Tiny Details Imperceptible To Us

...the Darkness Does Not Lift But Becomes Yet Heavier As I Think How Little We Can Hold In Mind, How Everything Is Constantly Lapsing Into Oblivion With Every Extinguished Life, How The World Is, As It Were, Draining Itself, In That The History Of Countless Places And Objects Which Themselves Have No Power Or Memory Is Never Heard, Never Described Or Passed On.

At The Most We Gaze At It In Wonder, A Kind Of Wonder Which In Itself Is A Form Of Dawning Horror, For Somehow We Know By Instinct That Outsize Buildings Cast The Shadow Of Their Own Destruction Before Them, And Are Designed From The First With An Eye To Their Later Existence As Ruins.

This Then, I Thought, As I Looked Round About Me, Is The Representation Of History. It Requires A Falsification Of Perspective. We, The Survivors, See Everything From Above, See Everything At Once, And Still We Do Not Know How It Was.

There Is Something Peculiarly Dispriting About The Emptiness That Wells Up When, In A Strange City, One Dials The Same Telephone Numbers In Vain.

Everything Our Civilization Has Produced Is Entombed.