The · Meghan · Bubble

"Please write again soon. Though my own life is filled with activity, letters encourage momentary escape into others lives and I come back to my own with greater contentment."
-Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey

I have a tendency to spend hours upon hours pouring over the words that other people write, looking for meaning, looking for solidarity in my thoughts and feelings, looking for inspiration and sometimes just for the sake of looking. And so today, as I continued my search for quotes that express the fluidity of my thoughts and feelings, I came across the above quote, and it caused me to stop and think.

Really, who doesn't love to get a letter these days? I'm not going to get all nostalgic and start the debate of handwritten letters versus emails, though, don't get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy receiving handwritten letters in the mail. But my point here is more about communication in general. It seems that the older we get, the busier our lives become, the less time we take to really communicate with others outside of the occasional text or facebook message, both of which do not allow for the emotional and artistic expression of a letter. The impersonality of a "what's up?" text message pales in comparison to the character of a letter or email in which one discusses their daily, weekly or even yearly happenings, their thoughts ideas and feelings, and inquires about your own. It is this expression of self, of life, of places and spaces and people that are not part of one's own daily life that I truly miss.

Recently I have reached a reflective stage of my journey in this lifetime. I have become quite philosophical about all aspects of life, and my life in particular. One of the best (and sometimes worst) parts of reflecting on one's thoughts and feelings is that of remembering. Too often I have found myself wondering "what ever happened to so and so?" and "I wonder where this person is now?" and sitting back remembering experiences, places and ideas that we've shared. Unfortunately, these thoughts remain just that: thoughts. They never seem to influence much action on my part. And I feel justified in stating that I think that most people would agree with me. For the most part we just continue with our daily lives, letting these thoughts and memories float in and out of our consciousness without much regard.

And so I have decided that today I will take the first step in changing this. Instead of remembering and forgetting, I will remember and take action. Today I will begin to write to everyone that crosses my mind. New and old acquaintances and friends. To check in, say hello, share memories and stories, to laugh and maybe even cry. To see what is going on in their lives. To, in the words of Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey "escape into others lives [to] come back to my own with greater contentment". All I can hope from this is that I have inspired you to do the same.

SIR, more than kisses, letters mingle souls,
For thus, friends absent speak.
-John Donne


Meghan

So... I'm back... kind of. I'm working on some things, but in the meantime I thought I would post a couple of things that I've written in the last couple of years. Most of my writing efforts have been focused on school, and so it seems fitting to open with an essay that I wrote just under two years ago. :)
(if you would like to read the poem that this is based on go here: http://www.prufrock.org/poem/fulltext.php)

The Love song of J. Alfred Prufrock: an Analysis of Alienation and Isolation

One of the major themes of T.S Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock is alienation. Eliot uses many methods to convey this theme to the reader. Methods such as an opening epigraph from Dante’s Inferno, the dramatic monologue style, word and phrase isolation and placement, imagery and how Prufrock presents himself to the reader all aid Eliot in creating the alienated and tortured soul of J. Alfred Prufrock.


The opening epigraph to The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock is an excerpt from Dante’s Inferno. In this excerpt Count Guido da Montefelltro is explaining to Dante that he is speaking freely to Dante because he believes that Dante will never return to earth from hell. Guido is saying that he can speak freely because he will not be judged or betrayed by his audience. Eliot uses this excerpt before the poem to introduce the reader to Prufrock’s ideal audience, someone who will not judge him, not exploit his thoughts and feelings, and ultimately an audience that doesn’t exist. The use of this epigraph helps Eliot to set the theme of alienation that runs throughout the poem. Prufrock’s inability to relate his thoughts, feelings and idiosyncrasies to others for fear of being judged ultimately results in his dependence on his inner dialogue, thus creating a sense of alienation from the world around him.


Eliot uses the dramatic monologue style to highlight Prufrock’s feeling of alienation. During the first stanza Prufrock says, “Let us go then, you and I” (1). This immediately gives the reader a sense that Prufrock is speaking to someone else. But as the poem progresses, and Prufrock delves more into his inner thoughts and feelings, the reader gets a sense that Prufrock is only speaking to himself, especially when he makes such comments as “I should have been a pair of ragged claws/ Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.” (73-74). This type of poetic form gives the reader a sense of Prufrock’s isolation. As there is no obvious audience to this poem other than Prufrock himself, the reader can sense his alienation from the world around him. He is unable to share his thoughts with anyone but himself, and therefore is forced to speak only to himself, thus resulting in a dramatic monologue. This style becomes essential to the reader’s understanding of Prufrock, as it’s one sided conversation gives the reader a true sense of how Prufrock is feeling, his isolation from the world around him and how he sees himself in comparison to the rest of society.


