Predictions

The desire to know the future is as old as the idea of tomorrow. The ancients warned that inquiring of oracles would inevitably lead one to misinterpretation in any case. And if one could speak the future plainly, like Cassandra, one would be ignored then, too. Their conclusion seems to be that you don't get to know what will happen until it does.

Here, Vega lists, somewhat exhaustively, the ways ancient (and, I suppose, some contemporary) people tried to suss out the future. She also does not speak of tarot cards, palm reading, Ouija boards, tea leaves, horoscopes, or crystal balls, but of more esoteric methods.

Many involve reading the behavior of animals-- "by mice," "by fishes," "birds." Fire-- from the flames themselves, to their "smoke," and even their "ashes"-- is another popular prognostication device. Water, from a "fountain," or its interaction with "hot wax," has been tried. As has light, often in reflection from a "mirror" or even "nails reflecting the rays of the Sun."

Natural objects, like "salt" and "pebbles drawn from a heap," have been consulted. Man-made objects, too, like a "suspended ring" or a "balanced hatchet," and even the rising "dough of cakes" have been investigated.

Human behavior is popular as well, from "walking in a circle," to simply "laughing," and of course "dreams." One's "features" can be read, so perhaps this is an allusion to palm reading, but more likely these features are facial.

But perhaps the largest category she lists is markings made by people. From "dots made at random," to the dots of "dice," or the "numbers" they represent. And "letters," too, and words, even whole "passages in books."

Do any of these methods... work? "One of these things will tell you something," she assumes.

A pattern emerges from these methods. A person must begin by saying "I will now set this random process in motion. Once it occurs, I will see how the elements are placed, and by their arrangement-- which I caused but did not control-- I will see what is to be."

It's a combination of intent and instigation by the clairvoyant on the one hand, and the random result of their action upon the object(s) in question on the other. Then the seer explains the result, to either the glee or chagrin of the client.

The interpretation, naturally, will differ depending on the "skills" of the soothsayer consulted, which may not only include the saying of sooth, but the reading of the client's body language, clothes, and political power.

The whole exercise is moot, of course. We cannot foretell the future, since no-one has won the lottery every month or even predicted the Super Bowl winner every time.

It's all about trying to find patterns in the randomness. The scattered ashes or salt grains stand for the randomness of human events and interactions. The prophet tries to see patterns-- mostly gathered from what the client has said while drinking his tea, not from the tea leaves left in the bottom of his cup after.

There are two problems with this. One is that events often are random, with no pattern. The other is that, to the extent that there are patterns to events, no two people will agree entirely on what they are.

This disagreement extends to events in the past, as well. No two historians, even reading over the same evidence, will come to the exact same conclusion. And police officers will tell you that there are as many opinions about a car accident that just happened as there are people at the scene.

It also is true that almost all of the cultures that used these methods are gone. For all of their supposed ability to foresee events, they did not see the plague, drought, volcano, or conquering force arriving from over the hill or ocean that was to eradicate their civilization.

"One of these things will tell you something"? They all will. And all of it worth "dots made at random on paper."


Next Song: Fifty-fifty Chance

Language

Many lyricists, poets, and other writers have expressed frustration with the limits of language, even with the million-worded English. Barry Gibb wrote, for the Bee Gees, "It's only words/ But words are all I have/ To take your heart away." Woody Allen told Annie Hall: "'Love' is too weak a word for what I feel. I lurve you. I loave you. I luff you-- two Fs. Yes, I have to invent..." John Keats wrote to his love, Fanny, "I want a brighter word than 'bright,' a fairer word than 'fair.'" Even Shakespeare has Hamlet mutter: "Words, words, words."

Here, Vega expresses the same problem. "These words are too solid, they don't move fast enough/ To catch the blur in the brain/ That flies by and is gone." She wishes it would be "liquid," so it could "be rushing in."

Well... actually, would that be an improvement? No, it would rush in and fill in the empty space, flooding it and overwhelming it. 

What there is, what is there, actually solves the problem of language's inadequacy. What is there is "silence." And one "more eloquent than any word could ever be," at that.

Liking this idea, Vega then applies it to other contexts. "I'd like to meet you/ In a timeless, placeless place/ Somewhere out of context." If you are going to be wordless, where and when else could you do it but in a "timeless, placeless place"?

Since this is impossible outside of the physics we can readily access, she suggests a spot where, instead of language doing so, "silence" can "come rushing in." 

She knows the spot, as they have been there before. It is a building on Manhattan's Little West Twelfth, so called because it is only 2-3 blocks long. "It's not very far/ And the river is there" (this is either the tiny the High Line River or, more likely, the Hudson, which the street dead-ends into). 

She wants to go near sunset, when "The Sun and the spaces are all laying low." As its name indicates, the street in on the western side of the island, where the sunset view over the river is probably very visible.

Silence is so attractive that she even forswears language altogether: "I won't use words again." Their multiple meanings and vagueness make them untrustworthy for communication: "They don't mean what I meant/ They don't say what I said."

Words are also superficial, she adds. Harking back to the idea of language being "solid," Vega says that they are "just the crust of the meaning." She means not a bread crust but the Earth's crust, as she continues that they have "realms underneath," entire subterranean caverns that have never been probed or explored, "never touched, never stirred, or even moved through."

Compounding the frustration with the limitation of words is the fact that the only way to express this frustration is with, yes, more words. Well, there is music. And the visual arts, like music, sculpture, and dance. 

But also just... silence. More eloquent than any words could ever be.

Next Song: Gypsy