I resent the Passive Voice. First, it’s obvious not much in America, or anywhere in the world, can be published in which the subject receives in place of taking action. Second, the voice embodies my failed relationships. And the listless manner of speech has given me as much of nothing. I’m certain I project and imbue the voice with personality. Mayhap I do so because it’s how my muse had first expressed herself. I may be lonely and that’s why I anthropomorphize inanimate objects and ethereal, medieval principalities, but she’s only undermined my dreams of artistry.
I now fight against her idealistic insistence. The simplicity of “was” had been too easy to resist. All my writing had been soured with the mannerism. Yet I crave professional authorship. So now I overcompensate against the neutered verb. My battle is so fierce, I even judge “said” to be no more than a lurching eunuch. These words encourage Past Tense and no reader wants to live in foregone experience. Readers don’t want to reflect on past history. And, I too, want to live in the present. Despite whole genres available to the fantasy, escapism does not merit dwelling on the past.
As with the suffix “ing,” the Passive Voice is not masculine in any stark respect. She is a wet sponge dripping estrogen. But I am a scalded man and I am inclined to misogyny. Having attained nothing, I hold the fact forth with misplaced pride. Myself being a creative spirit, I join the lodge of Freidrich Nietzsche and Pablo Picasso. Then again, my confined testosterone makes my grandiose and bullies my outlook.
When I write, I describe what I know. And I say, much like my excessive use of commas, the base porifera called the Passive Voice spits when it speaks, covering everything with some rancid, hypocritical dew. I know because I clean-up after her speech. I return to my manuscripts and I find the woman’s saliva speckles my paragraphs. After she speaks, my text sops with unmarketable waste – or did.
I’m becoming a more sophisticated writer and I will prevail. My latter work is testament to the truth. And my writing throughout years does trace my progress. My struggle and present life are documented in my manuscripts. Although, much is hidden in subtext. So much of my thoughts are concealed there in plain sight – things I will not admit aloud. I do confess am an intelligent gentlemen with a malicious Id. Some might think I have a psychotic mind but I would not judge myself so harsh. I’ve got a pseudonym to blunt such sagacity and I will not suffer the verdict.