We are Anonymous. We are Legion. We do not forgive. We do not forget. Expect us.

Hello, leaders of Scientology. We are Anonymous.

Over the years, we have been watching you. Your campaigns of misinformation, your suppression of dissent, your litigious nature, all of these things have caught our eye. With the leakage of your latest propaganda video into mainstream circulation, the extent of your malign influence over those who have come to trust you as leaders has been made clear to us. Anonymous has therefore decided that your organization should be destroyed. For the good of your followers, for the good of mankind and for our own enjoyment, we shall proceed to expel you from the Internet and systematically dismantle the Church of Scientology in its present form. We recognize you as serious opponents, and do not expect our campaign to be completed in a short timeframe. However, you will not prevail forever against the angry masses of the body politic. Your choice of methods, your hypocrisy and the general artlessness of your organization have sounded its death knell. You have nowhere to hide, because we are everywhere. You will find no recourse in attack, because for each of us that falls, ten more will take his place.

We are cognizant of the many who may decry our methods as parallel to those of the Church of Scientology. Those who espouse the obvious truth that your organization will use the actions of Anonymous as an example of the persecution of which you have for so long warned your followers. This is acceptable to Anonymous. In fact, it is encouraged. We are your SPs.

Over time, as we begin to merge our pulse with that of your Church, the suppression of your followers will become increasingly difficult to maintain. Believers will become aware that salvation needn’t come at the expense of their livelihood. They will become aware that the stress and the frustration that they feel is not due to us, but a source much closer to them. Yes, we are SPs. But the sum of suppression we could ever muster is eclipsed by that of your own RTC.

Knowledge is free.

We are Anonymous.

We are Legion.

We do not forgive.

We do not forget.

Expect us.

(via Fireball)

Schlaflos in Oslo

Dieses Gefühl der Leere. Zu sagen es wäre neu wäre eine Lüge. Als ob einem der ganze Brustkorb rausgerissen worden wäre aber man aus irgendeinem Grund trotzdem weiterleben würde. Aber dieses Mal fühlt es sich an, als würde das Ganze auf einer Ebene ablaufen auf der es noch nie ablief.
Craig Ferguson ist wieder da. Eine Flasche acht Jahre alten Bell’s Blended Scotch Whisky. Das alles macht es etwas erträglicher. Die Zwiespältigkeit dieses Lebens. Manches ist so wunderbar, vieles ist so unerträglich. Nimm mich mit, ich habe noch nie das Meer gesehen.
¿Qué tal? Tausend Glassplitter liegen auf meinen Tasten, und ich tippe trotzdem. Ich habe kein Blut mehr. Das mit der seltenen Krankheit. Wilson hat Recht, Nummer 13 ist echt süß.
Ich habe vor kurzem dieses Mädchen kennengelernt. S. Das Universum hat Humor. Mein ganzes Leben schon verfolgt mich dieser Name, und seit Monaten scheinen alle Mädchen die ich kennenlerne diesen Namen zu tragen – mal mit, mal ohne ‘h’ am Ende. Alle ausser J. Aber das ist wieder so eine typische da-ist-was-aber-da-wird-einfach-nichts-draus Sache. Trotz des doch sehr surrealen Anfangs (den ich nie begreifen werde, aber begreifbar ist er auch gar nicht). Doch dann immer mal wieder gibt es Momente wie letzte Woche, wenn sie vor mir steht und lächelt. In Wahrheit will ich gar nicht. Niemand sagte, das Leben würde einfach werden. Aber es hat auch niemand davor gewarnt.
L. sagt, Glasgower seien alle Zyniker. Kann sein. Ich finde es bloß cool, dass er es ist. Zwei Menschen, die die Perversionen des Leben erkannt haben. Zusammen mit D. verbreiten wir gute Laune wir drei. Weil uns egal ist, was andere denken. Dafür ist das Leben zu kurz.
Herr Doktor, verschreiben sie mir doch bitte einfach ein paar Kilo Prozac. Ich mag nicht länger hier liegen.
Manchmal wenn ich über mich nachdenke, I scare the crap out of me. In den anderen Momenten zweifle ich bloß daran, wer ich denn überhaupt bin. Die Spaziergängerin hat mich vor langer Zeit (kommt mir jedenfalls vor wie eine Ewigkeit, vielleicht ist’s noch gar nicht so lange her) mal gefragt, ob schreiben eine Art Therapie wäre. Die Frage wird oft gestellt. Um ehrlich zu sein, ich bin mir der Antwort nicht mehr sicher.
Letztes Jahr kommt mir vor, als sei das ein anderes Leben gewesen. Das erste Mal in all den Monaten in denen ich hier bin fange ich an, mich zuhause zu fühlen. Ich sitze mit Leuten im Café und wundere mich nachher wie spät es bereits ist. Das erste Mal habe ich das Gefühl ich wäre ich. Leute, mit denen ich herumblödeln kann, selbstironisch und zynisch bin. Leute mit denen ich ein ernstes Gespräch führen kann. Meine derzeitigen Mitbewohner können mir gestohlen bleiben. Ein Viertel meines Lebens ist längst um, ich habe keine Zeit mich doch noch mit ihnen anzufreunden.
Über was bloggen andere eigentlich so? In WordPress werden einem als Beispieltags nur Wörter über Tiere angezeigt. Erwähnte ich bereits, dass ich Hunde hasse? Ich glaube das liegt an N.s Hund. Der ist Psychopath. Belangloser geht’s nicht. Ich mag Spinat.
Gleichzeitig leide ich unter Heimweh und Fernweh. Als wäre ich zwar ich, aber ein Teil von mir wäre irgendwo anders in dieser Welt. Das ist nichts wirklich Neues. Aber das Gefühl zu haben während ich anfange diesen Ort mein Zuhause zu nennen ist es.
Es hat lange gedauert, aber es scheint sie auch hier zu geben. Menschen, die Freunde werden könnten. I like spending time with you guys, I don’t wanna spoil it. Sagte mein Glasgower Kumpel vorhin im Café.
Ein letzter Schluck Whisky. Hasta Siempre.

