Past Imperfect

We commemorate Memorial Day this weekend and, in a special way, I would like to remember┬áVincent Cannizzaro, whom I wrote about last year. I did not know Vincent, but he was from my neighborhood in the Bronx. He died on February 26, 1967 in the Mekong Delta. He was twenty years old. Twenty years is not a long time, not nearly enough to gather “rosebuds while ye may,” which is unfortunate, because I believe that time exists only in the past. I mean that there really is no present. Everything we know about it, from the Eternal Now to carpe … Continue reading Past Imperfect