To Decades (first letter)

You’re all drafted by the same ghostly legion.
We maneuver through the here and now together. You keep setting up camp and executing drills. Your identities shift (for better or worse) with every cultural mutation.
Personal experiences are located through your accumulating generations. Selves form in relation to collective memories of your lineage (an always changing corpus of coerced opinion and consensus).
Research is ongoing. Constructions of expertise are compulsively acted out (in thrift stores and museums, memoirs and fan clubs, conventions and seminars). Our desires remain insatiable (endlessly reinventing what is lost in your successions).
Your morphing particulars obscure the unknowableness of things. You’re a secretly inadequate series of abstractions — a spectacular projection of totalizing impulses.
You’re a pretext for civilization — a nostalgia machine.