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Where is going away, anyway?
It’s worth thinking about, thinking about whether thinking is itself an inevitable departure from some here, some now which can be gone away from. Who’s to say, when to say it? This is taking me away as I move through these words. Away from an occluded San Francisco January afternoon, in the likely later years of what may manage to be a long life. Away to the two-story brick high school building on Cottage Street, to the early 1960’s? Or might that be coming home, and not going away at all? Coming there, going there, because that’s where they tantalized us with theories of Browninan Movement, or something like that, which were supposed to awaken awareness that it all depends on the position of the observer. Which was me then and there, and is now me here and now.
Who is going away, anyway?

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