Only the strange remains

The desire to fit in is perfectly understandable given how hard life can be and how cruel people can be. 

But we humans actually revere the strange and dismiss the plain. Indeed, down through the ages, the plain stuff goes away. It is only the strange that remains. [cue The Doors music now]

As a testament to this phenomenon, I give you the William Butler Yeats poem "A Crazed Girl".

That crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,
Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling she knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.

No matter what disaster occurred
She stood in desperate music wound,
Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph
Where the bales and the baskets lay
No common intelligible sound
But sang, 'O sea-starved, hungry sea.'

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