Bodies in Motion

Never slow down, never stop moving, you can't afford to. Motion is life, it keeps you busy, an end unto itself, forever keeping you in the here and now and away from the then and there. Running in quicksand, the miles pile up but you don't actually go anywhere, but that isn't what's important. Where you are isn't nearly as important as staying away from where you've been.

Running from the fire, but always seeming to wind up running towards it in a constant march to oblivion. Questionable deeds, broken promises and broken lives, just how many people can you disappoint, not counting yourself? Perpetual motion is better than perpetual reflection, searching for a meaning that always lies just beyond your grasp because, in truth, there is no meaning.

A rat in a cage, scurrying after that piece of cheese, racing blindly onwards from the choices you made that led to everything going so wrong. If you only run a little faster, maybe things will get better. Or they won't, but at least if you're moving you won't have to face what's behind you, that dark place where all your secrets dwell, that place you try to close off with the warning "Here be Monsters."

Don't stop, don't sleep, for that is the bad time, the dream time, the time when your hopes and fears, your secrets and your memories, haunt you, stalk you like some beast in the jungle of your past. They flash through your mind like an old newsreel, sepia-toned and jittery, moments lost in time and place, a stop-motion catalogue of your failures and betrayals.

Keep moving, cage those beasts, if you put enough distance between yourself and them then maybe you can actually believe that your whole life hasn't been a lie. Always running yet never far enough away, the monster is always just at your heels, whispering your own mortality into your ear, the darkness waiting to claim you, consume you, and all you can do is run.