Someone brilliant suggests Nostalgia is fetishised memory, I wonder if Departure is fetishised leaving. If memory can be fluffed and buffed into a strong and unusual desire for another time perhaps the plain act of leaving, once powdered and oiled, is sexily repurposed as Departure. As wistful reminiscence exposes the temporal dissatisfaction of the nostalgic, just to GO reveals the dirty not-so-secret of the hardcore rover: an unhealthy longing simply to be Not Here. Where the kitsch, the antique, the retro have been lovingly embraced, this fetish must disguise itself in a pert rubber suit of Destination. But don’t be fooled by our maps or the promise of exotic souvenirs, we just don’t want to be here wherever we are. Shaped by desire, breathlessly, frantically caught again and again in the very moment of disappearance, we ourselves slowly fade. I’ve vanished so often from so many places and lives, with the morning light behind me now I’m gauzy, almost translucent, not all (t)here. My fetish is casually rubbing me out and it hurts so good I won’t stop. When the inevitable Ultimate Departure erases me proper, memory, who knows, even Nostalgia, will keep me everywhere and nowhere, sated at last.
sent 13th September 2015