Warning: Chance Discovery of Future Now Securely Archived
Past, present and future are ever-present, as the tinpot Eliots among us will no doubt affirm.
The future is documented already, but little more can be said for it than this.
Still, there is at least one "consolation of misosophy." To wit:
The prying pleb hands of prying plebs (who arrogantly demand "freeloader user status" to the Imperial War Archives in London), will not be able to get their hands on the following post-Popperian Political prophecy.
Whence derives this noble account of the Eternal Struggle between the fictive and the merely satirical?
None shall say...
Or if you will, "none shall sleep." Nessun dorma.
(For, no doubt, la commedia è finita!)
Malwina Tay is the greatest demographic correction cadre of the most recent Big 3003 year plan.
But her schemes to bring these hallowed isles to the Golden Pantopia of Enlightened Public Interest are constantly confounded by the knavish tricks of the Working Agitrop Collective of Harold Chickenfeet and Naughty Norbert's Post-Electric Mandolin Edginess Ensemble.
Although Malwina Tay only makes 4 billion Standard Tay Units per standard duration kilo-unit of public contribution remuneration, she considers this rather too little for her relentless universally-spirited and publically-conscious labours.
Harold Chickenfeet is resentful that Her Most Exalted Post-Temporalness lives in a Metropolis Accommodation Unit Platinum style, when he has never moved beyond the unstable Californium Kripp-ton Zeal Hashtag 40 standard, and may fall further to immobile Neon Compartmentality, or worst of all, the gutter of Pre-Processed Sulphur Vacant Dominion.
Admittedly, Naughty Norbert poses little more of a threat, for he has no ideas of his own, given that he has filched them from Solar Godwin, who was once somewhat erratic in his luminous acoustic projections, which exceeded standard thermoregularity. But as the latter has already been exiled to the Sole Mariner's Trench in Andromeda, this is hardly a problem.
The future is a foreign country; they do things exactly like us.
Who is "us?"
An idle question.
But then, precisely such questions are the most intriguing...
And hence the most disconcerting for the iron-clad Richelieus among us...
Ah, metaphysics! It cannot escape the circle.
"It gives" no relief, on consolation.
But the universe-al is contained in the particular(ist).
Let us rest, at least, in this.