We somehow lose the sense of perspective.
The image of a possible future doesn’t show itself; it isn’t drawn.
The story itself—both our own and that of civilization—falls apart, losing its former, once coherent, meta-narrative form.
In such a situation, it’s as if we collapse—we feel some inner emptiness, lose our identity. We seem to be running while staying in place.
“The Fold” is a specific “pathology” of time. A pathology, which, as often happens in medicine, allows you to see its—time’s—true and essential features.