Berkeley, Saturday
Feeling vaguely disillusioned, but about what I can't quite say. Perhaps it's merely this time of the night, when my throat turns dry and my head feels light. Anyhow.Go Tournament
I felt only the utmost respect for those dedicated people, sitting in a basement for several hours just to play this challenging game. Yoshi and Alexa(is? I didn't quite catch it) were terribly friendly. Was distinctly an outsider to their black and white world, and I was envious. Pined for belonging, for a seat in their fascinating strategems, but I did not want to play the game so much as I wanted to be a part of something again. With that comprehension of my misplaced motives, I knew I would not act, will not act, but merely accept the disheartening position of spectator with a laugh and a new library card.
Berkeley
Here again, distinctly separated. As if happily sifting flour only to discover you aren't sifting flour at all but corn meal instead and none of it will fall through the holes and some of it falls partway through and you can't use the sifter at all anymore. In the summer, when I was taking classes, I seemed to be a part of the vibrant college culture. The group of students swing dancing in front of the bear cafe, the shouts from a larger group in the distance. A student holding a sign, Democrats for Democracy. Gray-haired lady getting signatures for some petition or another, keenly interested until she discovers you're not 18.
The homeless
Instant labeling system. Annoying, but harmless. Looks pitiful, any spare change? Deranged--avoid cane. And so on and so forth.
I don't mean to be heartless.
