6.19.2025

You have this brilliant idea to stop running. You stop running. Turns out the word-strewn floor is churning like a treadmill and you fall over quickly, your cheek indented by a capital M and your limbs threaded throughout a sentence of excessive length. Up there the other You is receding. It's hard to know if this means they're winning or if you're losing or if there's any consequence to any of this at all. Whatever the case you retreat from the horizon and the noise from off to your right is at least as loud as it was and all of this has your instincts keyed up in flight mode and you wobble to a standing position and rest your weight against the word 'through' - the letters are bigger now. It's like everything's designed to increase your sense of urgency. You resume the chase and up there your double is a diminished speck, no, more like a spastic asterisk shifting shape and orientation but seemingly still in the same place. You're finding your stride, I can do this, you say to yourself (but not Yourself) and you're on the verge of establishing a rhythm and then you make the mistake of looking down and trying to read the text.