There is no present. There is no past. There is no forgiveness or Christian charity. No burlesque shows or re-run TV. No afterthought, foreplay or middle ground. No left-wing salvation, no right-wing austerity. There is no history, no days to remember, no Charlie Sheen, no Marlon Brando, no Brigid Bardot, no Dostoevsky, no Ghandi, no Einstein. No third-movement crescendo in a Florentine symphony. No Leonardo, no Van Gogh. There’s only the ferocious furnace of the future with a mindset of its own.
We’re talking the Black Hole of consequence from which there is no escape.
We’re talking the backdraft of finality.
We’re talking one step over the line where the dancing stops.