Uncanny Feeling of Un-homely-ness in this Weird World of Ours (Original Artwork)

I am holding a glass of whisky, looking at the sunset and thinking by myself how strange everything is. How did I get here, at this moment, drinking my drink, looking at some foreign light in the sky moving down? I have no idea. I made a pact with myself, to drink a glass of whisky every day at the end of the day to celebrate another day lived and that I survived. The question still stays in my head: how the hell did we get here? The more complex question is rather: how the hell did we happen at all? But that is a bit too deep. The question is still there: how did we get here? We cured the incurable, we made talking machines, we uploaded the most comprehensive encyclopaedia that would fill countless libraries onto the internet, we mastered some yeast and bacteria to make the most expensive drink thinkable. How did we get here?

I sip my drink and look at the artwork I created with the burnt piece of wood, or charcoal. I do not know how I made it, I do not know what got into me to draw this picture. It is not the best, but it looks like a person. Plato in his work The Republic said that poets and artists should be banned from his republic because they try to mimic reality, making one believe in something that is not there, creating an imperfect illusion that will lead you astray. My imperfect creation, mimicking reality in a crude and dark way, did not lead me to think it is better than reality, but it made me think that life is so weird. If you sit and think about life in general, you would come to realize your own weirdness or uncanniness in life, but it remains. How did we come to this place? How did we come to this place and be what we are? Will we ever leave this uncanny feeling and feel at home in this weird world? I may be a bit drunk, thinking about this for too long, but this question does not want to go away. I will probably never feel at home in this world.