Reality is a bit like a science fiction novel to the extent
that as a character in this fiction you often discover that the carpet's been pulled out from
under you. You find yourself wandering through an environment that appears
familiar but is actually radically different. Capgras Syndrome is a
neurological condition where the sufferer is convinced that otherwise familiar
individuals are imposters. On a more collective and less pathological scale you wake up into a new world in which one-time familiar
sensibilities and milestones have suddenly become
anachronisms. It’s as if you've lost your footing. It’s like
those dreams where you're trying to defend yourself and all your blows seem to
fall on air. You're suddenly deprived of the tools, whatever they were, which
enabled you to ply your trade. While these changes often occur in a
gradual evolutionary way, they can materialize overnight seemingly
out of nowhere. Suddenly you're extraneous to the conversation, like
a once powerful politician who’s been voted out of office. Soldiers on the
front lines see their numbers decimated and one of the most basic and
disconcerting evidences of this change of the guard are the empty seats and missing
faces that occur in the places where people congregate, like churches or synagogues, where a seat in the pew occupied for years by the same
individual is suddenly vacated. It’s not just that someone has gone, but a
conversation has ended, leaving a vacuum that has yet to be filled.
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