Every more or less accomplished experience only appears to be rounded off or folded away behind a jump-cut or fade or segué, because in truth it has no boundaries and even in its always ongoing wake is already re-beginning. No need for an eternal recurrence when every lived moment is circular and re-entrant and the only difference is in how wide you mark the loop which can spread as far as you can possibly trace it in new loops and folds intertwining. And so what you call the personal is just a prejudice in favour of a certain kind of history whose depths you feed in scrutiny and shameless profiteering. It is a field inside a larger field and that inside a still larger field and on and on, why stop anywhere, the boundaries fractalise if you ever get a chance to look at them up close and soon you no longer know where and when you or who are.