A conference in San Francisco has concluded and I am directly thanking and saying goodbye to the folks of the Jean Gebser Society. I next find myself on the street in running clothes—running, running, running through intensely urban areas.

At times I am in serious danger from the traffic and the routes I am taking. I am running through sketchy neighborhoods and industrial zones with hazards. In one scene, I have placed myself on a rusty steel beam that forms the top edge of a containing pool of obviously very toxic liquid. I am able to reach up and hold onto some hanging material, like a stage scrim, but it is a dicey choice I have made. Sensing myself in the middle of my journey, it seems as plausible to proceed as to reverse course, and so I move along.

Running running running—in and out, uphill and downhill—with a vague sense of the neighbourhoods. But I am losing orientation and am no longer sure where I am. Further, and more troubling, I do not know where I am going. And I don’t know where I left the car, or where I am staying. I have no clue as to what to do. I have no cellphone with me and even if there were someone to ask, I don’t know how to ask for directions for a place I don’t know where.

The city is a teeming buzzing confusion of configurations and possibilities and this dreaming continues without relief.