From a Narrative Arc to Philosophical Arcades

Past has somehow caught up with me with memories of people, places, and things past that though far in space and time has suddenly become present and close-by. A wave of consternation, inspiration, and wistfulness has come over, overwhelmed, and started to boil over. It is this engagement hand in hand with disengagement, working along, through, and over that both gives impulse to and takes with its waning an outburst of care, memory and reflection not all conscious, not all consequential, and not all earnest. Like shadows that get half occluded by figures of one's own speech. That's what any modernism is, was and will be about - making absent present while avoiding any simplification, formulas, and conventions. A silent cry of a long gone past echoes in the chambers of personal recollection like a distant brawl of forces beyond human control. An earthquake falling on multiple fates, a realisation of the endlessness of lines of causality, a manifold search for a relation to the heart of the matter darkened by patina of oblivion.