"This is how one pictures the angel of history. His face is turned toward the past. Where we perceive a chain of events, he sees one single catastrophe which keeps piling wreckage and hurls it in front of his feet. The angel would like to stay, awaken the dead, and make whole what has been smashed. But a storm is blowing in from Paradise; it has got caught in his wings with such a violence that the angel can no longer close them. The storm irresistibly propels him into the future to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows skyward. This storm is what we call progress."

Walter Benjamin, Theses on the Philosophy of History



What a task to have undertaken
The repairing of a world forsaken

Mending the gaping rips in reality
Rent by entropy and catastrophe

The impossible! To repair this continuous wreck
To save this doomed ship takes all hands on deck

If the past and future are delusions under which we rave
Then what is there left to save?

Belief but a suspended choice; tense in it's traction
That the...