/                                   donald trump is here?!
   on these splendid, splendid isles?!
                                      really?
  where was the past week?

good thing that i bought
that johnnie walker red label
especially for the occassion -

    without actually knowing it was
to take place...

    i guess you might call
watching protests on t.v.
       a bit like:
                going to an illegal rave
party in an abandoned
                               industrial building
somewhere in
       dagenham, or shoreditch,
                            or 'ackney...

britain is not getting what it already
wants -
                       i can understand blatant
flattery, and airs, monsieur,
             monsieur bleu, rouge et blanc...

the one time that britain looks...
bedazzled?!
                               frizzy haired...
the sort of comic sketch
of a **** scene where the man wakes
up having sobbed himself
to sleep, in a disney cartoonish
way expressing frightened awe
and the words:

     [what] the **** just happened?

   'ave a tongue for a ****, mate.

- honest to god though:
   where have i been for the past week?!
i've paid attention to the football -

croissants, or, chequers?!
  hmm...
                   oi! two face, what's
your gamblers' pundit?
                    
                         - let the slavic sub-plot
'ave it,
              if goran (ivanišević)
     could do it, this ******* litter can do it,
given they reached the semi-finals
in 1998...
          
                      and believe me:
   some people...
                    are really jealous of the chessboard
representation on fabric, shh...

or at least that's what i whispered
into the ear of lucifer,
        hermitage's secondary
    (only to achilles)
                       schwarz, mouse-catcher;

and if i'm wrong -
     then i'm wrong:
     but since i don't actually gamble using
money...
      i tap into the emotional
excitment of gambling -
   within the confines of expectation
of being right...

               somehow, gambling,
       but where what i bet with is... zeit...
and grooving to boris brejcha,
tantra of a DJ set...
                   **** me via my ears
and call me Sally...
                              
                         ­     nod nod nod...
(ten minutes later):
   nod nod nod...
          (15 minutes later):
   nod nod nod (with an added
drumkit imitation of the whole
body starting to form a scary shadow
of a man sitting down

before a blank pixel screen
   seeing letters and words appear
like a god might
see stars, and constellations appear
in the dark, dark: voooooooooo
                      'oid)

  which is no proof that i made
a hiccup.                                                          /