That's why I am thankful to the very inner voice whispering: Carpe noctem.
Be it then: Some - do I need say?: very personal - thoughts before the chapter picture- respectively cowengate is going to get closed.
And some last words before diving in media res: I've been following with interest (and often chucking) what has been posted about this 'issue'. By the following, which I shall be writing 'without filtres', thus as the thoughts come, I do not intend to attack anybody.
*
What has happened?A 'clever' chap (I promised to come back to this point) unasked nails some caricatures to some museum walls, and ...
... nothing happens.
So, after a while, the 'clever chap' - did anyone notice I did not call him 'artist'? - emails a newspaper.
[Comment: It would not make much sense to hit a nail into the wall of any museum's toilet, as long as noone takes notice, hm?]
Well, and what happens afterwards, meanwhile everybody (at least in the blogosphere) should / could know.
Thus, end of the beforegoing.
De gustibus not est disputandum.
Quite. Either you have it, or you have it not.
So, why would I publish caricatures of a naked Taoiseach?
Ladies, gentlemen, this is not about a "clever chap" trying to advertise his 'artwork'/name; this is about freedom of speech / music / arts / satire ...
... and - last not least - freedom from censorship!!
Yes, again, I am writing this 'without filtres', without caring about 'wrong' syntax, 'wrong' prepositions, 'wrong' idioms.
Satire is satire is satire.
Imagine all the flags burning if this were, f.e. about a naked Mohammed or any of the very genleman's afficionados.
Conclusion:
Ha, ...
... what a great fun to show a Taoiseach without clothes;
... what a fun to attack the 'fucking bastards' elected by a majority of most intelligent voters;
... what a fun we (bloggers) had while ...
... approximately 280,000 children died of starvation.
Oops. Did I spoil the fun? Sorry. Am I a fucking kill-joy? Forgive me.
After all, who cares, hm?
We - the great champions of the blogosphere had a splendid time, hadn't we?
Exactly the fun, Heinrich Heine once defined:
Der Knecht singt gerne Freiheitslieder
des Abends in der Schenke.
The peasant loves to sing songs of freedom (rebel-songs)
in the pub at night.
- - -
I am proud of myself ... as I knew before that I'd not be able to express my thoughts (in English).
So, please, forgive me and head on to read the very best post on this very topic.
The peace of the night.
The Taoiseach's New Clothes
The Taoiseach's New Clothes II
Brian, Borges & Bioy
Want a T(aoiseach)-Shirt?
Physiognomy of fine gentlemen
The Impossible Fact
