Visions of futures past amuse us for their wrongheaded emphases, but the silliest ones aren’t too fantastical, they’re not fantastical enough, bearing the usual tired logic but embroidered with naive detail: wearing your monochrome jumpsuit to enter the teleportation tube is a pain in the ass compared to summoning Uber. The logic and the form of our envisioned futures doesn’t change because those past futures were never really futures at all, they’re just history that hasn’t happened yet.
The future is impossible.
There exist today people whose real life job is futurist. On their LinkedIn page it says ‘Jane Rabinowitz, Futurist’. We know they are not prophets because what they say, if they are any good at their jobs, comes true.
Telepathy is the direct perception of thought. All genuine conversations approach the conditions of telepathy. But form is not truth, it is the usual tiresome logic stripped of all detail. The blank page is a cell.
The prophet is silent. Any phoney can write without ink. The prophet writes without pages. We can never know the future but it is in us.