Ancien régime without an ancien régime

Everything is provisional, resolutions are transitory and instable, but like leaves in the wind, captivating. A penchant for forgetfulness appears to be something that has seized our epoch in particular in a death hold - it is an epoch characterised by epoché, by the suspension of grounds or groundings: this is why I use an inappropriate term. My effort to record effortlessly wipes away its own recording (like music, which is forever lingering, forever lost.

There can no longer be any doubt that we are living at the end of time - sense of an ancien régime without an ancien régime to appeal to - so lacking either hope or fear of revolution - a disappearance caught in its own act of disappearing, or something: why does everything have to be about one's own life? Memory, overworked, pants at the sidelines these days. It exerts influence still, but it no longer co-ordinates, or provides a frame. This, in its way, is a liberating efflorescence.

I wonder if I will lose my fear before the end.