Normality is the oddest thing. Everydayness is disconcerting. Does the madman clawing Bedlam's wall know something important? Maybe he knows that being blithely located and snugly wrapped in human events is insanely sane? How to account for the bizarre psychological buffer that keeps astonishment repressed? Lulling people into a conception that existence and being aware of one's existence is in any way normal, a thing to be taken for granted? Where is the friend of my soul? The one who knows that normality and the “sane” absorptions of human beings are extremely creepy? Where is the hobo-soul to walk with me on the outskirts of society, on the astonished periphery?
...
ReplyDelete