We strangely lose our sense of perspective. The image of a possible future does not emerge, does not take shape. History itself - both our own and that of civilization - crumbles, losing its former, once coherent, metanarrative form. Finding...
ourselves in such a situation, we seem to collapse - feeling some inner emptiness, losing our identity. It's as if we are running while remaining in place. The "Fold" is a specific "pathology" of time. A pathology that, as is often the case in medicine, allows us to see its - time's - true and essential features.
We strangely lose our sense of perspective. The image of a possible future does not emerge, does not take shape. History itself - both our own and that of civilization - crumbles, losing its former, once coherent, metanarrative form. Finding ourselves in such a situation, we seem to collapse - feeling some inner emptiness, losing our identity. It's as if we are running while remaining in place. The "Fold" is a specific "pathology" of time. A pathology that, as is often the case in medicine, allows us to see its - time's - true and essential features.
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