Every home alone past 2, every terminator past 2, the latest Matrix practically apologizes for it’s own existence. Examples are too numerous, the entire hyperreality we exist in is built on pointless repetition and self-cannibalization.

Our world is running out of resources to turn out profit, so it had started digesting itself and feeding us it’s over-processed and over-produced communion, like a sleezy street-food vendor dousing his meats in spices, so we don’t smell how spoiled their paska is.

That is why everything revolves around the nostalgia: it’s not us who are stuck in the past, it’s our culture experiencing rigor mortis, and we treat it as the final chance to see it’s original form, as if the chicken is our tavuk durum hasn’t been rotting since yesterweek.