I feel sometimes that I am a stranger to this world. I have become something like an alien plopped down to where I sit, having no idea from where I am from nor how I got here. I look out with my eyes and think to myself that, no, this is not how the world looks to those else whom I view on this earth. I do not understand, at least not fully, how everyone else sees things in their philosophies; I wonder if I have ever looked at things like they did, do not remember if everything was at some point like the normal understanding of objects, actions, and causes most take for granted in their walks through this life. What is this world that is before me, now? What has it become, this day and this night?
Has my past madness taken me that far away? Will it ever be like the times that I recall not, now, like it was before the episodes of Heaven and Hell impinged upon my psyche? I think not that I can escape them even in sleep, for my dreams are strange, too. No, no escape. I am stuck with these strange pictures of the world that concoct themselves in my imagining of the things around me.
Perhaps, though, it is like a second chance, if I think of it: the world is like new to me, at least at some times; even well-traveled understandings at times fascinate me like I have never been there before. Hm. I am a strange child, having a history as far back as I do, but yes, I do feel otherwhiles like a child. Yes, then: let me get lost a little in the marvel of it all. If it is to be like this, then let me see things as if I were newly born, and understand them how I will — it might just be wonderful.
abbie
7:51am friday, 12th august
We are all strangers in the world, but sometimes there is someone that feels real yo us.
abbie