"We do not rest satisfied with the present. We anticipate the future as too slow in coming, as if in order to hasten its course; or we recall the past, to stop its too rapid flight. So imprudent are we that we wander in the times which are not ours, and do not think of the only one which belongs to us; and so idle are we that we dream of those times which are no more, and thoughtlessly overlook that which alone exists. For the present is generally painful to us. We conceal it from our sight, because it troubles us; and if it be delightful to us, we regret to see it pass away. We try to sustain it by the future, and think of arranging matters which are not in our power, for a time which we have no certainty of reaching.... So we never live, but we hope to live; and, as we are always preparing to be happy, it is inevitable we should never be so."
-- Pascal, Pensees, no. 172
Neighbors: Two Poems
Jim Boy Wade had moth eaten eyes,
black brows that shifted inward
when his lips smiled,
when playmates teased
and squealed dumbo, retard, stupid.
Jim Boy was never hit.
He was circled like hyenas at the kill,
or tripped by David Davidson on his walk
to Feinstein's Grocery and Notions.
No one teased David for having a name
with no imagination--
David knew attack was defense.
Jim Boy Wade disappeared between Friday
night and Monday morning the year we began
third grade.
Perhaps, his mother moved to give him space,
perhaps, his father returned to reclaim his son.
I remember Jim Boy in the eyes of people
who are crushed by dullards who can not see
themselves in everyone.
I did not tease Jim Boy.
I did not defend him,
feeling my own differentness,
knowing,
as long as Jim Boy was the target,
I was safe.
Annie Lou was fierce, hands flexed,
legs apart, her body taut yet relaxed,
ready to strike,
she could leap a dozen feet.
Annie Lou kept her space sacred.
Always alone, her mother went to work
at dawn.
After school Annie came into our circle;
her dress simple, clean and cheap,
worn out shoes or none at all, she ran
with speed a coach today would groom
for "Olympic potential."
Annie Lou pinned me to the hot grass,
I don't remember why.
Fear tinged with admiration,
loud, cruel words were my weapon
Don't blow your onion breath in my face.
She jumped to her feet.
Back erect, she walked in dignity,
to the narrow dirt lane
called Draper's Alley,out of sight.
Robby whispered,
That's all she had to eat today.
At a funeral for a former neighbor,
I was grabbed in a humongous hug.
I'm Annis, I live in L A
Annie Lou is a name for small town girls.
I did not tell her she had been my idol.
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"... as we are free, we cannot be sure what -- if anything -- we can count on. Even if God exists, we have the freedom to believe or not to believe, the choice about how to live our lives. We are thrown into the world, without anchor, without lifeline, with no predetermined meanings and no set values. As we are free to create meaning, so we are free to create ourselves. And we bear the full responsibility for that creation."
-- Diane Barsoum Raymond, Existentialism and the Philosophical Tradition
"Our thoughts themselves are continually governed by the character of consciousness -- by the 'genius of the species' that commands it -- and translated back into the perspective of the herd. Fundamentally, all our actions are altogether incomparably personal, unique, and infinitely individual...."
-- Nietsche, Gay Science
"It seems to me that the meaning of a person's life consists in proving to himself every minute that he's a person and not a piano key."
-- Dostoyevsky, Notes from Underground
Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter."
-- Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
© text Gwendoline Fortune and graphics Jeannette Harris, A Country Rag, Inc.,
June 2008. All rights reserved.
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A Country Rag