What part of transparency doesn't power get? In Iran, the digital revolution continues, and it is - for now - more heartening than dispiriting - to see bravery, allied to new technology, attempt to express the natural human wish to have a say, and to be counted. Meanwhile, as Obama swats flies and millions cheer (a new form of charisma), that unkempt and awkward man, Brown, holds on to his plans for a secret inquiry, to learn more lessons. If, as reported today, both Butler and Hutton - even those whitewashwers of yore - consider the need for some sort of open exploration of how Britain came to go to war - then how much longer can the PM hold out?
A poem for my mother, July 15 When she was dying And I was in a different country I dreamt I was there with her Flying over the ocean very quickly, And arriving in the room like a dream And I was a dream, but the meaning was more Than a dream has – it was a moving over time And land, over water, to get love across Fast enough, to be there, before she died, To lean over the small, huddled figure, In the dark, and without bothering her Even with apologies, and be a kiss in the air, A dream of a kiss, or even less, the thought of one, And when I woke, none of this had happened, She was still far distant, and we had not spoken.
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