Throughout the poem, Prufrock’s self presentation is exceedingly negative. The constant battle between what he perceives as his ageing body, “(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)” (41), and what he perceives as his untapped mind, “I am Lazarus, come from the dead, / Come back to tell you all,” (94-95) show that he feels the distance between his physical and mental states. On one hand he knows that he is physically ageing, and seems to feel as though his body is betraying him, while on the other he feels as though he has so much more to give to the people around him. Eliot repeats the idea of time throughout the poem, as a way to remind both the reader and Prufrock that time is slipping away: “Time yet for a hundred indecisions, / And for a hundred visions and revisions”(32-33). This theme of time also highlights the theme of alienation, as Prufrock seems to feel as though time and the world are passing him by: “I grow old, I grow old / I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled,”(120-121) and fears attempting to become a part of society, to make himself stand out: “Do I dare to eat a peach?”(122). Prufrock’s fear of doing anything to make himself stand out, to make people notice him, or to call for others to judge him makes him resent himself. He feels as though there is no connection between the person who he is and the person that he wishes to be. This results in Prufrock feeling alienated from his own mind, as he is who he is, and he does not want to accept that, but he is afraid to do anything to become who he wants to be. His self confidence is low, and even when he tries to make himself feel better about himself, he is once again betrayed by his own fears: “ (I) Am an attendant lord, one that will do…/ At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--/ Almost, at times, the Fool” (112, 118-119). Prufrock’s low self-esteem and fears of standing out and being judged cause him to resent himself, and ultimately result in his feelings of alienation from himself and the world around him.


By upsetting the flow of the poem and interjecting with the couplet “In the room the women come and go/ Talking of Michelangelo” (13-14) Eliot further exemplifies Prufrock’s feelings of alienation. The fact that Eliot places these two lines separately from the rest of the stanzas helps to show the distance that Prufrock feels from these women, and their world. He is not part of these conversations, and yet it seems that by mentioning it, he longs to be included in them. This idea is further suggested in the seventh stanza, as Prufrock states that he has “known them (women) all” (62) and yet he is obviously excited by something as small as arms “downed with light brown hair”(64). One thing to note is that throughout the poem Prufrock seems to be more of an observer of life than someone who partakes in it. Eliot exploits this idea by showing Prufrock’s acute observations of arm hair, perfume and bracelets, things that may otherwise go unnoticed to someone who was included in the conversations about Michelangelo, as oppose to being an observer of them.


Because this is a poem, language is imperative for the author to get the meaning across to the reader. One important line to note is, “It is impossible to say just what I mean!” (103). While proving that Prufrock feels alienated even from the language that he is using to portray his thoughts, this line also creates a sense of irony, as Eliot is using language to bring his character to life, and yet even he is at a loss for words when it comes to describing what he really means to say.


One of the most important methods that Eliot applies to this poem is the isolation of words and phrases themselves. The line “I do not think that they will sing to me” (125) is the most perfect example of the alienation that Prufrock feels. By placing this line on it’s own between the last two verses the reader can really get a sense of just how alienated Prufrock is, and of just how alone Prufrock feels. This line along with the isolated couplet, “I should have been a pair of ragged claws/ Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.” (73-74) gives the reader insight into how Prufrock views himself, as alienated and isolated as these lines are.


Eliot also uses imagery to convey the theme of isolation to the reader. Eliot uses the image of an ocean, “the waves” (126), “the water” (128) and “the sea”(129) in his last stanza to show the emotional distance that Prufrock feels from the world. The fact that this image is at the end of the poem adds to the reader’s understanding of Prufrock even more, as with all the references to the ocean, the reader gets a sense of Prufrock drifting further and further away from the world. Another startling image is that of the “patient etherized upon a table” (3). This also ties in with the idea of isolation because, while it is how Prufrock is describing the cityscape against the night sky, it is also a metaphor for himself. He sees himself as someone who is part of the world physically, but unable to affect the world, thus again resulting in his isolation. A third image that Eliot gives the reader is that of an insect “pinned and wriggling on the wall,”(58). While Prufrock intends this image to convey how he would feel being speculated by those around him, Eliot uses this image to once again show how alienated Prufrock feels, as though he were there surrounded by people, but stuck on a wall, to observe and be observed, and never partake in what is happening around him.


