Caroline and She Dances

Came upon this song yesterday (which I hadn’t heard) and watched the 80’s movie (which I hadn’t seen). After listening to different versions of the song, here’s what I think about this one, the original one, which I’ve posted with lyrics.

It’s about a woman with an animated spirit. Guys pass casually into her life, looking for a good time, stress free. But when they realize they can’t contain her, can’t have her, and don’t take the time to understand her, they move on. They’re left with “rags” of memories. They talk about how pretty she is pink (present tense, though for them she’s past), her past gestures of affection, and how they didn’t return them. There’s a reoccurring image of these boys actually wearing the clothes she’s left behind in an act of sentimental regret or nostalgia. Appropriately, they think about her in terms of what she wore. As in, how she appeared to them, a fun and easy moment in a pretty dress. They’re the ones that gave up or lost interest in her and now they’re just lost. Some versions of the song end with this realization.

But the original version of the song has a final verse in barely audible spoken word, but it’s there complimenting the instrumental out.

In the final verse, she’s worn out, “confidence is in the sea” but she’s aware of the joke, the irony that they will regret their loss too late for it to matter. She’s aware that they wear their memories and sorrows like a uniform. When they’re with her, they’ll see the individuality of her, and perhaps they too will be free of themselves and an individual too. “until tomorrow / everything you are you’ll see in pure shiny buttons” After they wake and drive away for good, And in daylight, they see lives in terms of social forms. But then someone else comes along, and her spirits rise again. “Caroline laughs / and it’s raining all day” She knows “she lives in the place / in the side of our lives” where she’s not treated fairly and understood. But the next morning, that side lined memory is all they have of her.That’s the joke. The passersby don’t think she’s anything special and then, afterwards, they know she is the only thing special. And Caroline still dances, pretty as always.


A break in the wheel of history with Life lifing life

11 September 2014 8:12am.

During this work, there’s a contrast between Horizontal and Vertical.  Horizontal is all time, memory, linear perspective, social conformity, and dreary city landscapes.

Vertical moments defy time, are separate and singular acts of nature and defiance against the order.  In Mari Ruti’s “Singularity of Being” (looking into Lacan and others), Diachrony of history is opposition to synchrony of breaks and rebellion. She writes, “A vertical spoke in the wheel of history…Rather than oiling the squeaky wheel of history, [Antigone] inserts a spoke through it, momentarily halting its process.” (4hrs, 6 minutes into Audio Reading. Chapter 5 of 11). Antigone’s aim is ethical and both she and narrator challenge and confront the established law, without offering a model way of life.

Does this book offer a way of life? Is violence against the system ethical or mimicking the system’s methods?  An act of rebelling against fascism of government with microfaschism of self conduct.

18 September 2014 7:34am

Reading slowly Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass” – how it compares to Rimbaud’s Diamond Signature. Whitman’s hopefulness and optimism. The big theme of continuity of life – contrasts to Rimbaud’s continuity or horizontal time as vastly negative.  Ordered death. But that could be his disillusionment. He wants to celebrate life, “Life lifing life”, but it’s expressed as vertical time, a break from the horizontal and anonymity, and silent, surpressed.  Whitman’s vision is episodic – micro vignettes – which isn’t entirely different from Rimbaud’s desired vision.  8:02am

26 September 8am

(A poetic distilling of what I’ve been thinking and reading)

When these inky castles quiver,

Springs mold kingdoms

forming for an architect or archeologist,

What will you become?

When walls become doors,

What do doors become?

An unveiled precipice opening

into the real.