lost in translation

i wonder if i'm crazy.  or if anything is put under such close scrutiny, inconsistensies must appear.  but what's the divide between normal crazy and really cracked?  when do you determine that "this is no longer brilliance, but sheer desparate insanity"?  was it ever brilliance?

is it possible that all my words are borrowed from people who used them far better than i ever could?  sometimes i listen to my words and they sound so clever, but once released on the flat cold screen, devoid of my inflections, they become cold and flat and obvious attempts at gaining aclaim for the way that they lilt.  or not.

if i listen to the same song over and over, can i make it my history?  can i change my memories, active as they are, to fit the molds created by someone else's life?  i have dreams that are so real, it's impossible that anyone else's are this vivid, this full of a life just out of my reach.  i sleep fitfully, tossing, turning, caught in a world in my head that fascinates me so thoroughly that to wake up is like watching your TV go to grayscale.  i can't fall into sleep, and i can't wake out of it, and i don't know that i want to.

in my head i set the rules, i create the realities.  i'm a ninja.  i ride a motorcycle.  i drink poison.  i save lives.  i'm rescued from evil forces.  i know every language.  i dance so freely that the whole world joins in my beat, and everywhere, there are fires burning brightly, and shadows leaping in unison as we lift and drop our legs together, clapping, shaking our heads, loving this life.  the air is full of color from the sound, and you can see the noted, the vibrations, echo out and wrap us up, and fly out into the night to be shared the world over.

in my head life is a thing of beauty and i am a videogame.

  i hate morning