The Conveyor

"Sometimes I go about in pity for myself, and all the while a great wind carries me across the sky" Ojibwe saying

I have a conveyor moving beneath me that carries my body into the next successive temporal increment whether I am ready to enter it or not. Oftentimes I go kicking and screaming, while on other occasions I leap ahead of the unaltering momentum like some hyperactive child attempting to outrun his mother on a department store's escalator. All I know is that the goddam thing never stops. Even when I'm asleep its motor hums and it tight belt carries me into the wee hours of the new morning when I get up, pee, and then return to the unconsciousness that seems to allow it to run a tad smoother -- because I'm not jumping up and down on the belt when I'm asleep, or attempting to outrun the fucking thing flailing to offend the very nature of time by attempting to edit the previous day's errors. I have a conveyor beneath me that runs without having quarters dropped into its belly. I can exit to be sure. But only once. And, thankfully, re-entry is not an option.