le mot juste is passe?

Something which troubles me and lies in the background of my posts since roughly May is that there are so many events that I have an opinion on and that I ought to comment on. But I have let so much time go by and new troubles happen I feel I should comment on. And while I am formulating my response to them new situations happen. Ad infinitum.

The Chinese curse is that one's enemy will live in interesting times. Michael Brown. Eric Garner. Umpqua Community College. Paris. BLM. Donald Trump, Ben Carson, Bernie Sanders, Hillary Clinton. So much depends on being current and yet being thoughtful. In the end one ends up saying nothing at all.

It's a sense, totally justified, of being overwhelmed. Of the tide of history rising and swamping the observer. I know my regular readers of this blog number no more than in the tens but I also like to think I am writing for some future audience. I have often dreamed of being a flaneur, a Baudelaire or Benjamin, drinking Brulot Charentais at that little cafe in Montparnasse, noting comings and goings and taking the time to come up with le mot juste. Today, between sips, by the time one sets down and takes up the cup again, something new and more pressing has occurred.

Perhaps the time for le mot juste is gone and the time for le mot vitesse is here.