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תוכן מסופק על ידי Lucy Argyle. כל תוכן הפודקאסטים כולל פרקים, גרפיקה ותיאורי פודקאסטים מועלים ומסופקים ישירות על ידי Lucy Argyle או שותף פלטפורמת הפודקאסט שלו. אם אתה מאמין שמישהו משתמש ביצירה שלך המוגנת בזכויות יוצרים ללא רשותך, אתה יכול לעקוב אחר התהליך המתואר כאן https://he.player.fm/legal.
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Out from the Wardrobe

31:15
 
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סדרה בארכיון ("עדכון לא פעיל" status)

When? This feed was archived on August 24, 2021 05:07 (2+ y ago). Last successful fetch was on June 06, 2021 01:10 (3y ago)

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Manage episode 294237788 series 2935735
תוכן מסופק על ידי Lucy Argyle. כל תוכן הפודקאסטים כולל פרקים, גרפיקה ותיאורי פודקאסטים מועלים ומסופקים ישירות על ידי Lucy Argyle או שותף פלטפורמת הפודקאסט שלו. אם אתה מאמין שמישהו משתמש ביצירה שלך המוגנת בזכויות יוצרים ללא רשותך, אתה יכול לעקוב אחר התהליך המתואר כאן https://he.player.fm/legal.

Episode Transcript:

[RADIO ARGYLE INTRO STING - This 5 & a half second sting involves: the fumbling of a needle onto vinyl, the low murmur of vinyl crackle, what sounds like some sort of scifi engine ramping up, the rumble of thunder paired with a distinct sonar blip - then finally - a high-pitched female youth with a British accent (filtered through the subtle distortion of a phone/radio line) saying “Radio Argyle”]

[Lead In Background Music FADES IN: It’s playing soft & low in background as lead in rolls on. Lead In Music - it’s “Arrival” by How the Night Came - an upbeat, brief, acoustic guitar piece]

[Podcast VO - Lucy. A youthful female British voice]

Welcome! You lovely lunatics & worthwhile weirdos! This! is Radio Free Lucy.

[Lead In Music FADES OUT.]

[Episode Background Music 1 FADES IN: - it’s “Fluidscape” by Kevin MacLeod, which serves as a slightly hopeful, slightly ambient underhum for the piece.]

Episode One: Out from the Wardrobe

~

Hi.

I’m not sure how to say any of this out loud, yet. This Radio Argyle Bot player, which is a modified text to speech robot voice, will serve my purposes best. She’ll be clearer than my, actual, garbled disabled, boy, voice. Anyway, here goes. This isn’t going to come out perfectly, sequentially, or even logically, but I hope it’ll come out, me.

This isn’t a persuasive essay. You’ll either listen, & at least try to understand, or you won’t. I know a lot of what I say may be shocking, & it’ll definitely take some time to adjust to, even for me, but all I’m asking, is that you try.

