It seems to me, dear reader, that we are all born to strangeness. We enter a world astounded by the bizarreness of it all. Look at a newborn, look closely. That look is not a look of wonder or curiosity for an amazing new world. No. The child cannot fathom what it is that is happening to her. Her first response, after being sent down a tunnel that threatens to trap the child, is to cry, to scream at the horror of it all. She has been kidnapped by alien beings. It is exhausting. She must sleep from the effort of existing in this world. The child grows. She accommodates herself to the world, but for many years it remains strange. In times of boredom, it all comes flooding back. “I do not belong here,” she says. “This landscape is foreign. I do not know these people. Who colored the sky and the autumn grass in such aberrant hues? Why does the sun seem to scream?”
The world distracts her. School. Extracurricular activities. Television. Anything it takes to have her forget herself. Becoming a functioning human being is characterized by this process of forgetting, of ignoring the strangeness of this world. Every so often, it will return, but the distractions are plentiful. But some don’t forget. Some cannot ignore the experience of seeing a reality that is slightly warped. It is uncanny because it approximates a reality. But none of it is real. To those who cannot forget, you must either learn to dwell in strangeness or perish – either by your own hand or through the soul-destroying methods of the cultural mesmerists.