Present Tense
I’ve struggled some with the content of this week’s offering based on the variety of topics that come to mind in reflecting on the Present Tense. At last I settled on a subject that, at first, seems to be an odd juxtaposition in terms of the title. But thoughts of the Present Tense have led me to consider my own death. In other words, the concept of no longer existing, of not being able to observe life or to delve into the questions that pop up during an average day. I won’t miss life or neglect my curiosity or long for the people I love because those sensations require consciousness, and awareness of any sort will have ceased. Despite this strange and almost oxymoronic leap from Present Tense to death, please stay with me and I promise it will become clearer.
Of course death is often considered an unpleasant topic and not one that we usually enjoy dwelling on, but it is, nonetheless, something we all eventually face. So in the process of considering my demise, I am reminded of the present moment, or at least as close to the actual present as is possible (see Our Subjective Nature). At this moment I am currently (and fortunately) among the living and hope to be so for at least a few more years. Even so, the specter of death leads me to wonder about the impact I have made on this world (in a relatively minor way) and continue to make through actions, writing, and conversations.
For a number of years I wrote poetry. Part of the impetus for producing poems was the writing groups I frequented where there was a collegial stimulus to place words in a certain order. The results of those efforts remain in my computer and every now and then I revisit them. The me that reads those pieces today is different from the me who wrote them 12 years ago and so, in a Present Tense perspective, I consider altering them to fit who I am at this time. Afterall these are intended to be representative of who I am and the point of view I have of my current environment. The problem is that I change from day to day, from moment to moment. The work would have to be in constant flux to keep up with each “new” iteration of Tobin Fraley. So I usually leave them alone.
The poems, the essays, my many conversations, my relationships with friends and loved ones, the books I’ve written, my photographs, the actions I take, even the plants I place in our garden, all are like footprints. Each one different from the other and each one impactful (at least for the moment). But it seems to me that instead of creating a permanent outline in the dirt, the inevitable outcome is more as if I’m walking on the sand near the ocean. My footprints are clear and distinct until a wave comes in or the tide rises, and they are erased. Time is like the tide, to use an old but appropriate phrase. It washes away the prints we’ve left behind and even though there are ripples of our present moments, eventually we are faceless names in an old book or an unknown ancestor in a digital file.
Regardless of the relatively bleak quality of these past few paragraphs, I don’t mean to instill a sense of overwhelming depression (hopefully). But I am intending to offer a pragmatic view of life, particularly as I age. I believe that most of us would like to be remembered or feel as if our life has had a meaning of some sort. This is where the Present Tense comes in. If I dwell on those footprints and wonder if anyone will value who I was 200 years from now, I will eventually drive myself completely nuts. I say “completely” because I’m already halfway to living in CrazyTown as it is. So I do my best to focus on what needs to happen now. To grasp what I can do at this moment to impact my life and those around me.
I wish I could tell you that I normally focus on the Present Tense and leave the future to the fates, but I’m not very good at that. I may aspire to spend more time being in the moment and understanding how the “now me” can help in small or perhaps even larger ways. But the future is a cruel prophet. The priestess at the Oracle at Delphi drove men mad with her vague predictions of the paths they would walk, but those who asked wanted to know, regardless of impact on their Present selves.
I will leave you this week with a song by the great singer/songwriter, Phil Ochs. I listen to this every now and then to help me remember that what I do in the Present Tense doesn’t need to resonate in the future. That even if I am “vanished” into a Salvadorian prison tomorrow, what I do today, in this moment, is what counts. If I have an anthem, it is this song that is titled When I’m Gone. Below is the first verse but I’ve also added a link so you can also listen to this incredibly powerful sung:
There's no place in this world where I'll belong when I'm gone
And I won't know the right from the wrong when I'm gone
And you won't find me singin' on this song when I'm gone
So I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here.
…Tobin, viewed through the metaphor of ‘Ship of Theseus’?
[Verse 1]
Well, I left Kentucky back in ’49
And went to Detroit, working on assembly line
The first year, they had me putting wheels on Cadillacs
Every day, I’d watch them beauties roll by
And sometimes, I’d hang my head and cry
‘Cause I always wanted me one that was long and black
One day, I devised myself a plan
That should be the envy of most any man
I’d sneak it out of there in a lunchbox in my hand
Now, getting caught meant getting fired
But I figured I’d have it all by the time I retired
I’d have me a car worth at least a hundred grand
[Chorus]
I’d get it one piece at a time
And it wouldn’t cost me a dime
You’d know it’s me when I come through your town
I’m gonna ride around in style
I’m gonna drive everybody wild
‘Cause I’ll have the only one there is around
[Verse 2]
So the very next day, when I punched in
With my big lunchbox and with help from my friend
I left that day with a lunchbox full of gears
I’ve never considered myself a thief
But GM wouldn’t miss just one little piece
Especially if I strung it out over several years
The first day, I got me a fuel pump
And the next day, I got me an engine and a trunk
Then I got me a transmission and all the chrome
The little things I could get in my big lunchbox
Like nuts and bolts and all four shocks
But the big stuff we snuck out in my buddy’s mobile home
Now, up to now, my plan went alright
‘Til we tried to put it all together one night
And that’s when we noticed that something was definitely wrong
The transmission was a ’53
And the motor turned out to be a ’73
And when we tried to put in the bolts, all the holes were gone
So we drilled it out so that it would fit
And with a little bit of help from an adaptor kit
We had that engine running just like a song
Now the headlights, they was another sight
We had two on the left and one on the right
But when we pulled out the switch, all three of ’em come on
The back end looked kind of funny too
But we put it together and when we got through
Well, that’s when we noticed that we only had one tail fin
About that time my wife walked out
And I could see in her eyes that she had her doubts
But she opened the door and said, “Honey, take me for a spin”
So we drove up town just to get the tags
And I headed her right on down main drag
I could hear everybody laughing for blocks around
But up there at the courthouse, they didn’t laugh
‘Cause to type it up, it took the whole staff
And when they got through, the title weighed sixty pounds
[Chorus]
I got it one piece at a time
And it didn’t cost me a dime
You’ll know it’s me when I come through your town
I’m gonna ride around in style
I’m gonna drive everybody wild
‘Cause I’ll have the only one there is around
[Outro]
Uh, yeah, Red Ryder?