This is more a memoir, or a prose poem. & poetry is flowers. Beautiful. But they can, & they will, cut you with their sharp pointy thorns. Truth, like the gods, can be a fickle bitch. She can hurt you. So please, be patient with me, while I bleed here before you, for a bit. I also ask that you make yourself comfortable, & listen to this in a safe space, away from prying ears.
Thank you.
While my primary purpose here will be to explain to, you, what’s truly been going on, with me, I think it will also be very helpful for me, to explain to, myself, what’s been going on with me. In as concise & as clear a manner, as I possibly can. Conciseness, however, has never really been my strong suit.
So you might as well buckle up, buttercups. Shit gets heavy from here.
*
I’ve always had a pretty contentious relationship with my body. When you drive a wheelchair, essentially as big as a Warhammer forty k mech, into the first day of suburban kindergarten, you realize pretty quickly, you’ll always be set apart. Not only in all, Their minds, but also always in, your own mind, as well. This isolation has lasted my whole life, & increasingly in my adulthood. Please understand, I don’t blame anyone. It’s just been a fact of my life. Family has been a boon, but family can’t, & shouldn’t be, my entire social circle.
The thing is, this isolation isn’t merely social. It’s mobility wise. If something is off my local light rail line, I simply can’t get to it, without extensive help. It’s logistics-wise. If people want to hang out at night, which let’s be honest, that’s when most people are available, I can’t participate due to having people who take care of me working at specific schedules & times, which means I have to get in bed way before any fun parties, even think, about ramping up. Not that I’m much of a partier, but perhaps there’s a reason for that. & now I’m too old for any of that shit, anyway!
This segregation. yes, segregation! Has also affected my career prospects, which I won’t get into here, as I no longer dream of labor. Just know that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to make any sort of consistent money in this life, even after graduating college, & jumping through all the world’s nonsensical hoops, & playing along with their games, which have all been rigged from the start. In the end, though, I’ve always wanted to earn my way through my creative endeavors alone, so that’s why I’ve been working so hard on my podcasts lately. I don’t know how much I can earn from them, but I’m giving it my best go.
More painfully, the world’s reaction to my disability has deeply affected my romantic prospects, too. Not just because a lot of people refuse to even see me as a sexual being, or are repulsed by my disabled monstrousness, or whatever, but because, even if I did happen to meet a girl who reciprocated any kind of romantic slash sexual feelings, if we did get married, the bastard government would slash my healthcare entirely, immediately rendering me completely financially dependent in that relationship. I’m not saying monogamous marriage is the only valid endpoint to any successful romantic relationship, but these cobwebbed bureaucracies, running all our lives like great evil capitalist elder squids, have severely limited my choices in life. I’m not even legally allowed to save up more than two thousand dollars in my own bank account, before they start slashing my funds. I have, increasingly, felt as if my life is not my own.
So if I ever do get married, it will be an elopement & the government will be none the wiser. I have no use for illegitimate certificates from the, equally, illegitimate Powers That Be, anyway. The holy union will be between myself, the woman in question, & the gods, alone. Though these days I’m beginning to realize, a polyamorous situation, like a polycule, or a commune, or something, would be healthier & a stronger support network for someone in my situation. We were always meant to live communally. It’s what our noble ancestors once did. Hashtag every day we stray further…
Anyway…
I am getting slightly off topic. What I’m trying to illustrate with these examples is how the world, & my experience within it, have severely affected how I see my body, & how I see myself as a person with any value to give, in, that body. It’s hard not to start feeling a little bit like Quasimodo, thrust high up in the bell tower, shunned from all the realms of mortal men, after a while.
My whole life, I’ve tried to make the best of it. I survived by carving a distinction, in my head, between my mind & my body. I saw myself. & then I saw my body. They were always these two bifurcated things. Weirdly, I always saw my mind as sort of like those hilarious detached floating Presidential heads from Futurama. I found my worth, not in my two headed boy, circus freak in a jar body, but in my mind. I was a brain, & nothing more. I was my words. My wit. My passions. My epic, ineffable, nerdery. I could rely on that. I could never rely on my Judas body. I hated it. I still do.
I’ve never told anyone this, but back when my babby sister was born, when I was fifteen, I remember so vividly the first time I saw her precious face. I remember the moment like it was yesterday, because, well, obviously, because it was the first time I met this person who I knew, even back then, was immediately one of the most important people in my life, but also because, I remember the first thought I had when I gazed upon, the infinite galaxies of her kaleidoscope eyes. “How could anyone so beautiful, be related to me?”
I hated myself for thinking this, because it was otherwise this transcendental, celebratory, jubilant moment, & I had to go & make it all about me, at least in my head. So I never told anyone about it. I just let my self-hatred fester. I pushed it down. I endured. As men are expected to do. Stiff upper lip, always look on the bright side of life, etcetera etcetera.
I built this happy, plucky, go get ‘em! persona, who doesn’t want, nor need, the finer things in life. The finer things, like happiness, non-digital community, & self-actualization. I don’t remember the last time I was happy. Maybe it was back in college, but even then, I struggled mightily. I’ve suffocated myself so long, I’ve forgotten how to breathe. But sometimes, even drowning folk get sick of being wet!
I don’t tell you all this so you can pity me, or feel guilty about not seeing this, because first of all, I’m a phenomenal actor, & a seasoned liar, so how could you possibly know what lay beneath? Pity & guilt are pretty useless, in my experience, in any case. I tell you all this, so you can truly understand where I’m coming from.
Life is too short to keep concealing the things I really want. The things I really need. The things I really am.
For the last several years, with increasing intensity, urgency, excitement, curiosity, &, ultimately, hope, I’ve begun to realize some things about myself. Well, one thing about myself, really.
Holy shit, time to be brave, for once.
[Lucy inhales FX]
Sometimes. OK. a lot of the time. I wish I was a girl. A woman.
The yearnings began to coalesce six years ago, when I was. Uh. You know. fantasizing, as one does, & suddenly I was imagining myself as a girl. It scared the ever, loving, shit, out of me. I immediately stopped.
It scared me so much, because…
I liked it.
The thought excited me. In this fantasy, I was still disabled. But I was desirable! Girl me finally felt, OK, in my body. I was happy in my body! I could celebrate my body! It felt like coming up for air. It felt like freedom. Like some sort of, & forgive my nerdy metaphors, they are all I have, Pacific Rim mech pilots style, drift compatibility. At long last, both my body & my mind hooked together seamlessly. But it was just a dream, right? A fantasy? A fetish! I’ve felt so few moments of, genuine, freedom in my life, I instinctively crawled back to my comfortable, miserable, corner.
I tried to push it out of my mind. It wasn’t real if I didn’t think about it, right?. Denial has kept fossilized empires running, simply on calcified inertia, for hundreds of years! I could do that in the comparatively short amount of time I had left on this dumb rock, right? But my denial couldn’t last. I couldn’t just put these intrusive thoughts out of my mind that simply.
I tried to tell myself I was just a creep. Some sort of pervert with a fetish. I was appropriating trans girls’ experiences, & obviously making light, of very real, incredibly terrifying, hardships they go through in this world. I’ve done a lot of research & soul searching since then, but back then I still believed the lie, in order to be trans, you absolutely had to have had gender dysphoria as a kid. & I didn’t think I had. But upon further reflection, I realize I’ve had dysphoria, my whole life. I just thought all these feelings were what being alive felt like, for everyone!
I grew up in an Evangelical Christian household, so I was incredibly sheltered as a kid. I didn’t even know trans folk could even be a thing! until I was 21, & in college & literally face to face with a friend, who got called a name of a different gender they no longer went by. I asked them, “why did that person just call you by that name?” & they graciously explained they were trans, & that they had just been ‘dead named,’ as the community calls it. In retrospect, they were being incredibly generous with me, considering the mental violence. yes, violence, which had just been wrought upon them, right before my eyes.
As you can probably imagine, that conversation blew. My. Freaking. Mind. It was like some scifi crap – like the trill symbionts from Star Trek Deep Space Nine, etcetera, who always made my mind go brrr, but in a very good way, back when I couldn’t quite verbalize, or even admit to myself in my own mind, why even the thought of them made me feel. A certain something I didn’t even have words for, at the time.
But talking to this trans person was in the actual, flesh & blood, realm! I knew about Drag Queens, & cross dressers, thanks to that dusty library copy of, Rocky Horror Picture Show, my brother & I hid from our parents, which I only vaguely understood anyway, but changing your actual, GENDER? In real life? Wizard shit!
At the time of this college era conversation, I was still drowning in Evangelicalism, Patriarchy, chauvinism. all of the things, but despite all this, I remember this moment so vividly too. Because my friend, who had just been violently dead named, was leaning across the table from me, being honest with me, open with me, almost begging me to accept them, & I realized right there, right then. This was a human fucking being. & even though my mind had just been BLOWN, & I was still HIGHLY CONFUSED, & terrifyingly curious, I could be a cowardly dickhead, or I could follow the path of love. True love, not White Jesus Love, (TM). & that night? That night, I chose love. & I’m so freaking glad I did.
Looking back on it, this moment turned out to be one of the first bricks I tore down in the Tower of Babel, that had been my Evangelical Faith. I was still a sexist, phobic, (of everything!), clown at the time. I still had a lot of deep character building & reworking to do, far down within my soul. I still do. I always will. Self-improvement is a life-long, internal battle. but this became one of the first steps.
Which have led me all the way to here. Staring down into the chasm of femininity. I am scared, but determined. I am leaning across the table from you, but I will not beg for your acceptance. I’ll have it or I won’t. & we’ll just have to live with that, won’t we?
I still posture, at least somewhat, masculine. I still often get my head shaved, down to the skull, like I’m going off to war. Because, living in my body has often felt like a war, to be quite honest. So I try to be masculine. No frills. Surgical. Spartan. Because I’ve been terrified if I grow my hair any longer, people will, know. My judging parents will, know. The true believers in this red as a rash state will, know. & what if they all, knew, the truth?
