...
I am very tired of caring about Julian Assange. They've made him just about jump the shark. They've turned everything both too lethal and too self-conscious. They've given me a bad headache.
I know a lot of people have posited that he is some kind of plant, working for the cabal, even if only in useful idiot capacity, but I think that is wrong. I recognized him when I read his old blog. He said things way too deeply true, and entirely too rare, to ever be that kind of venal or deluded.
I kind of half-expected him to be forced, now, to be useful to them to take some of the heat off. I don't know if he's done that. Because they've made my head start aching every time I try to look at the bits of evidence that might be floating around out there.
I'm a failure at solidarity with the material too. This should be my thing. I am stupendously talented at warehouses brimming with documents and finding the one scrap with the explosive bit... the one that vaporizes opposition.
But I'm also the one who has been screaming about the shit media for decades, and about fascism, for decades. And the rest of the world is coming to it, vaguely, only now, as they're being finger-fucked at airports.
Now, we all know that I am not the portrait of clarity a great deal of the time, but my bona fides on some of these concepts are impeccable, and when I cave-in to any urges to self-pity a litany of things I have been clear about and the world ignores comes tumbling out of my cosmos in the form of precisely labeled tears.
The clanking of mind forged manacles makes it even harder to concentrate on clarity... and, anyway, people generally love it when I leave off ordered lexicality and float out into lyrical abstractions. They're dumb, but not completely deaf... and this brings me right back to the crystalline point about Assange. He has not been a fraud.
I know he's got to be even more exhausted by this than I am. I keep having this fantasy that Vladimir Putin will be fed up, fly to London, snatch Julian by the collar and drag him back to Russia. He could catch a flight to Quito from Moscow. Or maybe just hang in Moscow till I can get there.
We could put our heads together. We could get back on the real timeline if we put our minds to it.
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