I can see the world, and it’s not what it seems. Everything I’ve ever known, and every person—it’s all just a skin over something infinitely bigger and more important. It’s not an illusion. It’s all real. It’s just that you only see the smallest possible part of it, from the wrong angle, and draw all sorts of wrong conclusions. They say that I’m potentially very dangerous because of that perception. I could hurt someone. (I couldn’t, really: that never really happens because the world is not what it seems. That’s the sort of thing I say that makes them unhappy.)