A Thing

Assume fantasy to be the logical climate. Life does not always imitate art, but on the other hand, so swiftly, it sometimes can. According to the Memories of Future D. H. Lawrence, "We must drop all manner of finish, and allow the mind to move in clusters of images. Our idea of time has crippled our consciousness cruelly". The end of history merely means an end to some story (perhaps), or to the persistence of some common errors such as the adherence to one or another penultimate barometers of contemporary politic, or even, simply, an end to the insistence upon some big, penultimate something being the end-all of all the be-all in the very first place.                            
                             
Rather than insisting upon another era's so-on-and-on-and-on-and-on from its starting get-go all the way through to the ending assumptions of all of its suppositions, might we not instead learn to flit here and there over the span of a new-built continuities, like a consciousness allowed to be unshackled in imitation of eternally non linear space?                            
                             
Art has never been on the side of the purists; History, as presented, is often nothing more than the ways and means of justifying the preservation of some "dominance" within some "arena."