As shown here, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock is rich with images, feelings, thoughts and words that portray a sense of alienation. Eliot was successful in creating a sad and isolated character in J. Alfred Prufrock by employing the dramatic monologue and free form styles of poetry writing, by isolating words and phrases and by using startling imagery, all to give the reader a sense of just how alone and depressed Prufrock feels.

Another day, another dollar. I think that's how the saying goes. But what if you could turn that dollar into one hundred, or two, or more? What would you be willing to sacrifice? How much of yourself would you be willing to give for financial security plus some? And what happens to your mind once you start to realize the toll that this path is taking on your private life? Do you push yourself harder and try to ignore the scenery? Do you choose to be oblivious to everything morally wrong that happens around you? Do you find yourself contemplating whether or not there IS good in man(kind)in front of your computer at three am. Do you wonder why you've been so distant lately? So emotionally and physically hardened, especially towards the ones you love?

I'll admit, when I was first told "This place will steal your soul" I laughed it off as a joke. Who could think that a place that was so prosperous, for itself and for me could possibly be anything but a highly untapped resource for the average struggling university student? But now, as the days are getting shorter, and the nights are growing longer I find myself thinking about what parts of myself I have and will sacrifice in order to stay afloat.

I spend my days sleeping. Thankfully, most of the time with the love of my life. I get up around 2pm, spend some time hanging out, reading, watching tv, and then I start the preparations for work. I don't think that I've ever spent so much time on a daily basis getting ready to go to work. But here, the better you look, the more money you make. And remember, it's all about the money. Two hours later, my hair straightened, breasts in their push up (hidden by the oh so cute t-shirt of course), and my masterfully painted mask in place, I walk out of the front door...and head towards another one.

When you enter my work it's like entering another world. A big heavy wooden door seperates the outside world from one that I can only assume exists in the minds of horny men and lesbians worldwide. The lights are dim. The music booms through your ribcage and into your heart. Men galore, in ones and twos, staring distantly at the girl girrating on stage, tounges wagging...you can almost see the pool of drool collecting in their laps. Porn repeats itself on the two big screens... felatio, cunnlingus, then vaginal then anal, in a whirlwind of flesh beating against flesh until you can't quite decipher who's parts belong to whom anymore.

And then there are the women. They're are scantily clad (if clothed at all) and usually found wandering back and forth across the back of the bar, sitting in chairs and on laps, talking in bunches and leaning over tables so everything underneath their skirts is exposed. Perfect hair, lean trim bodies, tiny outfits made of less than one pair of my underwear, and BIG high heeled shoes. All with their carefully applied masks. These are the guests of honor. The beautifuly deceptive prima donnas of the strip club. Most of them are polite, I'd even go as far as to say a lot of them are actually really nice girls. I try not to judge them. They are there to do a job, just like any other person in the world. They all have their own reasons for being there: school, children, money, drug addictions, pimps (or unfortunately titled "boyfriends" by some of the more naive ones), and many more reasons that I couldn't even possibly begin to understand. And the thing is that out in the open they all do a good job. Most of the men that leave have big shit eating grins on their faces if they've had a chance to talk with these girls. I guess that this part makes me wish that all they did in the back WAS talk.

Hidden in the back of the bar are two VIP rooms, in which the dancers take the clientel for lap dances. Here is where I start to notice my morals creeping in. Some of the dancers "turn tricks". This is an uncomfortable situation for everyone, not to mention highly illegal. I think it bothers me because under different circumstances that could've been me. Most of these girls ages range from 18 to 30. I'm sad for them. The "dancing" and the company, and even the legal lap dances are ok by me...again, it's just a part of their job. But the prostitution? Do you really need the money so badly that you have to give head to an absolute stranger? Isn't there another way?

I can't tell you how many times I've come home with images of strangers fucking in the darkened rooms stuck in my head. All I dream of at night is flesh. Sex, prostitution, horrible scenarios involving guns and violence and young girls being conned into becoming a sexual playground for horny men.

