"Love, it seems, is not without a sense of strategy"

Sometimes I feel like something is gone here
Something is wrong here, I don't belong here
- Matthew Shafer, "In a Little While" (2002)
How does one belong?
In a world where identity is composed of name, face, and voice. How does a disfigured face belong? How do funny names chosen by imbecile parents belong? How do squeaky and whispering voices of inadequate larynxes belong?
In a world where speech holds power; even in democracies where dialogue and discussion is the basis of participation, how can a stammerer belong?
In a world where contacts are imperative, where nothing is accomplished alone and every task demands a network of influential and/or resourceful contacts, how does a loner belong?
In a world where knowledge is socially constructed, how does solitude belong?
In a world, where living necessitates buying and selling within transactional systems that invariably interconnects everyone - both the opportunists and simpletons - into a joint system of trade, wherein offenders easily transfuse themselves into the social milieu with such seamlessness that processes to flush out the guilty cannot be implemented without unduly troubling the innocent, how do the law-abiding self-respecting clean citizens belong?
In a world where courage is the basis of respect, how do the cowardly belong?
In a world where eating and breathing necessarily deal with violence of some kind upon some form of life, how do the perfectly non-violent belong?
In a world where Truth can never be unarguably verified, how does knowledge belong?

In a world of creations, how does the Creator belong? Thus, in that world bereft of the Creator, how do the creations belong?
In a world filled with imperfect bodies, how does the perfectionist mind belong?