No future

The punks were right, X tells me, there’s no future. They were right to scribble their slogan on city walls. Then what are we living in now, he says? What are they living in? A present beyond their present, I guess, he says. A present beyond their futureless present, a present that is itself futureless. What does that mean? he asks me. A pastless, presentless and futureless present? But that’s a wordy slogan, he says, not to mention pretentious, you’d be collared before you finished scribbling that on a wall, he says.

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