On the one hand, I'm pretty much always for the weird and towards the weird. It's one of my foremost goals. On the other, I can see how lifeless weird can exist, but I don't think weirdless life can.

And there's a tension in the concept. Because to appreciate weirdness you need to recognise it as such. But there's no objective point of view from which you can do so! So this gets parochial sometimes. I've tried appreciating the weirdness of familiar things, but I'm not sure if it's a solution.

But if there isn't a meaning to 'normal', there's still a meaning to 'narrow'. And there's still a meaning to escaping it.

I like the process of getting used to something, but not the result; because the something becomes familiar and so much less strange. When you live in one place for a while, you have to squeeze strangeness out of wherever you find it. (Walk different paths, do different things, meet people if you can.)

And read/write about weird worlds, as a sort of exercise. But that's an imperfect substitute, isn't it?

Maybe not always, though.