The Voice (n.) I call my own is drawn from a constellation of voices, the murmur from which I take my proper name.
The Voice (n.) is noise from the depths that finds, in a perforated surface — the mouth — the conditions of its articulation.
The Voice (n.) merely holds a note as song; tied to timbre it becomes heterogeneous to itself, no longer accompanied but "machined."
The Voice (n.) from on high is the first sketch of language: the family voice that conveys tradition and names the child before he understands — no longer noise, not yet language.
The Voice (n.) machined in music — the countertenor singing above his voice, the castrato's stomach voice — abolishes the dualism machine: being a man or a woman no longer exists in music.