Madonna's Most Controversial Fashion Moments

A Story by Jostein Kasse

It appears amazing to me how the followers and fans seem unable to see, understand and decode her imagery and her language, why do they not know what she attempts to convey?

She created an advert for her MTV award presentation on 20^th August, 2018 and she begins the video clip with “this just in” which flashes across the screen. Then one sees her roll a finger across her throat in a “you’re dead salute”. The second time in two months she has manipulated this symbol, sign, and gesture. At the award ceremony itself, she took to the stage wearing red shoes. As one reads on, the symbolism of the red shoes may become clearer.

In September 2017 I messaged her on Twitter saying “language can be a controversial thing white star”, moments earlier I had watched and listened to the women’s march speech, seen her orange pants with its penile protrusion zipper, and before that I had discovered that she had mirrored one of my Facebook posts using an image of the statue of Cheops as I had done. After I had tweeted her she in return posted photographs of herself saying “Goodbye… Summer… Kiss.” She was attempting to use “the power of goodbyes!”

It would seem that she then contacted former president Obama who responded with a tweet of his own saying, “Immigration can be a controversial topic”. She publicly complained about a Fed-Ex delivery to prove to myself that she was really Madonna, “When you’ve been arguing with Fed-Ex all week and they still won’t release your package”, and a Fed-Ex truck subsequently pulled up and parked outside of our apartment, probably arranged by the creepy university. “Package”, it seems to me, will probably be a euphemism. At this time she also appears to have arranged with the graffiti artist Banksy who she had quoted in her song Graffiti Heart to create a design in London of the wheel known as the Eye with the hand-crown of the artist JMB on each carriage. The line em’ up and knock em’ down Blackstar eugenics program Ferris Wheel.

Her photographic imagery has been a persistent and unrelenting threat to me for almost a full year. It has been an attempt at instigating and manipulating violence for reasons that seem totally insane to me, the acquisition of an in-group elite trophy for the leisure classes, a symbol of the rich empowered over the poor, the female over the male, and the healthy over the ill. Eugenics becomes conspicuous consumption for the wealthy.

It seems foolish to me that through the power of this mysterious attractor known as television and the weird and whacky recorded sound media that some people may think well she must know, she’s a celebrity, as though the medium induces and infers some kind of illusion of omniscience and competence in correct opinion and decision making. The woman seems excited and giddy for skin and blood. My personal and subjective interpretation from the experience of her has over a year come to take the form of a shallow, narcissistic, bully who desires and demands - through a warped sense of self-entitlement - the worst most extreme violence toward a man. In almost 13 years of frequenting social media sites I have never yet met anyone more vehement and vulgar and more fitting of the overused contemporary terms of debasing and demeaning an individual, “psychopath”, “stalker”, and “criminal”.

On the 22^nd of August, she posted a video clip of a man dancing naked around a fire. The most obvious and disturbing feature missing from this dancer’s performance was his penis. Her commentary was, “the insanely beautiful…”

She turns beauty into its contrary, and love into violence.

Her follow up photographic image to Instagram shows the aging celebrity wearing a hat adorned with the words of a fashion brand and logo which I have often purchased myself, VANS. This upon first appearance may appear a shameless plug and advert for a popular brand of sneakers, but another look, understanding her manipulation of symbol and language, shows an attempt at influencing and manipulating a vehicle as a weapon and means of kidnapping, with intention of murder, she means this literally.

Her Twitter heading shows the singer-actor-model’s head leaning back in profile perspective, the far right-hand-side occluded from view, her thumb jabbed into the region that anatomically represents the region of the eye. Similarly in her 5^th August post to Instagram she wears sun glasses that appear to be tinted red in colouration that becomes symbolical blood with the finger-tip of her right hand pointing beneath the lens toward her right eye. Her July 5^th post shows her wearing a floral headdress and the bud of the flower becoming an eye removed from its socket that dangles loosely next to her own eye. In one image from November 2018 she poses with a mascara brush above her eye and the caption she has submitted reads, “Symmetry is for p*****s”. On my Twitter page I responded with, “Symmetry is intelligence” whereby she responded with a video clip where with the usage of an app she had turned herself into a leopard saying, “I’m just a p***y cat”.