Would they hate me?
Would they hate me if they knew, I yearn to grow my hair out long, & dye it blonde, or pink, or blonde & pink, like a total badass? Would they turn their heads in shame if I wore cute makeup & sweaters, & not wear the same scruffy football hoodie & T-shirt combo I’ve been wearing, every day, since I was fifteen?
Truth be told, I hate wearing men’s clothing. I’ve always hated it. Especially male dress up clothes. The jacket & tie? The monkey suit you wear, for getting choked by the noose of always looking like every other mediocre asshole dying, a little more each day, in some dark dungeon of a cubicle?
I don't want to be mediocre anymore. I want to be. fucking. spectacular.
Look. I know how hard it is in this society for disabled people to be seen as sexy. As desirable. Clothes never fit right because they are often not made for us. They’re always cockeyed, or ruffled, or simply utilitarian. But damn it! I want to be sexy! I want to be desirable! I want to be lovely! Not just for other pretty girls, (though for them too, obviously!), but for me. For my confidence. For my self-worth. For my fulfillment, & happiness.
I no longer seek the dullness of masculine sexiness, either. Muscles, in my honest opinion, are wasted on dudes. I don’t want to wear anything with lots of buttons, either. I never have. My hands aren’t great at working them, anyway. For the last few years, I’ve made a whole index of feminine clothes I like the look of on Tumblr. I want to wear girly jeans, skirts, dresses, & on, & on. I want to experiment with jewelry & makeup & nail polish.
I don't want to live in a box anymore. I want to live in a curve. I want to, be, the curve. I want to be the fire, & the twinkling lights &, the hair on the wind, & the giggle on the grass. I don't want my stupid testosterone holding back my tears. I want to weep, & laugh, & LIVE! I know it sounds like I want to become a manic pixie dream girl, or something. But. Like. Why the hell not? Girls can be whoever the hell they want to be!
I’m tired of sublimating everything. I’m tired of holding back what I mean. Holding back who I really am. I’m done with the mask. Give me the cape, & the show. Give me the whole damn theater, & I’ll light up the world.
Though, look, just because I want to be more femme, does not mean I want to immediately, if ever, wear pink layer cake dresses like I just stepped off the carriage from Versailles, or somewhere. A lot of this is going to be an adjustment period. For everyone. I still love a lot of traditionally masculine things. For example, I’ll always love my Packers. (That’s the Green Bay Packers, who play American football, by the way, for those who thought I may have been referring to the, other, kind of packers, trans masculine folk sometimes use.) Again, I want to reiterate. I’m still going to be me. Just new & improved.
Over the last few years, I’ve also come to realize I’m not, entirely, alienated from my body. In fact, there’s parts of my body I’ve always had affection for. I’ve spent the last twenty nine years, (since I was three), sat in a wheelchair every day, eight to twelve hours a day. As a result of this, my growth has been stunted. So, I'm five feet nothing basically. To be honest, I've always liked being short.
Also due to my disability, (but probably also as a result of my genetics), I have small, delicate hands & feet. I've always loved them, too. I've often been complimented on my feminine eyelashes, & my thick hair, (usually by jealous girls), & my hair grows faster than a chia pet! I’ve liked those aspects of my physical body.
I understand to be femme, & or feminine, you don't need to have any of these attributes. That would make a boring ass world, no doubt. These are just, 'traditionally,' feminine attributes. & the parts of myself I've always liked, are, in fact, girly. Again, in the, 'traditional,' sense of the word. I am, of course, qualifying all this, however, due to thirty two years of drowning in patriarchy, & beauty standards, & racism, & fatphobia, & just a whole bunch of nonsense. That's all bull, obviously. Femme is whatever we make of it.
Along with preferring these, more, traditionally, feminine, aspects of my physical body, I have also always preferred the company of women in general. I always felt more comfortable with them. Not just because of my attraction to them, but because I’ve never found their presence anywhere near as exhausting, or demanding, as the presence of men, at least in large groups. Perhaps this is a biased assessment, & the only reason I feel this way is because women, & girls, have always clocked me as male, & therefore never involved me in the infamous vicious backbiting, of their group politics.
Even so, women, on the whole, have always seemed, softer, to me, in every way. With men, especially in groups, there’s always this endless jostling, this never ending posturing! There can never be two male lions in the pride, two tigers in the cage. You must always, always! PROVE YOURSELF! & FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT to assert dominance. What a weary way of life. Meanwhile, I always just wanted to talk, & laugh, & hug, & be affectionate, & be myself. I suppose I was yearning for something I could neither have, nor ever, be, as a man.
The way in which I have always related to women, I realize now, has often been in a quite feminine way. I’ve always like girls. I’ve always, loved, girls. I had my first crush when I was five. At least on a non-fictional girl, anyway. (More on my first fictional crush, which occured even earlier, if you can believe it, a bit further along in this mini manifesto.)
I was fascinated with girls. Obsessed, with them. Enthralled, by them! Not just because I found them pretty, or beautiful, or captivating, though there was always these aspects to it all, humming hungrily in the background, but I hungered for other things I saw in them, too. Subtler things. The way girls moved through the world. What soft, heavenly, potent, magic! I wished I had even one ounce of their fairy dust. It was, & is still, intoxicating.
I didn’t always dream of making love to them, though there was quite a bit of that, admittedly. I yearned for them in less carnal ways, as well. For their companionship. Love. Trust. Affection. I was always entranced by the ways in which they navigated the world. With a dignity & strength men could never hope to match. (They don’t have, THE RANGE!) & then when women put on ARMOR? Holy shit, HEART EYES! It was like, they were almost, underdogs, in the patriarchy.
As a disabled kid, I knew what it was to be an underdog. I saw me in them, & them in me. I'm not saying being disabled & a woman are equivalent in this society, they are most certainly not, obviously. But I could, sympathize, with being seen as less capable than I actually was. Still can. Every day of my life.
Also, from my teenager hood all the way up through my long & lonely years, I had this very irritating habit of falling in love with sapphics. Which is, to be honest, kind of devastating, when you are under the impression you are a dude. But once you realize you certainly are, not, a dude, things begin to really click into place for this aspect of your sexuality. I kept crushing on lesbians & the like, because I, am, one!
Duh!
Speaking of sexuality, & please bear with me if this makes you uncomfortable, I’ve been realizing I have always, actually, related to my sexuality, & therefore my body, in a feminine manner. I’ve never really been interested in pornography, or other titillation, which panders to the assumed male gaze. This genre of cinema’s incessant focus on men’s pleasure bores the hell out of me, to be quite frank. But show me genuine female pleasure, or erotica focused on feminine sexuality, especially if the arousal is conjured by another woman, & I am, all about, that good time. Not in the leering sort of way, either, like, “oooo look, two girls making out, that’s, soooo, hot!” I never imagined myself watching them. I always imagine myself, being, them.
Lately, I’ve even come to accept that I long to relate, & indeed do, now, relate to sex, as a woman. The thought of having sex as a man, with male parts, doesn’t hold as much interest, excitement, or fulfillment, for me, as the thought of making love as a woman, with female parts. It’s the difference between machine-like mechanics, & almost, animalistic, apotheosis. I don’t know how I’ll ever get there. But I will.
OK, the really sexy times confession session is over. Apologies if I over shared there, but I felt it was necessary. If not for you, then certainly for me, in my quest to become more honest with myself.
I’m a writer, & a lover of stories, so I find a lot of solace, strength, & truth in fiction. The deep lore, the myths, the characters. They all matter. So much. Long past the moment the poets who wrote them, turned, to dust. So that’s why I’ve chosen a name for myself, straight out of fiction.
A brave girl who believed.
Queen Lucy the Valiant.
The character who has always been closest to my heart, & who always will be.
Now. Look. I know she comes out of C S Lewis, & The Chronicles of Narnia, & therefore there is, A LOT, of baggage wrapped up in all that. The particular flavor of Christianity, forever entangled with the narrative & thematics. My boy Clive’s, GAPING, blind spots, specifically when it came to the portrayal of a faux Islamic world, or girls & women, particularly at the time he wrote those books. But. Look. I have a lot of baggage too. These are still my roots.
Narnia were the first books I read when I was three. Or listened to the abridged audio versions, anyway. The first fictional character I ever fell hard for? Lucy Pevensie. I told you. I’ve always, loved, girls. The first fictional character I aspired to be like? Lucy. Not because she was a warrior. But because she was still the bravest, despite being the littlest. Perhaps, because, she was the littlest.
[Episode Background Music 1 (MacLeod’s “Fluidscape”) FADES OUT.]
[Lead Out Music (Instrumental) FADES IN.]
She was always the best of them. Lucy believed when the others could not. Would not. She was the first to go to Narnia. She had seen the next world, & it was nothing short, of spectacular. Lucy believed in its wonders. In its endless promises. Lucy had hope. Sure, it was all meant as some sort of stilted Christian allegory. But I’m taking what I want, & leaving the rest. Because, I believe her story speaks to something universal. Lucy believed in, a BETTER, world. A BETTER, tomorrow. The name ‘Lucy,’ originally meant, ‘as of light,’ or, ‘born at daylight, or the dawn.’ She is the light bringer. & that’s who I aspire to be. The girl full of hope. Belief. Faith. Maybe not in any single church, or doctrine, but in love. In that, BETTER, tomorrow.
So here’s me. Rolling out from the darkness of my old wardrobe.
Lucy.
I’ve been terrified to talk about all this for the past several years, as I already feel like a burden, with all my disability stuff, & then I lost my job, & then the pandemic happened, & then, & then.
But I can’t live as I was living. Not anymore. I hope you can understand that.
I still don’t know how any of this will work. How my future will look. How I’ll figure out how to scrape the money together, on my own, I won’t be asking for any money for any of this, to transition in a safe manner, with all my other medical crap. I don’t know how my caregivers, throughout my life, will react. I don’t know how, anyone, will react. All I can control, right now, is myself, & how I need to be, myself.
My babby sister came out as bi this year, at least to the immediate family, & her self-assurance, & joy, have given me hope. I want to learn how to be brave like that again. Like my sister, before me.
Like Lucy.

