This mad rushing motion of people cars and commerce
Leaving one nowhere to stand to take stock of the past . . .
One cannot snap a photo of modern life
From atop a moving train—
The picture turns blurry from streaking lines
Of accelerating haste and decelerating waste
Streaking lines of hustle and bustle of the city
The urban land that never sleeps—
We do not know where we are going
Because we can no longer see where
We’ve been—all is moving too fast
All is motion without start or finish . . . .
We go ever faster because we must,
Like a runner who cannot stop running
All is moving, day and night, until nothing
Remains of the old world intelligible to man
All is confusion and commotion,
All is motion . . . and motion is all!