She has made short video films where with the assistance of an alleged comedian called the fat Jewish who she believes emulates the body weight of her target, his hair often deems shaped to represent a penile protrusion, in one film which looks to be filmed in a glitzy studio representation of a surgical setting she has his face operated on by a doctor, she represents the nurse, and she turns to the camera and says, “this won’t hurt a bit” when we see the soul of the individual leaving the body. The eyes the window to the soul. In addition, she also advertises a red mist spray which she sprays over her eyes. If one thinks of one’s eyes been removed, one may understand the analogy. Her products seem an artistic attempt at voodoo magic.

She sits in the bathroom with the golden horn visible on her hat, she wears a bluecoat to distance herself from the speech of an alleged redcoat. She used the bathroom symbolism in her 1995 video with Massive Attack which was a cover of Marvin Gaye's song I Want You. David Bowie also uses this symbolism in the Thursday’s Child and Love is Lost videos.

The bathroom seems the main room in the house where one would be most likely to receive news that may be detrimental to one’s health. Nasty and unpleasant things happen in bathrooms, Hitchcock knew this symbolism before the both of them, and Stephen King used the technique in his novel Dreamcatcher. In my opinion she takes the eye symbolism from the insanity of Bowie's eye fixation which comes from his anascoria expressed in such threats masquerading as lyrics as, “I am the blood at the corner of your eye”, “Oh my, naked eyes”, “I am the blind man, she is my eyes”, “you’ve cut out your soul”, “their eyes are like the graves”, “it’s the return of the thin white duke throwing darts in lover’s eyes”, “five years, stuck on my eyes”, “I want diamonds in my eyes”, and in his Nazi agenda expressed in such songs as Fashion, “We are the Goon squads coming to town”, on the 13^th of September 2017, Madonna posted “Fashion week comes to Lisbon” and her pose was from Bowie’s video, in the background were statues with limbs missing. In two photographs dated 13^th of October she model shoots Bowie's lyrics from the Reality album, "sky splits open to a dull red skull my head hangs low ‘cause it’s all over now", I had the chorus line in this 2003 single, Never Get Old. She writes in the caption, "don't forget to say your prayers". In the first photograph of the same date she holds her head in her hands feigning agony, saying "if Friday is giving you a headache". Hearing Bowie’s lyrics in 2003 was an awful experience for me, I didn’t need that twice.

Madonna seems to have become David Bowie’s character Romona A Stone from his Outside concept. Romona in Bowie’s fevered creation was a depiction of a celebrity in the art world who appears on television, the character collects human body parts and turns them into art sculptures. If one can’t fathom the meaning of Outside, listen to the bootleg recordings of Outside 2.

Sacrificing limbs seems to be the reason why she glorifies Frida Kahlo. Frida seems freaky to me, Christianity followed through to the point of insanity. This also seems to be the meaning behind her song, Bodyshop in which she seems to master Bowie’s psychopathic cutesy and double entendre.

While the media and commentators on social media sites have become agents of distraction and diversion with her self-centred Aretha Franklin speech they have neglected the controversial issue of should she be allowed to threaten and victimise individuals with the macabre and vulgar fetish of making wealth from human body parts? She seems to be doing this right under her fan base’s very noses, and with the complete knowledge of an entire media-sphere which knows exactly what she represents and has been about for at least a year. Her advert that appeared on television in the US was for a fake product called Skin, the victim of her total obsession named in the song, “Just, Just, Just . . . Jos”. The song was released just the day after the man made fires in Portugal. Oregon, and California had also similarly been burnt before this date. The day before the release of the Skin advert I had sat before the images she had posted to Instagram which was of a forest fire reflecting into the water of a lake, as above, so below, and I was saddened for her and thought, I hope to God she doesn’t blame me for the fires! Before the fires in Oregon I had posted to Facebook, “It is an ill wind that blows no minds” and when I opened the apartment door in the morning, the air was covered in peachy-pink dust particles.