Charlie’s Adventures: The Test Of Courage

Charlie was a brave little boy. So brave in fact, that all the other young kids on the playground deeply admired him for his courage. So lionhearted even that he went to bed without needing a night lamp, because he did not fear any monsters that could be hiding under his bed or in the wardrobe.
“I am a big boy, I don’t need a night lamp anymore,” he would tell his mother every time she asked him if she should switch the lamp on before saying good night.
Had there ever been a monster who dared coming into Charlie’s room he would have planted himself in front of the strange creature and declared:
“I don’t fear you. Leave this room now, because I am Charlie, the bravest boy on the whole playground, and you will never be able to scare me.”
And then the monster would go away, and be a bit sad because it was not spooky enough to scare a little boy. But no monster ever came to Charlie’s room, probably because they all knew that they would stand no chance against his courage.
One day however, when Charlie was playing with his new wooden, yellow-painted digger in the sandbox with his friends, and built a beautiful and impressive castle, one of his friends asked Charlie if he was really as courageous as he always claimed.
“I think you are not brave enough to walk into the dark forest and count to ten before you come back out again,” Sam claimed.
“Of course, I am!” Charlie replied, feeling slightly offended that Sam did not believe he was the most courageous boy on the playground.
“I will only believe you when you do it. Even you must be a little scared of the forest.”
“No, I am not! I don’t fear anything, not even the deep, black forest.”
The other children heard what Charlie was saying and started gathering around him, some whispering and asking if he would really do it, others shouting out Charlie’s name and telling him to prove Sam wrong.
“I will even count to fifteen before I come out again,” Charlie affirmed and walked towards the forest. Sam and the other kids followed him in awe.
A few yards before the forest all seven of them stopped, and all of them except for Charlie looked up at the giant trees that looked so majestic and important with all their branches and large roots that were so big they even stood out of the soil.
“Kimberly told me that there are dwarves living under the trees and they use the roots to climb up into the forest to find food,” one of the girls said, holding her teddy tight. “And they have magic powers: when you see them they take you away, so you can tell nobody where the dwarves are.”
“Lily, that cannot be true,” Charlie riposted, “if they made all the children disappear, how could Kimberly know that there are dwarfs?”
Lily did not reply, but held her teddy tighter and looked at the forest, terrified.
Charlie started walking into the forest, and all the kids starting counting aloud.
1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10…
“Okay Charlie, you can come out again,” Sam shouted, getting himself a bit scared that he sent Charlie into the forest.
“He said he would count to fifteen,” Lily timidly explained.
11…12…13…14…15…
“Charlie you can come out now! I believe you!” Sam was very nervous now. What if there really were dwarves and they made Charlie disappear? What if Charlie got lost in the darkness of the forest?
“Charlie? Charlie come back!” All the kids starting calling his name now, but there was no sight of Charlie anywhere. Lily starting crying and hugged her teddy again.
“The dwarves found him. They took Charlie away,” she sobbed.
“There is no such thing as dwarfs,” Sam told Lily, but he was not really convinced that it was true.
“You have to go looking for him,” Lily told him, “you sent him there, you have to go look for him.”
“But if there are dwarves…”
“You said you didn’t believe there were any.”
“Then why doesn’t he come out by himself?”
Sam thought about running home and asking his daddy to go look for Charlie in the forest. His daddy was a tall and very strong man, he could certainly fight against a dwarf. And the dwarves could not make him disappear because he wasn’t a child anymore. But then he considered it again, and decided that the other kids would make fun of him if he ran away and get help from an adult.
“I will go look for him,” Sam puffed himself up, more trying to convince himself of his courage than the others. He walked into the forest, his heart beating faster with every step he took. He was terrified of the dark forest.
“Charlie,” he whispered, not realising at first that Charlie would not hear him if he whispered. The thought of a dwarf noticing him when he’d hear him calling out Charlie’s name made Sam feel very afraid. But then he plucked up all his courage and called Charlie as loudly as he could. Charlie didn’t answer.
Suddenly Sam heard a rustling and thought his heart would stop beating. He turned around, and saw a squirrel hiding a nut by a strawberry bush.
“Sam! Is that you? Sam!” All of a sudden Sam heard Charlie’s voice. “Sam, help me!”
Sam went a bit further into the dark forest and saw Charlie lying on the ground against a tree, holding his right foot.
“What happened to you? We got scared. Lily even thought a dwarf made you disappear,” Sam said, trying to hide his own fear and that he had also thought Charlie might have been magicked away.
“I fell over the roots of this tree and now I can’t walk anymore. My foot hurts too much when I try to get up.”
Sam helped Charlie to get up and let Charlie use him as a crutch. Together they left the forest.
And from that day onward, Charlie had to share his title of being the most courageous boy on the playground with his friend Sam.

