stop. what the fuck are you doing? hey: look at me. eyes on my eyes. so wistful aren't they? so deep, they are my eyes. look into them. fall asleep in them. liquid pools of belgian fucking chocolate is what they are: look at them. not too much to ask. 90 days of of that Tony what's his bloody name, the pom with the starsky and hutch hair from BP, Hayward… hey you bloody charger: look at me. don't move your eyelids. adrian lamo? don't look at him. don't read about him. don't think of him, the wog bastard. He's not a hacker. adrian lame ass. adrian hack hack. i'm a hacker. i'm a big deal. the biggest of deals. but bradley manning? oh what hacks we could have hacked. knight of my life, fire of my loins. my sin. my soul. brad-ley-man-ning: the touch of the lips, the teeth apart for the trip. Brad. Ley. Man. Ning. he was brad, plain brad, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. he was bradley in his green army slacks. he was bradass82 online, when he fell into lamo's trap. he was specialist manning at work. he was bradley on the bill of sale. but in my arms he was always my dearest bradildo. did he have a precursor? He did, indeed he did. In point of fact, there might have been no bradley manning at all, had i not loved, one summer, a certain initial man-child, harboured such a forbidden schoolboy crush, on one keanu reeves from the silver screen, so delicious he was in Johnny Mnemonic, so tasty, so pure, a turkish delight. and then again there might have been no bradley manning at all were it not for The Matrix. Neo My love. Fucking Wachowski brothers. Destroying the franchise with II and III. Why not make a fourth one and add Jar-Jar-Bloody-Binks, you corporatey fucks, do it for your pathetic wage slave lackeys, do it for chimpy mchitlerburton, do it for palin's retarded child trig. christ a tenth of my talent the wachowski brothers have, that lamo has, the mitnick-worshipping hack, yet all the delicious accolades spilled on him, wasted on themn, spent spent spent on him, but — notice. Me. Notice me. I rail and I roil and I boil and assail…notice me. Notice me. Notice me. You want controversy? I’ll give you controversy, not like some big racist woman down low on the USDA food chain, not like some pictures of dead pelicans in the gulf, not like some pathetic fat American fisherman — no. I’ll do it with leaked diplomatic cables, with my peculiar brand of honesty, love it or hate it, but never ignore it because it’s fucking brilliant, because I’m fucking brilliant, my wikileaks — my art is truth to power. Notice me. CIA. DEA. i am truth. i am power. they all want me. they can't have me. they want me. they can't touch me. pathetic losers. asshole cocksuckers with their brooks brothers suits and nunn bush shoes and van heusen shirts and hanes underwear. give me a break. predator drones. rendition. iceland. trying to force mcdonalds on the mujahedeen. didn't occur to you, did it, that maybe those afghan girls want to run around in burqas all day. you had to force modernity down their throats. as if throwing acid on a little girl's face because she wants to go to school is worse than what Americans do with their collateral murder. oil. pipelines. transparency. beauty. wait. look. at. me. always. i am the eggman. coo coo ka choo.
-- Pig, out
PS: This post was inspired by Goldstein.