(no subject)

[proximoception]

The end won't feel like the end. The moments just before may, but they shouldn't, because they aren't. That doesn't mean the end doesn't exist, or that it can't be felt. But it means that we feel it within moments that are middles, that are an entirely different sort of moment-molecule. It, too, is a picture on our mantel. Is a "like." But we'll want that similitude to be really, really plausible, since so much depends on our relationship to it.

To maim Yeats: We're looking for the face we'll have after the world is gone.