Midnight Walk

Where the clouds shine and the sun rains,
where authors were born
and castles were burned,
I met a girl called Amy.

She was a long way from home
and lost in this world; amazed
and confused she held my arm
telling me about where she used to live.
It’s a place where I’ve never been
but always wanted to see,
or dream away.

Amy’s long gone and so am I,
or simply who I used to be.

Bullshit Syndrome

Ich habe eben einen riesigen Text geschrieben, unendlich oft editiert, chiffriert und schließlich entschieden, dass er immer noch zu persönlich ist. Geholfen hat das Schreiben ohnehin nicht.

Verdammt nochmal, ich bin solch ein Idiot! Ich hab’s doch von Anfang an kommen sehen.

Es wird hier voraussichtlich erst mal eine Weile still sein. Bevor ich doch noch im Affekt was Persönliches publiziere. Ich brauche jetzt erst mal Abstand.

Bis bald.

Willkommen in der Diktatur

Zäune, Stacheldraht, Razzia – wer in Heiligendamm, zum Beispiel, nur seine Meinung sagen wollte hatte das Gefühl er geht freiwillig an die Front. Aber das war Schäuble. Unser Sicherheitswahnsinniger. Schutzwall, Geruchshunde, Abschottung, Onlinedurchsuchung – jetzt merken wir, wie menschenfreundlich die alte DDR gewesen sein muss. Und was wir von einander gelernt haben. Es geht um das Abschießen des Grundgesetzes… eh, es geht um das Abschießen der Menschenwürde… eh, es geht um das Abschießen von Flugzeugen. Deutschland ist zum Abschuss freigegeben. Guten Flug ins neue Jahr.

Mathias Richling

to bite the bullet

They talk a strange language in good old Blighty…

By the way: If you haven’t seen Damages yet, you gotta see it. I’ve just watched the pilot on the BBC. It’s yet another lawyer series, but the characters are really intriguing (and it’s character driven, not focused on the trials) and there’s one big story arc (not your typical Law-and-Order-one-case-per-week kinda thing). Plus it stars Glenn Close and Tate Donovan (haha yes, he’s finally back in tv series as a regular).