Where am I going? I'm going
out, out for a walk. I don't
know where except outside.
Outside argument, out beyond
wallpapered walls, outside
wherever it is where nobody
ever imagines. Beyond where
computers circumvent emotion,
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfFeHUin7KwzvmcsjuxYFx67Ig6WjdBEwYunHTzsbmY6IVaCqtAPUWlf1nOj9lVkNd6QtpQDj8cvDyv6Zao0q9u_TCSxQVrmWL0oxtV5BLD3rfGQoKz1844UoW3gc8U50dT6NyU_1dV8M/s200/work.7206369.1.flat,550x550,075,f.jpg)
for rivets for airframes on
today's flights. I'm taking off
on my own two feet. I'm going
to clear my head, to watch
mares'-tails instead of TV,
to listen to trees and silence,
to see if I can still breathe.
I'm going to be alone with
myself, to feel how it feels
to embrace what my feet
tell my head, what wind says
in my good ear. I mean to let
myself be embraced, to let go
feeling so centripetally old.
Do I know where I'm going?
I don't. How long or far
I have no idea. No map. I
said I was going to take
a walk. When I'll be back
I'm not going to say.
Image credit: "Going Home," painting by Becx (originally color).
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