Simon and Garfunkel are cool. :)

I was just dancing around my room, folding laundry and singing to Simon Garfunkel... the greatest musical group to ever exist.

"The Dangling Conversation" came on. That's a great song. As I awkwardly tried to bellydance and hang skirts to this mildly depressing folk song, a thought came to mind. Prepare yourselves -- I'm about to show you how my brain works:

"It's a still life water color
Of a now late afternoon,
As the sun shines through the curtained lace,
And shadows wash the room.
And we sit and drink our coffee,
Couched in our indifference
Like shells upon the shore --
You can hear the ocean roar
In the dangling conversation.
And the superficial sighs
Are the borders of our lives."

I thought to myself -- Isn't this sort of thing sad? Sometimes, after various hardships and fallings-out, we just don't speak normally to our old friends and lovers anymore. This comes not only from the drifting apart that can happen over time, but also the sudden end to a relationship that can make communication stilted and weird. I think of this song more about the sudden end than the gradual one -- there's a dangling conversation. These people have something they would like to say, but they don't dare.

"And you read your Emily Dickinson,
And I my Robert Frost,
And we note our place with bookmarkers
That measure what we've lost.
Like a poem poorly written,
We are verses out of rhythm,
Couplets out of rhyme
In syncopated time
Lost in the dangling conversation.
And the superficial sighs,
Are the borders of our lives."

I thought to myself -- Their interaction begins with that uncomfortable silence that can only be made legitimate by staring at a book or magazine instead of at each other. I don't get the impression they care about these poems right now. They are thinking of other things, worrying about other problems, but they can't talk about them because of the rift between their lives.

"Yes, we speak of things that matter,
With words that must be said:
Can analysis be worthwhile?
Is the theater really dead?
And how the room is softly faded,
And I only kiss your shadow;
I cannot feel your hand,
You're a stranger now unto me,
Lost in the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
In the borders of our lives."

Suddenly it hit me -- I was reminded of a poem by TS Eliot. At first I didn't understand why "The Dangling Conversation" felt like "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" to me, but after I listened to the song a few more times, I realized what it was.

Simon and Garfunkel sing about two people who are pointlessly unable to speak their minds, and Eliot writes about ... well, the question of the meaning of life, I suppose. What do they have in common?

There's an overwhelming feeling of pointlessness in "Prufrock," and the idea that once you realize there may be no real purpose for anyone, you begin to feel like an outsider.

I think this is similar to how the people in "The Dangling Conversation" feel. Prufrock seems to want to say and do things, but his realization that the world is not always happy, not always perfect, not always logical and fair has made it impossible for him to appreciate people or feel appreciated.

"Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me."

His thoughts are also frequently interrupted by formalities and people having meaningless conversations about things they probably know very little about.

"There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo."

I wonder what the people in "The Dangling Conversation" are really thinking about, when all they can discuss is the state of modern theater and the purpose of analysis. Are they longing to reach out to one another, to say they need a friend, to cry about a bad dream, or to ask whether they are understood and loved?

I think Prufrock wants to do these things, but he fears the response.

"And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
'That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.'"

So that's the connection I've made between these two pieces. To me, they're both about people who have faced a sad, scary, or confusing reality, and they're silenced by their fear of it.

That's uplifing, yeah? ;)

Heh. I'm just avoiding my laundry.

So I'll leave off with this:

Happy holidays. :) Sure, the world is sad and scary and confusing and pointless a lot of the time. To everyone. But if it is that way to everyone, then we aren't alone. We can make our own purposes and take care of each other.

In a strange way, there's no need to be Prufrock or the people in "The Dangling Conversation" if we can remember that... we're all Prufrock and the people in "The Dangling Conversation."

I'm actually in a good mood today. :) I've had a nice sleep and a yummy doughnut this morning, and I'm going to see my boyfriend in Nutcracker again tonight.

Now, if I could just make myself finish this cleaning... :P