nothing to see here

large phantoms run amok with me, created by people who i don't see. i can feel the shadows they cast in gray but for these invisible creators, the shadows blink in unbalanced technicolor. what do you do when people cast their own greenish tint on your idiosyncrisity? a yellow pallor to your frank words? as long as I feel it in gray i'm ok. but when the color seeps in, i'm down, i'm tired, i'm dissapointed or dissapointing, thats when my super-imposed ghosts get to me. the illustrators hide their faces from me. but i recognize them from the chains around their necks that bind them together, as far as the eye can see. a sea of people who don't want to get off the boat so we can tump it and let fresh air in before we drown in hypercritical homogeny. well clearly i'm rockin it, and you're goin over one way or another just for being in the same boat as i, your bad luck, and for that i am given phantoms and finger points for breakfast lunch and dinner. listen and i'll play it straight. dive in and you won't have to be pushed. why am i the bad guy?