Without any dogmatic adherence to the collection of conspiracies, QAnon followers often choose which of the individual narratives to follow within the larger collection, a build-your-own history.
The Gaddis I like best to think of is a God-haunted aristocrat. Thrown pearl-clutching into a fallen world, he gathers himself and understands it as his task to recognize what instances of the eternal still obtain, among things melted into air.
What began in 1947 as a largely hopeful movement defined by wonder, openness, and concern for mankind, plunged into the paranoia-fueled mire that skeptics had always assumed the UFO movement to be.
Only now, fifty years after the formal end of the Brutalist movement, does it appear in the timeline of world architecture not so much as a steppingstone but as a stumbling block.
If Walter Benjamin’s angel of history moved backwards, observing society’s wreckage but blind to its progress, the many avatars of Joe’s wandering generation — booted boys in Cuba, beatnik wanderers like Joe — saw the whole world blurry, victims of their own velocity.