My, my. The things I write at 2:30 in the morning. I churned out this after reading the first few chapters of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance saturday night.
"So. Say I'm crazy. Say we're all difference kinds of crazy, and "normal" is merely the reigning madness. What does that mean for us?
"What kind of person am I? What's my crazy?
"I'm always going to be questioning, looking at the world through an unusual ontological lens. I will always be searching for myself, and my curse is that I will never find myself. And in the spirit of searching, I will always be challenging other people, poking holes in the way they see things, in who they are.
"How do other people see their own existences? Do you think they recognize the crazy, or do they catalogue everything into a mental system to keep themselves comfortable? They've got so much one-size-fits-all slang so they don't have to look too closely at anything; they can just slap a label on it and laugh. And they blink, like Nietzsche's last men. They have no focus.
"What is meaning to them? What is life or identity, or even intelligence? They think with cheap copies of ideas, mistaking them for reality. Nobody questions.
"What place does "crazy" have in this madness?"
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