The history of the world? Just voices echoing in the dark; images that burn for a few centuries and then fade; stories, old stories that sometimes seem to overlap; strange links , impertinent connections. We lie here in our hospital bed of the present ( what nice clean sheets we get now a days) with a bubble of daily news drip-fed into our arm. We think we know who we are, though we don’t quite know why we are here, or how long we shall be forced to stay. And while we fret and writhe in bandaged uncertainty – are we a voluntary patient? We fabulate. We make up a story to cover the facts we don’t know or can’t accept; we keep a few true facts and spin a new story round them. Our panic and our pain are only eased by soothing fabulation.
We call it HISTORY.