I get this idea that movement is no good for me, and I would love to just stay still as possible. There is no way for sweat to break through my impermeable skin. I would rather waste than build. I don’t want to breathe all that deeply. It is sheer laziness I am after and about, and the basest of my desires, sloth. Slow moving, nocturnal, pale skin and shiny eyes – all the traits of a night creature.
I love zoos where all the nocturnal animals are kept artificially awake in insular caves with mood lighting. Odd foxes with giant ears and small eyes gaze back at me through the glass as if to say “what are you doing on that side?” I recognize them like I recognize the night in me, vast and familiar. They stay still but I am even stiller, placid as a lake, but ready to run or pounce – whatever the scene dictates.
Fortunately I don’t have to hunt for my food, or I’d perish from starvation by lack of trying. The growling of my stomach doesnt move me. I’d be content with hibernating in the high summer. How incredible to just do nothing ever, but this for me is impossible, i just have too many jobs and perhaps the impossibility of it makes it all the more appealing.
Perhaps if for whatever reason, I couldn’t move, then I would dream all day of running around. As it is now, all i do is run and run and go and go – so my passion for inactivity is merely a just a nod to what i am unable to do.