This train is moving! Our wake reveals footsteps – even missteps – that prove progress, and former selves that occupy vanishing points. Exponential acceleration keeps this train moving. But to the chagrin of post-war housewives with 199X daydreams of automaton butlers, we routinely exceed the prophecies of Roddenberry. Senses have limits, so this anabasis has a dampening effect. Like the presentist view of Elvis' gyrating hips - a twelve second first flight induces snickers and rolled eyes. “Race – gain safety. Race – gain pleasure. Race – gain comfort. Race – gain meaning.” Such is the anthem of our insatiable throngs, as we trample one another, chasing carrots on sticks. Free from breadline hunger pangs, we queue for the predawn black-Friday gorge. I have overtaken the fail-safe, my heels dig holes, I must let go. I – a noble non-contributor, but that beast keeps moving