Bulletin No. 7

Day 3, 10:20 pm

Head count: 5, plus many more at a meeting elswhere. The walls have ears.

People downstairs (Steve Kanner has arrived) are playing Tibetan music, which is cool in theory but is actually annoying me, so I’ve come up to the Geography Department lounge to write. I want to go over to Weeg to check e-mail and send some of this shit out, but someone needs to stay here to hold down the fort.

I don’t really know what’s going on.

What’s going on. I think someone brought a Marvin Gaye tape. How odd.

All that energy that I had last night, all that sense of world-conquering power–I wish I knew where it went. Am I just exhausted? I don’t know. Am I too principled to belong to any movement? That would be troubling indeed.

I’m fascinated by the concept of movement, of a movement. Is a movement necessarily all the same time in a single direction? Or is it the way Sam Turner always described the New Bad Things–a whole group of people singing the same song, but all with a different idea of how it should be, and all singing it simultaneously–a tower of Babel sort of thing. Being moved by the spirit and all that.

I think maybe I am just tired–which would make sense, what with my whole 2 hours of sleep last night.

I can’t decide what to do.

I think I’ll call my mom.

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