Sometimes a whole sentence can pass through my mind with no meaning extracted from it. Instead, I listen to its cadence. Some sentence are metaphors for stories, with an introduction, rising action, climax, falling action, end. But they're not just meaning--they're sound too, sound as expressed by the mental voice reading in your head. And some sentences can have a sound to them that are metaphors for songs. Certain words fit better than others; certain phrases end a paragraph with exhilarated sigh, not with a bang but with a profound reverberation of meaning and sheer sound:
"...for it was foreseen that the city of mirrors (or mirages) would be wiped out by the wind and exiled from the memory of men at the precise moment when Aureliano Buendia would finish deciphering the parchments, and that everything written on them was unrepeatable since time immemorial and forever more, because races condemned to one hundred years of solitude did not have a second opportunity on earth."
Words can make chills go down your spine. The agreed upon patterns of letters can convey enough information to elicit a physical reaction from your body.
Poetry--good poetry--is a miracle. Spoken word makes me hold my breath without even realizing it, exhaling only with that ringing silence that comes after the final word, the final chord, before people raise their hands and break its almost physical presence with the sound of applause. I love that moment and if it's a good one, it raises the hairs on my neck.
Lyrics to songs dazzle me. They straddle two worlds. They put meaning on top of meaning, layering semantics over the meaning found in music itself, creating a palimpsest. A climactic melody supports the words that go along with it--just listen to any Disney song where the hero/heroine finds their way. But instrumental music can express plot just as well as sung words and sometimes even better. It can express the unspeakable. Put the two together and what do you get? Words that detract from song? Song that distracts from words? Or something created between the two that adds up to more than either.
I find it hundreds of times easier to communicate by writing things out but I accept that not everyone feels that way. And sometimes I wonder if resorting to writing is putting distance not only for perspective but also for safety--as if by writing we can edit ourselves and experiences to a safe, unemotional hands-length away. I don't know the answer to that. But there is something beautiful in arranging and perceiving words, something beautiful and critical that may not be sufficient for the human condition but which I believe is pretty damn near necessary for it.