~
[Episode Lead Out Music FADES IN: - playing soft & low in background as lead out rolls on. Lead Out Music - first the instrumental & then the vocal versions of Josh Woodward’s “Words Fall Apart” - which is a piano piece - almost a lullaby - featuring the following words:

“We're here at the start, where the words fall apart
Where language is lost in the wind
The syllables sway, in an ancient ballet
The meaningless sounds that we sing

Sleep, baby, sleep, baby
Sleep till the feeling is gone
Sleep, baby, sleep, baby
Everything's new in the dawn

The faces and sounds, where the truth goes to drown
In the deepest expanse of the sea
Our dreams and our hopes are concealed in codes
And no one would dare hold the key

Sleep, baby, sleep, baby
Sleep till the feeling is gone
Sleep, baby, sleep, baby
Everything's new in the dawn
Everything's new in the dawn”]

Lucy VO: Radio Free Lucy, is written by, Lucy Argyle, & performed by Lucy, a Radio Argyle Bot Player. Join Radio Argyle’s Patreon at patreon dot com slash Radio Argyle. All one word.

Music in this episode included “Arrival” by How the Night Came. Find their music at the Free Music Archive.“Fluidscape,” by Kevin MacLeod. You can find their music at Incompetech dot com. &, both the instrumental & lyrical versions of Josh Woodward’s “Words Fall Apart”. You can find their music at the Free Music Archive, Spotify, iTunes, Google Play, etcetera.

Other episode credits, as well as free transcripts for the show, are available on my Tumblr, where my user name is Radio Free Lucy. Also all one word. Simply search the hashtag Radio Free Lucy on my blog there & you’ll find them.

I’ll be back. Soon! Until then, I send you all, my love & strength. Take care, you lovely lunatics, & worthwhile weirdos.

[Lead Out Music eventually FADES OUT.]

[RADIO ARGYLE OUTRO STING - This 7 second sting involves the intro sting, mostly in reverse: the scifi engine powering down, the high-pitched British girl saying “Radio Argyle” - and then the needle fumbling off the vinyl - into radio silence…]

EPISODE CREDITS:

Join the Patreon!
(patreon.com/radioargyle)

Muse Tier Patrons:

A.W. Glen
Lindsay
Lottie

Music (All Edited):

“Arrival” by How the Night Came. Find their music at the Free Music Archive.

“Fluidscape” by Kevin MacLeod is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 license. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/
Source: http://incompetech.com/music/royalty-free/index.html?isrc=USUAN1100393
Artist: http://incompetech.com/

“Words Fall Apart” (Lyrical & Instrumental Versions) by Josh Woodward: https://freemusicarchive.org/music/Josh_Woodward/Addressed_to_the_Stars_1995

Sound FX (All Edited):

“45rpm needle drop” by FreqMan: https://freesound.org/people/FreqMan/sounds/42819/. Courtesy of Freesound.
“Girl, female, inhale, exhale, sigh, breathing” by SpliceSound: https://freesound.org/people/SpliceSound/sounds/218309/. Courtesy of Freesound.