I try to leave what happens at work at work. But the more and more I'm there, the more it creeps into my subconscious. Until I can't have sex without flashbacks of the most recent porn on the big screen. Until I start to look at every man as just another dick looking for a hole to fuck. Until I distance myself from the people that I love because I can't think of the words to describe what I'm feeling. It's not disgust. It's not anger or an overall sadness. I still can't think of what it really is. Maybe it's anger with myself for becoming emotionally involved, for taking it too personally. For not treating it like a JOB, instead of my entire life. I have so much good in my life. Wonderful friends and the most perfect boyfriend that anyone could ever ask for. I have it really good overall. And ultimately this job is just a means to an end. And I guess at the end of the day that's how I get to sleep. Knowing that all is really ok, and that it really is just another day...with a few extra dollars to spare.

These are just a few things that I thought of... anyone else have anything to add?

-wear mittens
-hold pencils or pens therefore destroying our ability to write
-give a "thumbs up" (the alternatives already have their own meanings...)
-hit the space bar easily
-tie and untie knots
-hook our thumbs into our jeans pockets to create that oh so sexy james dean effect...
-thumb wars (i almost cried about that one)
-"thumb" through any book, magazine or newspaper

there are so many more, but this is making me depressed (and really thankful that i have thumbs)

I find it kind of odd that every time I go to the cupboard to get a mug for my tea, the first one that I look for is the one that most closely resembles the mug that my father used to use for his tea, back when he wanted to be a part of my life. I find it even stranger that on one tea-making occasion last week, I went looking for that particular mug that seems to embody my father in my jumbled memory of random feelings and thoughts from way back when. Upon realizing that this mug was no more, was probably broken and in the garbage, or sitting on a shelf in some goodwill store with a 99 cent sticker on it, I almost started to cry. In fact I would've cried, if it wasn't for Ed being there...because how would I explain crying over the loss of a mug? Even to someone who understands all of my insane quirks, this one would have been too off the wall, too crazy, too random, and much much too deep in my psyche to be understood. So I choked back the tears, and probably made some silly quip about pickles or something of the like, and worked to push those thoughts back into the envelope titled "Things that I'd rather forget" that resides somewhere in the back of my mind.

Since that night I've been pondering my "relationship" with my father. Check that; since I can remember I've been pondering our relationship, and it's only now that I've begun to peel back the years worth of layers that I've built up overtop of everything between he and I, that I've begun to really feel something regarding our relationship as father and daughter. I know that I am angry, hurt and confused. That (and I've only ever told one person this ever) there is still this six year old girl, sitting by the Christmas tree, watching her father put his gifts into a garbage bag, and when the unwrapping festivities were over, slinging the bag over his shoulder and walking out the front door without a word of goodbye, somewhere inside my head. She sits there, still wondering why he didn't love us enough to stay? Why he didn't care enough to get help when he still could? I don't think that that part of me has been given a chance to grow up since that day. I still find myself asking these same questions. Even now, when I know how wonderful my life has been without his tainting it with his alcoholism, selfishness and immaturity, I still wonder why he just didn't think that I was worth changing and staying for?

Over the past year it's been difficult to realize how this one incident and this one person have affected so many things in my life. From my inability to really trust people, especially men, to my constant need for reassurance in all aspects of my life, including, but not limited to love, work and friendships, this man, who has hardly made any attempt to be a part of my life, seems to be smack dab in the middle of everything that I do. Every time I've doubted myself, he was there...leaving me in doubt. Every time I've trusted someone, he's been there, reminding me that you can't really trust anyone, because they're always going to let you down. Every time I've fallen in love, he's been there, reminding me that he couldn't love me enough, and forcing me to search for it in and demand it of other people.

Acknowledging all of these things was hard, but harder still is the life-long journey to find myself... my real self, without the affects of my father. There are so many layers, so many memories, so many people that have been affected by this man's subliminal affect on me. Sometimes it feels like I'm picking at wounds that should've remained closed. But I know that in order to heal I have to expose that little girl, and hug her, and tell her that everything is going to be ok. That she really is better off without him. I am making a lot of headway, but there are still those times when I reach for the wrong teacup and remember how much it hurts.