…we have to get used to the idea

there will no longer be any end,

that history itself has become interminable.
Thus, when we speak of the ‘end of history’,
the ‘end of the political’,
the ‘end of the social’,
the ‘end of ideologies’,
none of this is true

The worst of it all is precisely
that there will be no end to anything,
and all these things will continue
to unfold slowly,
tediously,
recurrently,
in that hysteresis of everything which,
like nails and hair,
continues to grow
after death.

Because, at bottom,
all these things are already dead
and, rather than have a happy
or tragic resolution,
a destiny,
we shall have a thwarted end
…an end distilled
into the various metastases
of the refusal of death.

The Illusion of the End, by Jean Baudrillard, trans by Chris Turner, page116, pub. 1992

I’ll not comment, other than to say this assessment strikes me as persuasive without qualification. You and I have been dragged into a catastrophe that keeps echoing itself.

I watched the televised Grammy awards last night. Feeling (knowing) that pop music has left me behind, how much of the contemporary scene would be accessible at all to me? I am glad that I dedicated the evening to viewing the show. I resonated with a great deal of the spoken words and the performances. Chappell Roan performs her hit, Pink Pony Club.

Are we not all just dancing clowns,…