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When? This feed was archived on August 24, 2021 05:07 (2+ y ago). Last successful fetch was on June 06, 2021 01:10 (3y ago)

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Manage episode 294237788 series 2935735
תוכן מסופק על ידי Lucy Argyle. כל תוכן הפודקאסטים כולל פרקים, גרפיקה ותיאורי פודקאסטים מועלים ומסופקים ישירות על ידי Lucy Argyle או שותף פלטפורמת הפודקאסט שלו. אם אתה מאמין שמישהו משתמש ביצירה שלך המוגנת בזכויות יוצרים ללא רשותך, אתה יכול לעקוב אחר התהליך המתואר כאן https://he.player.fm/legal.

Episode Transcript:

[RADIO ARGYLE INTRO STING - This 5 & a half second sting involves: the fumbling of a needle onto vinyl, the low murmur of vinyl crackle, what sounds like some sort of scifi engine ramping up, the rumble of thunder paired with a distinct sonar blip - then finally - a high-pitched female youth with a British accent (filtered through the subtle distortion of a phone/radio line) saying “Radio Argyle”]

[Lead In Background Music FADES IN: It’s playing soft & low in background as lead in rolls on. Lead In Music - it’s “Arrival” by How the Night Came - an upbeat, brief, acoustic guitar piece]

[Podcast VO - Lucy. A youthful female British voice]

Welcome! You lovely lunatics & worthwhile weirdos! This! is Radio Free Lucy.

[Lead In Music FADES OUT.]

[Episode Background Music 1 FADES IN: - it’s “Fluidscape” by Kevin MacLeod, which serves as a slightly hopeful, slightly ambient underhum for the piece.]

Episode One: Out from the Wardrobe

~

Hi.

I’m not sure how to say any of this out loud, yet. This Radio Argyle Bot player, which is a modified text to speech robot voice, will serve my purposes best. She’ll be clearer than my, actual, garbled disabled, boy, voice. Anyway, here goes. This isn’t going to come out perfectly, sequentially, or even logically, but I hope it’ll come out, me.

This isn’t a persuasive essay. You’ll either listen, & at least try to understand, or you won’t. I know a lot of what I say may be shocking, & it’ll definitely take some time to adjust to, even for me, but all I’m asking, is that you try.

