.in the night

And so, here I am to tell this frantic tale of despair and dismay of my lost identity. Who am I?! The screams echoes through the night without a reliable answer for the mirror is tainted with madness. Who could I be then if I think myself from another me? Is there a honest point of view from within that could expose the truth from my guts?!

Others may guess I could ask for a second opinion and lend my destiny to a helping hand by seeing my reflection through the eyes of another. Too risky 'cause no other than me can hear the voices, no other than me can feel my delirium. For the very same madness that fogs the reality of me is me.

There's no way out and automatically no way in. As one said long ago, we're all separated by abysses and our only enjoyment capable of minimally suppress the anguish of loneliness is to stare it together. And so, here I am to share this pathetic thoughts poorly written in that I dare to call my second language.

It is said, I read something about it in an article, we change our personality by using another language. So I deccided to give it a try. Apparently works better on people that besides learning another language immerse in that other culture (immigrants) or simply people who live bi-culturally from the cradle receiving multiple language stimulus from their parents. It's not my case, you can obviously see by my poor phrasing. But seems to works for me as well.

So what did a discover from myself? My English statements puts me as teenager very in to progressive-heavy-melodic metal, I guess. The English triggers this cultural aspects of my personality, my musical identity if I may say. The epic tone is unavoidable and words as such doom, night, mirror and madness echoes consecutively in my head.  

This could lead some to think this exercise just increases the fog creating another mask burying even deep my troubled identify with another charade. But it's not quite like that. From the constant stops looking for the correct form of words and phrases and the role that I assumed (a teenager immersed in epicness), I produce this act, this motion that retrieves me something of me. The shattered identity becomes whole once more.. but only for a second.

After I press send this won't be me any more and the battle for my true form will continues. For the motion of life is restless and truthful truth of our identities won't lay peaceful in this or any other words. Maybe I should keep all this to myself then and live the lie of the constant true, say to the people that I merely learnt something, another successful step in the ladder of self-knowledge.

... when the truth tonight is that I know nothing, and not knowing is true wisdom. From dust to dust, dusk till dawn, we build and rebuild ourselves in the hourglass of time. So the question actually is who am I now? I'm just tired of writing, forget it. English is hard.