In the dimly lit archives of Babel, a new dialect stirs—a whisper of forgotten conjugations and right-angled syntax, floating like smoke over the shores of comprehension. Linguists, armed with nothing but etymology and caffeine, perch precariously on the precipice of this lexical revolution. It is there, amidst the maze of morphemes, that they find solace and terror in equal measure.
Yesterday, an unnoticed syllable transformed under the collective gaze of the academic elite, morphing from an innocuous noun into a feared verb of esoteric action, binding the unspoken into the unravelable tapestry of understanding. This metamorphosis echoes through the ivory towers, resonating with the invisible vibrations of clause and predicate.
"Every language has its own formula," one scholar postulates, eyes wide with the remnants of sleep and ink stains. "It is the matter, you see, not of logic, but of resonance." The truth woven into this hallucination reveals itself only when the tongue dances on the precipice of articulatory despair.
As we pursue the formulas behind yesterday's language into tomorrow's ether, let us ponder: what syntax may arise from our collective ambiguity? What verbs may haunt us?