This is more a memoir, or a prose poem. & poetry is flowers. Beautiful. But they can, & they will, cut you with their sharp pointy thorns. Truth, like the gods, can be a fickle bitch. She can hurt you. So please, be patient with me, while I bleed here before you, for a bit. I also ask that you make yourself comfortable, & listen to this in a safe space, away from prying ears.
Thank you.
While my primary purpose here will be to explain to, you, what’s truly been going on, with me, I think it will also be very helpful for me, to explain to, myself, what’s been going on with me. In as concise & as clear a manner, as I possibly can. Conciseness, however, has never really been my strong suit.
So you might as well buckle up, buttercups. Shit gets heavy from here.
*
I’ve always had a pretty contentious relationship with my body. When you drive a wheelchair, essentially as big as a Warhammer forty k mech, into the first day of suburban kindergarten, you realize pretty quickly, you’ll always be set apart. Not only in all, Their minds, but also always in, your own mind, as well. This isolation has lasted my whole life, & increasingly in my adulthood. Please understand, I don’t blame anyone. It’s just been a fact of my life. Family has been a boon, but family can’t, & shouldn’t be, my entire social circle.
The thing is, this isolation isn’t merely social. It’s mobility wise. If something is off my local light rail line, I simply can’t get to it, without extensive help. It’s logistics-wise. If people want to hang out at night, which let’s be honest, that’s when most people are available, I can’t participate due to having people who take care of me working at specific schedules & times, which means I have to get in bed way before any fun parties, even think, about ramping up. Not that I’m much of a partier, but perhaps there’s a reason for that. & now I’m too old for any of that shit, anyway!
This segregation. yes, segregation! Has also affected my career prospects, which I won’t get into here, as I no longer dream of labor. Just know that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to make any sort of consistent money in this life, even after graduating college, & jumping through all the world’s nonsensical hoops, & playing along with their games, which have all been rigged from the start. In the end, though, I’ve always wanted to earn my way through my creative endeavors alone, so that’s why I’ve been working so hard on my podcasts lately. I don’t know how much I can earn from them, but I’m giving it my best go.
More painfully, the world’s reaction to my disability has deeply affected my romantic prospects, too. Not just because a lot of people refuse to even see me as a sexual being, or are repulsed by my disabled monstrousness, or whatever, but because, even if I did happen to meet a girl who reciprocated any kind of romantic slash sexual feelings, if we did get married, the bastard government would slash my healthcare entirely, immediately rendering me completely financially dependent in that relationship. I’m not saying monogamous marriage is the only valid endpoint to any successful romantic relationship, but these cobwebbed bureaucracies, running all our lives like great evil capitalist elder squids, have severely limited my choices in life. I’m not even legally allowed to save up more than two thousand dollars in my own bank account, before they start slashing my funds. I have, increasingly, felt as if my life is not my own.
So if I ever do get married, it will be an elopement & the government will be none the wiser. I have no use for illegitimate certificates from the, equally, illegitimate Powers That Be, anyway. The holy union will be between myself, the woman in question, & the gods, alone. Though these days I’m beginning to realize, a polyamorous situation, like a polycule, or a commune, or something, would be healthier & a stronger support network for someone in my situation. We were always meant to live communally. It’s what our noble ancestors once did. Hashtag every day we stray further…
Anyway…
I am getting slightly off topic. What I’m trying to illustrate with these examples is how the world, & my experience within it, have severely affected how I see my body, & how I see myself as a person with any value to give, in, that body. It’s hard not to start feeling a little bit like Quasimodo, thrust high up in the bell tower, shunned from all the realms of mortal men, after a while.
My whole life, I’ve tried to make the best of it. I survived by carving a distinction, in my head, between my mind & my body. I saw myself. & then I saw my body. They were always these two bifurcated things. Weirdly, I always saw my mind as sort of like those hilarious detached floating Presidential heads from Futurama. I found my worth, not in my two headed boy, circus freak in a jar body, but in my mind. I was a brain, & nothing more. I was my words. My wit. My passions. My epic, ineffable, nerdery. I could rely on that. I could never rely on my Judas body. I hated it. I still do.
I’ve never told anyone this, but back when my babby sister was born, when I was fifteen, I remember so vividly the first time I saw her precious face. I remember the moment like it was yesterday, because, well, obviously, because it was the first time I met this person who I knew, even back then, was immediately one of the most important people in my life, but also because, I remember the first thought I had when I gazed upon, the infinite galaxies of her kaleidoscope eyes. “How could anyone so beautiful, be related to me?”
I hated myself for thinking this, because it was otherwise this transcendental, celebratory, jubilant moment, & I had to go & make it all about me, at least in my head. So I never told anyone about it. I just let my self-hatred fester. I pushed it down. I endured. As men are expected to do. Stiff upper lip, always look on the bright side of life, etcetera etcetera.
I built this happy, plucky, go get ‘em! persona, who doesn’t want, nor need, the finer things in life. The finer things, like happiness, non-digital community, & self-actualization. I don’t remember the last time I was happy. Maybe it was back in college, but even then, I struggled mightily. I’ve suffocated myself so long, I’ve forgotten how to breathe. But sometimes, even drowning folk get sick of being wet!
I don’t tell you all this so you can pity me, or feel guilty about not seeing this, because first of all, I’m a phenomenal actor, & a seasoned liar, so how could you possibly know what lay beneath? Pity & guilt are pretty useless, in my experience, in any case. I tell you all this, so you can truly understand where I’m coming from.
Life is too short to keep concealing the things I really want. The things I really need. The things I really am.
For the last several years, with increasing intensity, urgency, excitement, curiosity, &, ultimately, hope, I’ve begun to realize some things about myself. Well, one thing about myself, really.
Holy shit, time to be brave, for once.
[Lucy inhales FX]
Sometimes. OK. a lot of the time. I wish I was a girl. A woman.
The yearnings began to coalesce six years ago, when I was. Uh. You know. fantasizing, as one does, & suddenly I was imagining myself as a girl. It scared the ever, loving, shit, out of me. I immediately stopped.
It scared me so much, because…
I liked it.
The thought excited me. In this fantasy, I was still disabled. But I was desirable! Girl me finally felt, OK, in my body. I was happy in my body! I could celebrate my body! It felt like coming up for air. It felt like freedom. Like some sort of, & forgive my nerdy metaphors, they are all I have, Pacific Rim mech pilots style, drift compatibility. At long last, both my body & my mind hooked together seamlessly. But it was just a dream, right? A fantasy? A fetish! I’ve felt so few moments of, genuine, freedom in my life, I instinctively crawled back to my comfortable, miserable, corner.
I tried to push it out of my mind. It wasn’t real if I didn’t think about it, right?. Denial has kept fossilized empires running, simply on calcified inertia, for hundreds of years! I could do that in the comparatively short amount of time I had left on this dumb rock, right? But my denial couldn’t last. I couldn’t just put these intrusive thoughts out of my mind that simply.
I tried to tell myself I was just a creep. Some sort of pervert with a fetish. I was appropriating trans girls’ experiences, & obviously making light, of very real, incredibly terrifying, hardships they go through in this world. I’ve done a lot of research & soul searching since then, but back then I still believed the lie, in order to be trans, you absolutely had to have had gender dysphoria as a kid. & I didn’t think I had. But upon further reflection, I realize I’ve had dysphoria, my whole life. I just thought all these feelings were what being alive felt like, for everyone!
I grew up in an Evangelical Christian household, so I was incredibly sheltered as a kid. I didn’t even know trans folk could even be a thing! until I was 21, & in college & literally face to face with a friend, who got called a name of a different gender they no longer went by. I asked them, “why did that person just call you by that name?” & they graciously explained they were trans, & that they had just been ‘dead named,’ as the community calls it. In retrospect, they were being incredibly generous with me, considering the mental violence. yes, violence, which had just been wrought upon them, right before my eyes.
As you can probably imagine, that conversation blew. My. Freaking. Mind. It was like some scifi crap – like the trill symbionts from Star Trek Deep Space Nine, etcetera, who always made my mind go brrr, but in a very good way, back when I couldn’t quite verbalize, or even admit to myself in my own mind, why even the thought of them made me feel. A certain something I didn’t even have words for, at the time.
But talking to this trans person was in the actual, flesh & blood, realm! I knew about Drag Queens, & cross dressers, thanks to that dusty library copy of, Rocky Horror Picture Show, my brother & I hid from our parents, which I only vaguely understood anyway, but changing your actual, GENDER? In real life? Wizard shit!
At the time of this college era conversation, I was still drowning in Evangelicalism, Patriarchy, chauvinism. all of the things, but despite all this, I remember this moment so vividly too. Because my friend, who had just been violently dead named, was leaning across the table from me, being honest with me, open with me, almost begging me to accept them, & I realized right there, right then. This was a human fucking being. & even though my mind had just been BLOWN, & I was still HIGHLY CONFUSED, & terrifyingly curious, I could be a cowardly dickhead, or I could follow the path of love. True love, not White Jesus Love, (TM). & that night? That night, I chose love. & I’m so freaking glad I did.
Looking back on it, this moment turned out to be one of the first bricks I tore down in the Tower of Babel, that had been my Evangelical Faith. I was still a sexist, phobic, (of everything!), clown at the time. I still had a lot of deep character building & reworking to do, far down within my soul. I still do. I always will. Self-improvement is a life-long, internal battle. but this became one of the first steps.
Which have led me all the way to here. Staring down into the chasm of femininity. I am scared, but determined. I am leaning across the table from you, but I will not beg for your acceptance. I’ll have it or I won’t. & we’ll just have to live with that, won’t we?
I still posture, at least somewhat, masculine. I still often get my head shaved, down to the skull, like I’m going off to war. Because, living in my body has often felt like a war, to be quite honest. So I try to be masculine. No frills. Surgical. Spartan. Because I’ve been terrified if I grow my hair any longer, people will, know. My judging parents will, know. The true believers in this red as a rash state will, know. & what if they all, knew, the truth?
