Nothing in what is taken to be present reality serves as a shield against the future anterior, 'it will have been'; and there cannot even be an anticipation of such a future anterior since there is no saying how many of these revisionary moments there will be. Everything in the present, then, no matter how certain, even as one-dimensional as a pure quale, always contains an opening for a future reinterpretation as something else, something unsuspected, the range of such unknowns being unlimited. This is a much larger field of doubt than its temporal complement, the sense of possibility of illusion arising from having made an incorrect or premature synthesis of data already presented in pristine form. It is not a matter of peeling back a too hasty overlay such as experience has schooled us to do. Instead it is as if hidden catches, or tiny neglected keyholes, remain in the most solid of constructions which when engaged will transform the whole set-up. You don't notice the keyhole until the key appears, which when turned reveals hinges where you never thought to look for them. And even today a key need not be inserted anywhere, it is just a code invisibly applied, then bingo, the desk by whose categories you thought to have gained some mastery is turned inside out. If it's no longer a desk then what is it, what will it have been? Where are you sitting? You? or what?