Come To The Fore
Saturday. Up with the alarm. A little slow, but we got to sleep at a decent hour, no obvious distractions welling up after our evening. To breakfast and back, running maybe fifteen minutes later than I like, but there's no Times today, so the reading was cut quite a bit shorter. It's a little brisk, but the sun is out and there may well be an interesting weekend ahead. A demonstration of some kind today at City Hall, the Veterans Day Parade in downtown San Francisco tomorrow.
Later. A bus downtown, thinking I'd get some coffee, maybe get something to eat to kill the time before noon, when the Alan Blueford protest march was due to form up at 14th and Broadway, Alan Blueford an African American teenager who was shot in the back and killed by the police in May, another in what seems a never ending line of young black men killed by the police here in Oakland for what, hearing it described appears to have had no valid reason. You never really know, but after enough of these you begin to suspect.
And so downtown, having coffee out in front of the bagel shop and then walking over to the Asian Cultural Center to sit out on one of the benches and stare at the fountain (currently undergoing repair) while eating an ice cream cone (two scoops). Good.
A walk then back to 14th & Broadway at eleven-thirty to see if people were beginning to form up, see if there was going to be a decent crowd. It was billed as a march, although I haven't gone along on the marches in the past, as I'm generally tired enough after walking around shooting photographs well before they set out. Today's turnout was pretty good, a couple of hundred plus people (no, I didn't count) and I took my share of photographs, enough for two sections on both artandlife and HereInOakland by tomorrow.
Right now, having downloaded and glanced through the photos, I'm thinking of heading over to the morning café for lunch, something more than that ice cream earlier (in a waffle cone).
Later still. An afternoon working on the pictures. An odd sense of elation as I was working. A sign, perhaps, this chapter in my life has legs and it still has some time yet to develop and evolve before it's done.
Evening. A good afternoon, a Beck at six I haven't seen before. Totally off the wall, of course, but it worked in spite of it. I come from an off the wall side of my generation and off the wall works for me when it's done right. I'd say. Half lit. Feeling good. The light and the life bright, if only in the glow of an artificial light. Tonight.
I take it you've gotten into the remaining three bottles of sake?
I've gone through over sixty photographs that seemed worth the processing. Three sections if they're consistently good. Which they aren't. So we'll settle for two and come up with three if the mood is right, if the moon is bright or if we fudge our aesthetic sensibilities and say “fuck it”. Well, who knows, we have indeed gotten into the last half of that sake sitting in the kitchen in the last couple of hours, you never know what rationalizations may come to the fore.
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