I set us all to setting our hearts on Julian's release last night, resolving to get in bed with the determination to dream of this, even, and then got in bed and picked up a magazine to combat the alertness trying to poke through my drowsiness. I was reading some blather about the relative merits of a couple of maverick Muslim scholars when I dropped into dreamland and kept being annoyed by the vision of some Muslim official somewhere lying very charmingly to some parliament or other. He was kind of handsome. He was doing an Obama. I kept being so angry about it that it would wake me back up, pissed off, and then I'd sink right back into it. I don't think it was a dream. I think it's happened or is happening or will happen and I was seeing it, but so unwilling that this is all I can say about it.
So I got up this "morning" chuffed and puffed and cranky as anything over not having gotten to the part where I invoked the good dream for Assange... but... after thinking about it a while, I'm now much more pissed off even that I was so obtuse about noting the precise specs of this Muslim politician I saw.
Never mind. JULIAN. We must concentrate on this ending tomorrow. We must concentrate on freeing a truthteller.