Shine like a burning star

I reread an entry. I can tell when I've been analyzing excessively: I'll be writing along, the warm breeze of some invincible summer playing through my hair as I roll on down the literary highway, when suddenly I spot something momentarily shiny in my mind's eye. I stop for a closer look. I pull out an overstrong microscope through which to view the interplay of the subtle sights in the words I am transcribing. I want to understand. I want to make the meaning better. I want to inject coding where it doesn't belong and to help the words engender meaning endlessly (which they do so well on their own, yes; but what good is a bandage if there's nothing to stick it over?). It is there, at that moment of word rape with the microscope, where I lose the greater perspective and get all technical and make up a sentence that is specific and accurate but utterly meaningless and dangerously lame on the whole. Example, "dangerously lame" -- if something's lame, it's not going to pose much danger. Except as the weakest link; there is danger not in doing, but in failing to do.