I couldn’t get myself to write lately. I was swamped with work and, frankly, I was too angry to trust myself to write anything but bitter rants. It is time for one such now, it seems. For the British Government seems to think that they can simply circumvent human rights standards by means of emergency legislation. In April the CJEU declared the Data Retention Directive to be invalid (PDF). Not on technicalities, but because they saw human rights violated.

It is one of the exquisite contradictions of our society, that we tend to allow conditions to persist in one quarter which we would not tolerate in another. The latest example of this curious tendency is found in a post in the ‚Schools‘ section of the Guardian’s online service. Conal Urquhart informs us very matter-of-factly about a program, used at 1,400 British schools, that monitors for ‚problematic online behaviour‘. At the heart of the software is a dictionary „[…] which deals with sexting, suicide, grooming, self-harm, adult content, eating disorders, bullying and trolling, racism and homophobia“.

Don’t feed the trolls. So I am writing this against my better judgement, really. But I just realised that Councillor David Silvester may have a point! When I think back to the day I first kissed another girl: Well, it did feel like stars colliding. What if they did? Did entire solar systems blink out of existence that moment? Are we responsible for that? Did we incur the wrath of …

I need to swot up on my origami, it seems. I never considered myself to be paticularly fond of conspiracy theories – quite the contrary, I have always maintained that one should never explain with conspiracy what can as easily be explained with idiocy. Which makes it all the more frustrating to be accused of ‚wearing the tin foil hat‘ in discussions about the NSA/GCHQ (et al.) surveillance scandal. What I find almost as irritating as the fact of the ubiquitous breach of my privacy is the reaction of an alarmingly large number of my fellow citizens:

September 11th has changed the world. The memory of the horror of the attacks in the very heart of the US is branded on humanity’s minds. Most of us will never forget what we witnessed (and television made us all into witnesses), where we were, what we did when it happened. If we take a moment we may feel that even now, almost twelve years later, our thoughts, our hearts, and if we be religious, our prayers go out to those lost, and those bereaved.

you read my letters and you always know who called and when; your eyes – a thousand thousands – for ever on me – follow my every step ‚to keep me safe‘ – you say – ’safe from the bad men‘ – i know them not and thus i never feared them much but your fear i can smell – it leaves a bitter taste who will keep me safe –

screaming to consciousness re-born, but nor refreshed – end another night – endless, yet it slipped away – granting it’s gift only in leaving; too little balm on too many wounds rising to face the day-time monsters i see myself give a smile to the face in the mirror – grey and hollow, dust on it’s lips – first smile it had in weeks calm now, ignoring the leaden weight on everything

Let not the threat of autumn wind Darken our summer merriment But drink ye deep when t‘ cups are fill’d And lament not the drops ye spill’d: What’s done the Gods can’t take from ye. Cometh the day that I must leave Do not give way to senseless grief Nor what we missed should ye regret But linger on the days we had – Remember love, remember me.

I behold! here comes the dark lady – my dark mistress: her hair ruffled by the cold wind of winter flying about her face tears of blood run down her cheeks – red rivulets on moon-pale skin. she lures me to her realm of night – i follow her all thoughts extinguished. her caress – as cold as the wind – it chills me chills me to the bone. her kiss stirs

wheels rattling, scrunching hissing – iron snake bears me away sleek dragon – screeching skitt’ring wyrm to take me -where? – my soul lagging – trailing behind: a kite pulled by a running child soars – climbing the resistance – ever higher with celerity my soul has not the serpents speed – inert – or more than that for – loath to part – and so will tarry where the other flies.