Would they hate me?
Would they hate me if they knew, I yearn to grow my hair out long, & dye it blonde, or pink, or blonde & pink, like a total badass? Would they turn their heads in shame if I wore cute makeup & sweaters, & not wear the same scruffy football hoodie & T-shirt combo I’ve been wearing, every day, since I was fifteen?
Truth be told, I hate wearing men’s clothing. I’ve always hated it. Especially male dress up clothes. The jacket & tie? The monkey suit you wear, for getting choked by the noose of always looking like every other mediocre asshole dying, a little more each day, in some dark dungeon of a cubicle?
I don't want to be mediocre anymore. I want to be. fucking. spectacular.
Look. I know how hard it is in this society for disabled people to be seen as sexy. As desirable. Clothes never fit right because they are often not made for us. They’re always cockeyed, or ruffled, or simply utilitarian. But damn it! I want to be sexy! I want to be desirable! I want to be lovely! Not just for other pretty girls, (though for them too, obviously!), but for me. For my confidence. For my self-worth. For my fulfillment, & happiness.
I no longer seek the dullness of masculine sexiness, either. Muscles, in my honest opinion, are wasted on dudes. I don’t want to wear anything with lots of buttons, either. I never have. My hands aren’t great at working them, anyway. For the last few years, I’ve made a whole index of feminine clothes I like the look of on Tumblr. I want to wear girly jeans, skirts, dresses, & on, & on. I want to experiment with jewelry & makeup & nail polish.
I don't want to live in a box anymore. I want to live in a curve. I want to, be, the curve. I want to be the fire, & the twinkling lights &, the hair on the wind, & the giggle on the grass. I don't want my stupid testosterone holding back my tears. I want to weep, & laugh, & LIVE! I know it sounds like I want to become a manic pixie dream girl, or something. But. Like. Why the hell not? Girls can be whoever the hell they want to be!
I’m tired of sublimating everything. I’m tired of holding back what I mean. Holding back who I really am. I’m done with the mask. Give me the cape, & the show. Give me the whole damn theater, & I’ll light up the world.
Though, look, just because I want to be more femme, does not mean I want to immediately, if ever, wear pink layer cake dresses like I just stepped off the carriage from Versailles, or somewhere. A lot of this is going to be an adjustment period. For everyone. I still love a lot of traditionally masculine things. For example, I’ll always love my Packers. (That’s the Green Bay Packers, who play American football, by the way, for those who thought I may have been referring to the, other, kind of packers, trans masculine folk sometimes use.) Again, I want to reiterate. I’m still going to be me. Just new & improved.
Over the last few years, I’ve also come to realize I’m not, entirely, alienated from my body. In fact, there’s parts of my body I’ve always had affection for. I’ve spent the last twenty nine years, (since I was three), sat in a wheelchair every day, eight to twelve hours a day. As a result of this, my growth has been stunted. So, I'm five feet nothing basically. To be honest, I've always liked being short.
Also due to my disability, (but probably also as a result of my genetics), I have small, delicate hands & feet. I've always loved them, too. I've often been complimented on my feminine eyelashes, & my thick hair, (usually by jealous girls), & my hair grows faster than a chia pet! I’ve liked those aspects of my physical body.
I understand to be femme, & or feminine, you don't need to have any of these attributes. That would make a boring ass world, no doubt. These are just, 'traditionally,' feminine attributes. & the parts of myself I've always liked, are, in fact, girly. Again, in the, 'traditional,' sense of the word. I am, of course, qualifying all this, however, due to thirty two years of drowning in patriarchy, & beauty standards, & racism, & fatphobia, & just a whole bunch of nonsense. That's all bull, obviously. Femme is whatever we make of it.
Along with preferring these, more, traditionally, feminine, aspects of my physical body, I have also always preferred the company of women in general. I always felt more comfortable with them. Not just because of my attraction to them, but because I’ve never found their presence anywhere near as exhausting, or demanding, as the presence of men, at least in large groups. Perhaps this is a biased assessment, & the only reason I feel this way is because women, & girls, have always clocked me as male, & therefore never involved me in the infamous vicious backbiting, of their group politics.
Even so, women, on the whole, have always seemed, softer, to me, in every way. With men, especially in groups, there’s always this endless jostling, this never ending posturing! There can never be two male lions in the pride, two tigers in the cage. You must always, always! PROVE YOURSELF! & FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT to assert dominance. What a weary way of life. Meanwhile, I always just wanted to talk, & laugh, & hug, & be affectionate, & be myself. I suppose I was yearning for something I could neither have, nor ever, be, as a man.
The way in which I have always related to women, I realize now, has often been in a quite feminine way. I’ve always like girls. I’ve always, loved, girls. I had my first crush when I was five. At least on a non-fictional girl, anyway. (More on my first fictional crush, which occured even earlier, if you can believe it, a bit further along in this mini manifesto.)
I was fascinated with girls. Obsessed, with them. Enthralled, by them! Not just because I found them pretty, or beautiful, or captivating, though there was always these aspects to it all, humming hungrily in the background, but I hungered for other things I saw in them, too. Subtler things. The way girls moved through the world. What soft, heavenly, potent, magic! I wished I had even one ounce of their fairy dust. It was, & is still, intoxicating.
I didn’t always dream of making love to them, though there was quite a bit of that, admittedly. I yearned for them in less carnal ways, as well. For their companionship. Love. Trust. Affection. I was always entranced by the ways in which they navigated the world. With a dignity & strength men could never hope to match. (They don’t have, THE RANGE!) & then when women put on ARMOR? Holy shit, HEART EYES! It was like, they were almost, underdogs, in the patriarchy.
As a disabled kid, I knew what it was to be an underdog. I saw me in them, & them in me. I'm not saying being disabled & a woman are equivalent in this society, they are most certainly not, obviously. But I could, sympathize, with being seen as less capable than I actually was. Still can. Every day of my life.
Also, from my teenager hood all the way up through my long & lonely years, I had this very irritating habit of falling in love with sapphics. Which is, to be honest, kind of devastating, when you are under the impression you are a dude. But once you realize you certainly are, not, a dude, things begin to really click into place for this aspect of your sexuality. I kept crushing on lesbians & the like, because I, am, one!
Duh!
Speaking of sexuality, & please bear with me if this makes you uncomfortable, I’ve been realizing I have always, actually, related to my sexuality, & therefore my body, in a feminine manner. I’ve never really been interested in pornography, or other titillation, which panders to the assumed male gaze. This genre of cinema’s incessant focus on men’s pleasure bores the hell out of me, to be quite frank. But show me genuine female pleasure, or erotica focused on feminine sexuality, especially if the arousal is conjured by another woman, & I am, all about, that good time. Not in the leering sort of way, either, like, “oooo look, two girls making out, that’s, soooo, hot!” I never imagined myself watching them. I always imagine myself, being, them.
Lately, I’ve even come to accept that I long to relate, & indeed do, now, relate to sex, as a woman. The thought of having sex as a man, with male parts, doesn’t hold as much interest, excitement, or fulfillment, for me, as the thought of making love as a woman, with female parts. It’s the difference between machine-like mechanics, & almost, animalistic, apotheosis. I don’t know how I’ll ever get there. But I will.
OK, the really sexy times confession session is over. Apologies if I over shared there, but I felt it was necessary. If not for you, then certainly for me, in my quest to become more honest with myself.
I’m a writer, & a lover of stories, so I find a lot of solace, strength, & truth in fiction. The deep lore, the myths, the characters. They all matter. So much. Long past the moment the poets who wrote them, turned, to dust. So that’s why I’ve chosen a name for myself, straight out of fiction.
A brave girl who believed.
Queen Lucy the Valiant.
The character who has always been closest to my heart, & who always will be.
Now. Look. I know she comes out of C S Lewis, & The Chronicles of Narnia, & therefore there is, A LOT, of baggage wrapped up in all that. The particular flavor of Christianity, forever entangled with the narrative & thematics. My boy Clive’s, GAPING, blind spots, specifically when it came to the portrayal of a faux Islamic world, or girls & women, particularly at the time he wrote those books. But. Look. I have a lot of baggage too. These are still my roots.
Narnia were the first books I read when I was three. Or listened to the abridged audio versions, anyway. The first fictional character I ever fell hard for? Lucy Pevensie. I told you. I’ve always, loved, girls. The first fictional character I aspired to be like? Lucy. Not because she was a warrior. But because she was still the bravest, despite being the littlest. Perhaps, because, she was the littlest.
[Episode Background Music 1 (MacLeod’s “Fluidscape”) FADES OUT.]
[Lead Out Music (Instrumental) FADES IN.]
She was always the best of them. Lucy believed when the others could not. Would not. She was the first to go to Narnia. She had seen the next world, & it was nothing short, of spectacular. Lucy believed in its wonders. In its endless promises. Lucy had hope. Sure, it was all meant as some sort of stilted Christian allegory. But I’m taking what I want, & leaving the rest. Because, I believe her story speaks to something universal. Lucy believed in, a BETTER, world. A BETTER, tomorrow. The name ‘Lucy,’ originally meant, ‘as of light,’ or, ‘born at daylight, or the dawn.’ She is the light bringer. & that’s who I aspire to be. The girl full of hope. Belief. Faith. Maybe not in any single church, or doctrine, but in love. In that, BETTER, tomorrow.
So here’s me. Rolling out from the darkness of my old wardrobe.
Lucy.
I’ve been terrified to talk about all this for the past several years, as I already feel like a burden, with all my disability stuff, & then I lost my job, & then the pandemic happened, & then, & then.
But I can’t live as I was living. Not anymore. I hope you can understand that.
I still don’t know how any of this will work. How my future will look. How I’ll figure out how to scrape the money together, on my own, I won’t be asking for any money for any of this, to transition in a safe manner, with all my other medical crap. I don’t know how my caregivers, throughout my life, will react. I don’t know how, anyone, will react. All I can control, right now, is myself, & how I need to be, myself.
My babby sister came out as bi this year, at least to the immediate family, & her self-assurance, & joy, have given me hope. I want to learn how to be brave like that again. Like my sister, before me.
Like Lucy.

