sound is one that someone stops before they finish making it
- strangulated: strangled
- strident: a strident voice or sound is loud and unpleasant
- taut: used about something such as a voice or expression that shows someone is nervous or angry
- thick: if your voice is thick with an emotion, it sounds less clear than usual because of the emotion
- thickly: with a low voice that comes mostly from your throat
- thin: a thin voice or sound is high and unpleasant to listen to
- throaty: a throaty sound is low and seems to come from deep in your throat
- tight: a tight voice or expression shows that you are nervous or annoyed
- toneless: a toneless voice does not express any emotion
- tremulous: if something such as your voice or smile is tremulous, it is not steady, for example because you are afraid or excited
- wheezy: a wheezy noise sounds as if it is made by someone who has difficulty breathing
- wobbly: if your voice is wobbly, it goes up and down, usually because you are frightened, not confident, or are going to cry
on the matter of pain: there is a priority, it seems.
pain shared amongst communities, pain lying in wait in a manner you anticipate but cannot avoid: is pain that should be given a priority over the pain felt on a personal level, or a pain of one aware of the first pain but helpless in the face of it.
pain felt on a day to day basis, the pennies and cents of the currency of it - as it were. small change, change dealt to every person as a matter of fact on a more or less equal basis.
but there are the pounds. the big guns, shooting heavyweight coins onto the spines of those standing at the bottom. who wave their rights to pain angrily at those who arent as burdened, only to be yelled back with the pennies brandished back in their faces.
those who have yet to bear the pounds of pain cannot know how much heavier it weighs. how those who carry them seek to rid themselves of it, how it is a currency which only buys them more pennies of more pain and can never be purchased an escape from.
we need to share our burdens. collectively pool our pains together, collectively be open about the contents of our wallets. we have to lift the weight of the treasure so we can wince together. it is only when we share the burden of the costs that we can find the strength to start burying the dark treasure of humanity. it will weigh heavier on all, at first, but the bent in your back will straighten, and the collective lifting of the weight will push everyone gasping into a lightness they never even thought possible at all.
there’s so often talk of words as tools. as words as an inherent neutral crafted out of the raw scrambling chaos of human vocalizations and thought that we use to express ourselves. expression, is the term - funnily enough itself laden with positive connotations. as if it’s an inherent good that we pour ourselves into these moulds and tip it out. as if all the darkness of our souls turn into gold once sheathed into the cages of expression.
but what if we use words like swords? what if we unsheathe ourselves and are frightened of the rawness, the vulnerability of the state, and wield the words sharper than daggers and more toxic than poison, pressing out a safe distance for others to examine our selves and our pain from a distance from which their reactions cannot hurt us? what if we punish people for listening to our expression by barbing every word we use?
or instead: what if we use words to slice ourselves open and allow ourselves to bleed over the very edges of the universe? what if we want to let the bad blood out, but instead the good goes with it too, and we are left drained and exhausted with nothing in turn to replace the emptiness?
or what if we use words as the sword to fight our way through the thicket of our demons? what if we curl our fingers over the warmed helms of our words and strike outwards, desperately seeking to escape - except we cut more than several other people along the way, and sever several of our vital veins along with it?
it was said that fire was the tool that the gods were left jealous of humans after they had gifted it to them. with words: they gave it to us and let us decide try to warm ourselves with them only to have it burn us to ashes instead.
it really hurts when i feel im losing my grasp on words. i cant help but thing that - whether objectively or subjectively - there’s always a right way to say something. or at least one right way. so i take aim and shoot a dart into the darkness and hope i’ll hit bullseye. when i do i dont quite see as much as feel it thunk into accuracy, and a bit of tension is released from me, knowing that i’ve matched that lost shard of soul into a nestled new home that was missing its piece.
the thought that i’ve been doing ti all wrong that maybe all ive been doing is sending the shards boomeraging back to slice me up into piece is more terrifying than i can imagine.
words have always been my only weapon and comfort. that it’s been but a false comfort this whole time is something i dont know how to deal with.
i feel most comfortable with my body when i just wake up. when my skin is softened from rubbing against the sheets and my hair is pleasingly mussed from the tossing of a generally restless sleep and my face either raw and new or smudged with makeup ive been to lazy to clean off.
remaining horizontal would be the ideal way to approach life, i think, staring at my slanted ceiling and stilling myself. it’s when i sit up and start to walk around that the problems start to set in. the dirt starts to gather. the worries start to cling to the web of my soul like all i ever do is walk through life like a net collecting the rocks of sorrow.
anything and everything is possible when i lie here, heart beating blood unhindered gravitationally as i dream lazily, thoughts curling through my mind like smoke that keeps me warm even though im keeping the fires low.
being clothed in just flesh doesn’t feel anything but natural, just a fact of existence unladen with taboo and shame. it’s both liberating and almost an utter nonissue until an impatient knock comes at the door and i scramble to put clothes on and hide myself in flowing shadowy cloths that the world declares acceptable.
i wonder of course how it would feel having someone in bed with me. it’s not that i havent before - not lovers, but friends, family; sharing a bed in hotel rooms, on the road, when space was scarce and i hated it. hated feeling every tiny movement ripple through the bed and tip me out of the freefall into restfulness. but the contract of intimacy isn’t quite drafted in those situations. the agreement is to share a space that respects a boundary which is a thing that’s dissolved when a lover is around.
i get up and examine my scars and wonder if they’ve clearly marked me out as undeserving of any such thing.
n. a phenomenon in which your lived experience seems oddly inconsequential once you put it down on paper, which turns an epic tragicomedy into a sequence of figures on a model train set, assembled in their tiny classrooms and workplaces, wandering along their own cautious and well-trodden paths—peaceable, generic and out of focus.
I was supposed to meet her in Boston, then go to New York, last year when I was there. This song still reminds me of the time there. It’s trite but I chose it now as the first song I’m listening to after the news because it’s hopeful and soaring and achingly exquisite and makes me feel and want to live and that’s what I want to remember her as.