First Class

In this space there should be a photo-collage of George Gideon Oliver Osborne, the UK Chancellor of the Exchequer. The image portrayed Mr Osborne with donkey's ears and teeth, an enlarged right eye, a dollar-sign badge on his left lapel, and the words 'First Class' stamped on his forehead. For some reason, it has disappeared from this space, since being posted on the 26th April. It would be tempting to imagine that some act of clandestine censorship might have occurred, in the not unjustified belief that we are all 'being watched'. Of course, we are. Our online activities are potentially recorded and monitored, constantly and at any time. The myth of democracy is to create the illusion of 'free speech', whilst carefully mediating what can actually be said, heard, and seen. It would, however, be an act of grand delusion to think that posting the image of a simple piece of glued paper, lampooning the idiocy and arrogance of a rich politician, might court the attention of some notional 'higher power', which might then act to remove it from a simple blog such as this one. It does, however, beg the question 'where is the donkey Osborne, now?'. We often joke about things disappearing into cyberspace, but what might that actually mean - and does 'cyberspace' exist in any real sense? My image will have been stored in digital form, waiting to be called upon as a series of reconstituted codes to give the illusion of the original image. Where is that digital information now, and does it still exist in the same coded format? Is it possible that this coded information may be interacting with other digital code and reconfiguring itself, in new forms, perhaps to reappear here, or elsewhere, at some later date? If so, then what form might it take? I will be watching and waiting for any such reappearance. In the meantime, if you should happen upon a donkey/Osborne hybrid during your Internet travels, please let me know. 

The starting afresh. The newness and the 'knowing-without-knowing'. Familiarity partnered by strangeness, like an awkward reacquaintance, after years of separation. In these moments of stumbling uncertainty there is a comfort - a reassurance that has been honed and polished by many years of having to find a way through uncharted territory, even though this 'land' is my own, and of my own making. Indulgence, some might say. Necessity, others. Either way, it matters little - the deed must be done; the marks must be made, the words written, or uttered. That is simply the nature of it. The words are on the surface. Committed. Ever was it thus. And so it continues........

The waiting. All the while. Waiting. So much time has passed; gone. It wasn't worth it. I'll keep watch.

• Wait
• Watch