Something has broken; I can't see humans as human anymore. I don't know if people who haven't experience this will even know what I'm talking about. There's some essential... recognition... that underlays typical human-to-human perception. It's as though everybody's sending signals to each other on a common frequency range, which everybody is tuned into. Sometimes we realise that humans might seem very different to an intelligence which didn't percieve things in those terms-- but that realisation is abstract or mild. This isn't abstract; it's violent. I can't see human beings anymore. The ability has broken. All I can see are these monstrous creatures... these horrific spawn of strife, moralising sensation-- imposing order upon sensation-- in patterns determined by their own unadmitted fundamental nature. I can't tune in. I can't take what people say how it's meant-- humanly, that is. Walking through London has become infinitely more horrifying than any of the childish fantasies of Lovecraft or Blackwood. The horror isn't far away or imagined, or behind appearance; it's there, and I can't escape from it. The fragile raft of humanness has disintegrated, and what I see now are... these disgusting, lumbering complexes of flesh, arranged into alien shapes and utterly blind to their own hideousness. I am drowning in the sea that that fragile raft keeps the human atop of; a sea of perception where humans are other, and where the human doesn't exist. I can't go atop again. And what we look like from everywhere but our little raft is... just horrific. I'm not really trying to evoke a specific reaction with this post. I know that this could be seen as Lovecraftian in that way, but it isn't. I'm just... horrified. I can't engage with human systems as a human any more, and humans are more monstrous observed from the outside than any of their imagined monsters are when viewed from the inside-- when viewed humanly.