In a private world of motion and speed the only sounds are the wind and the engine. While the body is nicely locked away. Encapsulated. Insulated from the world at rest. The well meaning intrusions. Thoughts can roll in time with the wheels. There is a sense of safety while in motion. Untouchable to the world. The world at rest. The world at large. Motion acts as a cushion, softening the blow of a harsh reality. A blow meant to convince and conform. To play nice with, and by the rules of, others. You can be an artist while in motion. With no one to stop or interrupt you in their curious need. Disrupting the thought-train. Also in motion. Always in motion. Prying the wedge of society's influence between yourself and your thoughts. Prying you further and further from your epiphany. Halting the thought-train. Keeping it from it's destination and haphazard schedule. Each word spoken another mile. Holding the passengers hostage. Keeping the passengers waiting. And so they wait. Some patiently, others depart at the first sign of delay. Never to be seen again. Thoughts whispered are the first to go. Wisps of revelation disappearing like smoke. Wisdom sent packing. When stopped there is a feeling of being put at risk. Exposed as you are and conspicuous. Vulnerable to conversation. An object of suspicion. Investigated by the neighborhood watch. There on the side of the road. Thinking your thoughts. Making your paintings in your mind.
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