Reality is absurd

Reality again seems strange, distant, dysfunctional, other-worldly. I cannot comprehend this feeling which often overcomes me. It is as if I am divested of my true self, and my being continues to function only on vestiges of a once full soul. What apparition, ghoul, hell-bent hellion or fiendish power has come to rob me of my character and spirit? There remains a familiarity of course, but it is like that of a lost cousin whom one met, in the murky years of childhood, through the bars of a colorful crib. I do not know how to respond to this foreigner. What vernacular does he speak in? And my humor, it sounds all to stale for his tastes. I feel embarrassed at myself. This place of perpetual motion seems to hold no room for me. My presence is an obstruction; or else, it is insignificant. Human life meanders around me and human words float beyond my grasp. Perhaps I should stop speaking altogether and wait till this metaphysical absurdity passes.

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