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(Baudrillard says:)
We have been reproached for the atomic age – but finally [!] we have managed to suspend the equilibrium of terror and have decisively (?) deferred the conclusive event. Now that dissuasion has succeeded, we have to get used to the idea that there is no longer any end, there will no longer be any end and that history itself has become interminable. Consequently, when one speaks of “the end of history”, of “the end of the political”, of “the end of the social”, of “the end of ideologies”, none of this is true. The worst indeed is that there is no end to anything and that everything will continue to take place in a slow, fastidious, recurring and all-encompassing hysterical manner – like nails and hair continue to grow after death. Fundamentally, of course, all this is already dead and instead of a joyous or tragic resolution, instead of a destiny, we are left with an vexatious homeopathic end or outcome that is secreted into metastatic resistances to death. In the wake of all that resurfaces, history backtracks on its own footsteps in a compulsive attempt at rehabilitation, as if in a recompense for some sort of crime I am not aware of – a crime committed by and in spite of us, a kind of crime done to oneself, the process of which is sped up in our contemporary phase of history and the sure signs of which today are global waste, universal repentance and resentment [ressentiment] – a crime where the lawsuit needs to be re-examined and where we have to be unrelenting to go back as far as the origins, if necessary, in quest of retrospective absolution since there is no resolution to our fate in the future.
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Against the simulation of a linear history “in progress”, we must privilege these rekindled flames, these malignant curves, these light catastrophes which cripple empires much convincingly than major shakeups could ever do. Anastrophe versus catastrophe. Could it be that deep down there may have never been a linear unfolding of history, there may have never been a linear unfolding of language? Everything moves in loops and curls, in tropes, in inversion of meaning, except for numeric and artificial languages which, for this very reason, have neither of these. Everything takes place in effects that short-circuit (metaleptic) causes, in factual Witz, in perverse events, in ironic turnarounds, except for a rectified history which, properly speaking, cannot be such.