~
[Episode Lead Out Music FADES IN: - playing soft & low in background as lead out rolls on. Lead Out Music - first the instrumental & then the vocal versions of Josh Woodward’s “Words Fall Apart” - which is a piano piece - almost a lullaby - featuring the following words:

“We're here at the start, where the words fall apart
Where language is lost in the wind
The syllables sway, in an ancient ballet
The meaningless sounds that we sing

Sleep, baby, sleep, baby
Sleep till the feeling is gone
Sleep, baby, sleep, baby
Everything's new in the dawn

The faces and sounds, where the truth goes to drown
In the deepest expanse of the sea
Our dreams and our hopes are concealed in codes
And no one would dare hold the key

Sleep, baby, sleep, baby
Sleep till the feeling is gone
Sleep, baby, sleep, baby
Everything's new in the dawn
Everything's new in the dawn”]

Lucy VO: Radio Free Lucy, is written by, Lucy Argyle, & performed by Lucy, a Radio Argyle Bot Player. Join Radio Argyle’s Patreon at patreon dot com slash Radio Argyle. All one word.

Music in this episode included “Arrival” by How the Night Came. Find their music at the Free Music Archive.“Fluidscape,” by Kevin MacLeod. You can find their music at Incompetech dot com. &, both the instrumental & lyrical versions of Josh Woodward’s “Words Fall Apart”. You can find their music at the Free Music Archive, Spotify, iTunes, Google Play, etcetera.

Other episode credits, as well as free transcripts for the show, are available on my Tumblr, where my user name is Radio Free Lucy. Also all one word. Simply search the hashtag Radio Free Lucy on my blog there & you’ll find them.

I’ll be back. Soon! Until then, I send you all, my love & strength. Take care, you lovely lunatics, & worthwhile weirdos.

[Lead Out Music eventually FADES OUT.]

[RADIO ARGYLE OUTRO STING - This 7 second sting involves the intro sting, mostly in reverse: the scifi engine powering down, the high-pitched British girl saying “Radio Argyle” - and then the needle fumbling off the vinyl - into radio silence…]

EPISODE CREDITS:

Join the Patreon!
(patreon.com/radioargyle)

Muse Tier Patrons:

A.W. Glen
Lindsay
Lottie

Music (All Edited):

“Arrival” by How the Night Came. Find their music at the Free Music Archive.

“Fluidscape” by Kevin MacLeod is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 license. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/
Source: http://incompetech.com/music/royalty-free/index.html?isrc=USUAN1100393
Artist: http://incompetech.com/

“Words Fall Apart” (Lyrical & Instrumental Versions) by Josh Woodward: https://freemusicarchive.org/music/Josh_Woodward/Addressed_to_the_Stars_1995

Sound FX (All Edited):

“45rpm needle drop” by FreqMan: https://freesound.org/people/FreqMan/sounds/42819/. Courtesy of Freesound.
“Girl, female, inhale, exhale, sigh, breathing” by SpliceSound: https://freesound.org/people/SpliceSound/sounds/218309/. Courtesy of Freesound.

Podcast (& Ephemera) created with:

Scrivener
Microsoft PowerPoint
Audacity
LMMS
Screenpresso (Free)
Sketchbook Pro
Affinity Suite
Aseprite
FreeSound
Free Music Archive
VoiceMaker
VoiceChanger
Mannequin

  continue reading

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ברוכים הבאים אל Player FM!

Player FM סורק את האינטרנט עבור פודקאסטים באיכות גבוהה בשבילכם כדי שתהנו מהם כרגע. זה יישום הפודקאסט הטוב ביותר והוא עובד על אנדרואיד, iPhone ואינטרנט. הירשמו לסנכרון מנויים במכשירים שונים.

 

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