When I grow up, I want to be Julian Assange.
On and off, I experience a strong desire to go out, throw off the shackles of oppression and join the Glorious Revolution – which is a problem, given that (a) I’m a white, well-off, middle class Australian with very few shackles, comparatively speaking, and (b) there’s no revolution – at least, not in the sense my psyche tends to mean, and even if there were, the full reality of it would probably snap me like a carrot stick. But the concept of Wikileaks is just so wonderfully, powerfully, beautifully subversive – in the best possible sense – that it makes me want to sing.
There is a revolution, after all. And damned if I’m not glad to hear it.