The Voice I Didn't Mean to Find

Sometime in January, a desire bubbled up from my depths.

I want to find my voice.

Which I meant as:

1. Consciously reshaping my writing style and tone into something I love.

2. Getting clear on what I want to write about (beyond these Whimsies.)

After nursing a cocktail of stillness, introspection, and psychedelics, my writing voice has grown from deep, philosophical, and safe, into something with teeth. Something that bites, something that makes you think and feel. Playful. Strange. Free.

And I began sharing my process of becoming—all the things I’ve been uncovering and remembering about myself, then integrating. I’m experimenting with surreal fiction, penning weird little poems, and writing story–meets-confessional love childs.

Becoming My Own Muse, which triggered my writing voice evolution, was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life (so far!) A slow unravelling into, and acceptance of my deepest truths and alignment. I’m very, very happy to have arrived here.

But entirely by accident, I stumbled on a different expression of voice too.

An unexpected side effect I hadn’t even dreamed of. 

Something that may be the greatest thing to ever happen to me. 

(Time will tell. I’ll report back.)

I freed my singing voice.

From speaking with my mom, I learned that until I was 5ish, I had an affinity for singing, and my music teacher loved to rave about my “clear, strong voice.” I have just one memory of singing as a kid, and I can still feel the joy I had in that moment.

But for the reasons shared in The Temple of Song & Dance, I abandoned myself.

I boxed my singing voice away for a long time. 27 years, to be precise.

My vocal unfurling began quietly, devoid of ceremony, outside my awareness. 

In early June, I found myself wanting to memorize the lyrics to one of my favourite songs, Ghost Assassin. I figured listening to the song while reading the lyrics was a good enough starting point, but I found speaking the words felt weird. 

Since we humans are masters of mimicry, I began mirroring the vocalist’s tone, pitch, and cadence. I was far from perfect and I was copying, but I was singing. Kinda-sorta.

Then on June 22nd, I spontaneously decided to have acid for lunch. 

Just one tab. A gentle ride. Should be good for a beautiful day of nothing at all.

Jokes on me.

Halfway through the trip I switched off the contemplative silence and turned on the drum’n’bass. In doing so, I felt called to work on the Ghost Assassin lyrics. 

But in my acid-loosened state, I began not mimicking—but embodying the song, my way. I wanted to tear open the song’s skin and step inside, which I did my best to do.

I sang myself awake in a blaze of ecstatic aliveness.

I tumbled deeper into love, with myself, with the Temple of Song & Dance.

The thrumming resonance I felt in my chest was deeply pleasurable. Addictive.

I didn’t wanna stop. Breath, pressure, and tongue—everything felt like a new toy. 

I made recordings so I could hear myself. 10 of them, plus non-recorded practice runs.

Too engrossed to take pause, my body tapped out from the unfamiliar exertion and demanded rest. Trying to embody the song now felt like pushing into a brick wall. I ran out of breath in places I hadn’t before. Breathing deeply felt like poking a bruise.

But the rest was earned. For I found a voice I didn’t mean to find, didn’t even know existed—yet has stuck with me and is creeping into other aspects of life already.

This voice feels like home, and with much practice could become something lovely.

She’s not perfect. Still raw, young, a fledgling—but mine. 

I can hear the stone, taste the shadow, smell the smoke, feel the silk.

And yet, amazingly, the story doesn’t end there.

During that fateful Sunday, after my lungs were exhausted, I stumbled upon a big, bold dream that’s sunk its teeth deep into me and won’t let go:

To record the vocals for a drum’n’bass track… and perform them live.

Now things get a little weird, a little “what are you up to, Universe?”

In the weeks leading up to My First Date with Jinx, I had some interactions on social media with one of the openers for Culture Shock, Koji Aiken. 

For reasons I can only assume are due to those interactions and with the Culture Shock show looming, the idea popped up that collaborating on a song with him (once I’m up to snuff) would be so cool, and that he might just be open to it.

So this week, riding the momentum of having met him at the show, I reached out to Koji asking if he’d like to read the story I wrote for him about finding my voice, potentially collaborating, and fortuitously, literally running into him at the show. 

He said yes.

I asked if he’d be open to making a song when I’m ready. 

He said yes to that too, and to send him a demo. 

So I spent Wednesday evening making my first demo. And y’know what? Pretty not bad for day 11 of singing, something I never once thought I’d do in a million years.

Which is wild to even write.

If you’d like to listen, let me know. I’ll send you the link.

With love from the forest,

~ Alexander