This is the Cotton Mouth in the Psycho-Billy Cadillac, come on
Huh? This is the Cotton Mouth
And negatory on the cost of this machine, there, Red Ryder
You might say I went right up to the factory and picked it up
It’s cheaper that way
Uh, what model is it?
Well, it’s a ’49, ’50, ’51, ’52, ’53, ’54, ’55, ’56, ’57, ’58, ’59 automobile
It’s a ’60, ’61, ’62, ’63, ’64, ’65, ’66, ’67, ’68, ’69, ’70 automobile
One Piece at a Time
Johnny Cash
Tobin, another “spin of the wheel” thought provoking essay. I will respond to the points that “struck sparks” with me.
1. I too play with the language of existence and non-existence. I only have experience of an ever-transforming self and the meaning of “before” I was, or “after” is simply void of meaning. I have no idea of what I mean to say by using those words. But I use them anyway. I do know with certainty that “to be” as you and I understand requires a physical body which is a receptor for more types of sensation that we can name, from “the world.”
2. I will go out on a limb, suggest as an article of faith that every homo sapiens that has, or ever will live, makes a difference, is a change-agent creating the future. That is, each contributes to the mix of living conditions that emanate from actions, words, poems, prose, plays, genocide etc., etc. fabricating circumstances, possibilities for those yet unborn. Of course this is a wild and wooly mix, a interpenetration of “good” and “evil.” Yes, good as well as evil are human productions. There’s simply no unassailable (divine) standard that we know of, even if we pretend that we do.
3. I think it is best that one loosen one’s grip, the obsession that one’s name be remembered along side one’s deeds as if the credit will matter. In the rear view mirror as you indicate, you and and will simply not care what grade anyone gives us. I am satisfied that every act of kindness that I can manage matters, as does every serrated vengeful comment. The “trick” is to aspire to wakefulness to respond to conditions as the “now” presents itself. There are times when vengeance is called for if there is to be a chance for a humane future.
4, To sum up. Even a titanium gravestone engraved with one’s exploits will erode in the course of generations. No matter. Every action is effective to form a future time, an ethos for all that inhabits our planet.
To conclude, I’ll offer my favorite lyric to your offering and Michael’s. And When I Die was written by the great Laura Nyro. I’d be pleased if this tune were featured at my going away party!
I’m not scared of dying
And I, don’t really care
If it’s peace you find in dying
Well then, let the time be near
If it’s peace you find in dying
Well then dying time is near
Just bundle up my coffin
‘Cause it’s cold way down there
I hear that it’s
Cold way down there, yeah
Crazy cold, way down there
And when I die, and when I’m gone
There’ll be, one child born
In this world
To carry on, to carry on
Now troubles are many
They’re as
Deep as a well
I can swear there ain’t no Heaven
But I pray there ain’t no hell
Swear there ain’t no Heaven
And I’ll pray there ain’t no hell
But I’ll never know by livin’
Only my dyin’ will tell, yes only my
Dyin’ will tell, oh yeah
Only my dyin’ will tell
And when I die, and when I’m gone
There’ll be, one child born, in this world
To carry on, to carry on
Yeah yeah
Give me my freedom
For as long as I be
All I ask of livin’
Is to have no chains on me
All I ask of livin’
Is to have no chains on me
And all I ask of dyin’ is to
Go natrually, only wanna
Go naturally
Here I go!
Hey hey
Here come the devil
Right behind
Look out children, here he come
Here he come, heyyy
Don’t wanna go by the devil
Don’t wanna go by the demon
Don’t wanna go by satan
Don’t wann die uneasy
Just let me go
Naturally
And when I die, and when I’m dead
Dead and gone
There’ll be
One child born, in our world
To carry on, to carry on
For those of us who dwell perhaps a bit too much on our final days, I have to try to remind myself that I am not dead yet. I know that I allow the cloud of darkness to follow me around, though I do spot some sunshine on occasion. I suspect that with my last few breaths I will say something along the line of, “Why the fuck did I spend so much damn time worrying about death?” Expire!
I’m just going to offer this quote I saw the other day – “When I get to the end of my life and ask one final ‘What have I done?’ let my answer be: ‘I have done love.’”
A wonderful sentiment. Thank you!
Tobin, I’ll bet you thought I’d forgotten to write the comment I promised. No, Siree! Here ’tis.
There’s a piece in the June 30 issue of the New York Times by Jason Farago that I think puts a lovely period on the end of your blog. It’s titled Cezanne and the Hard Facts of Time: Finding the Key to Cezanne, the First Painter I Ever Loved. “Modernism, in all its tragic beauty, is a language that reconciles the fleeting and the eternal. That shows how nothing lasts, yet everything matters.”