Summer is here, and I’ve been watching a lot of Netflix. Finally caught up to Brooklyn 99, and wrote something about it for ze blog. In reading the show, Hitchcock and Scully were particularly interesting to place within the context of the voting trends in America, in the past five years, with the coming of Donald Trump, and his appeal to a middle class of the industrial era, yet dissatisfied with the financial structure of the third stage, and the coming of the social media(digital?) state of being. God bless.

The scene fades in

and in the background lurk

two blurred figures,

circles, rounds, hands

or blobs, of cups of coffee,

beer, doughnuts of

various di a meters,

characters, mounds,

irrelevant, and ill-found,

a well-purposed mockery,

else a pixelated script,

the existence of a  constant

corollary, a perpetuated other,

a punchline here, and

then a modern retort,

a memefied irony, and

the camera returns the focus to

Peralta’s tale, and the

carnival of identity.

“a detective’s only getaway,

the DOG party 15

we didn’t wanna say anything

because that would get us uninvited.”

uninvited being the key word.

the industrial labour of the

golden times, retired, rewired,

to be roused, re-masculi-nized,

with shirts always off, and orgies unorganised;

promised a return to the great,

the greater times. Hitchcock,

and Scully are “hippos with

heads for both ends,” and to them

they’re Jake, they’re both Jake

and Jake’s friends, Jake,

Jake-

Jake–

until Jake becomes Donald Trump.