THERE ARE, I said, three registers of memory:  the memory of witness, the memory of spectacle, and the memory of the silent nothing.  The last belongs to the places themselves.  And there is, I said, also a fourth:  these three linked together, because it is not, I said, that they need to be held apart.  And you answered:  home—your truer problem—is precisely the place not given to you to live.  Rather it is given, you said, as a force of love sheltered in your apartness, the finding impulse in your ownmost golus.
San Francisco / 2023-2024