Her slogan, the “future is female”, on one level appears a completely bullshit phrase, one step aside, or thinking sideways as the lateral thinking psychologist Edward de Bono said, it becomes a gross and disturbing threat of feminising men through castration, hence her posts featuring a transvestite lookalike.

On 19^th of September Madonna posted a photograph with the chat show host Jimmy Fallon. Jimmy was grinning and holding a little wooden box, in the film one sees him using the box as a percussion instrument, but in the still, it appeared to be the box that Madonna would like to show her penis off in. It was a few months after this post that I criticised Fallon on Twitter using the words, “Jimmy Fallon’s box”. The following day which was the 5^th of November, a statement was released that Fallon’s mother Gloria had died. She wound in a box, at the funeral Fallon can clearly be seen to be acting, in my opinion.

There can be no evidence of paedophilia at all, at all, no person alive or dead has ever been violated or infringed in anyway whatsoever by me. If this becomes a part of the excuse rationale, and if she thinks that these kind of macabre acts should be performed and practiced as punishment for such vile offences then she attempts to start off her program from an entirely illegitimate claim against an innocent target which in itself would seem to negate and nullify such extreme violent measures toward such offenders. As repugnant as the proven guilty beyond doubt in a court of law seem both to myself and to others, one cannot start as one means to go on with an innocent target. Precisely the reasons for objecting against such barbaric and macabre criminal and illegal practices are reinforced through the carelessness and falsity of this as a possible erroneous excuse rationale.

Interesting that she herself had a cameo appearance in a movie called Shadows and Fog which on one level would appear to be about a man erroneously accused of a crime and being hounded by a violent vigilante mob committee.

If Madonna stands against paedophilia then why does she openly support and associate with known celebrity paedophiles like Michael Jackson and David Bowie? On July the 8^th 2018, she said on Instagram “Holding M.J. Close to my ♥️ with M.J. In the back!! .... See this show!!” and on March 4^th she posted a photograph of herself with Jackson at an award ceremony and said “Best Date Ever!!” Jackson had actually said of that evening that Madonna “is a nasty witch, after I was so kind to her”. It seems to be David Bowie’s lyrics from the album Blackstar she’s internalising, in the song “Girl Loves Me”, he uses slang from a Clockwork Orange, “split a ded from his deng deng, viddy viddy at the cheena”. Cheena pertains to penis. The song lyrics, the reason she wears orange pants at the woman’s march.

I had first thought of the celebrity Madonna after the release of the Keep it Unreal album in 1999 when I thought whimsically that if I’m “Jusjus”, a pun on Jesus, a name applied and given by others, and not myself, then she could perhaps play the role of the Madonna, it was her name.

I first presented this idea to two separate individuals at different dates, both in 2003 and I had specifically and directly asked for a two-step process. Firstly, a quote from the celebrity about the Keep it Unreal album which would show me that I had her attention and awareness in some sense, which as a younger and more naïve man would have meant something to me. She seemed great to me in the eighties when I was growing up. I had then imagined having what I called an “online cave wall” where I could, if it were possible, influence events around the world from my home computer. The second step in the process was to ask if Madonna could say certain words which would grab attention from the requisite authorities to enable the “online cave wall” to be used as a political tool. I had said, “She could read the words from a book so as to distance herself from the words, and that the event could be at a women’s march”. The woman’s march was my idea, as was the concept for the song Holy Water and the regrettable lyric, “Jesus loves my p***y best” I had suggested in 2007.

By January 2017, I had not only entirely forgotten all about my youthful folly. It had been 10 years since last mentioning the plan, which consisted of about two minutes worth of actual talking, and it had been 14 years after first conceiving and communicating the idea. I was now a 40 year old man I had no interest in the initial blueprint I had imagined in the folly of my youth and solitude. She however posted an image of her panties lowered and the Nike swoosh logo on her shaved mons pubis, “Just, do it” on the day of the march. My name again.

Madonna had gone to extreme lengths it would seem. In 2003 I had suggested as a young man that she could call herself MDNA,”the shaman turns the Goddess into ecstasy”., I had said. I said that I could see her adopting children from Africa in the future and I was looked at the time as though I had overstepped the mark and boundary. That was too much, I had gone too far. That she has used her adopted black immigrant children as a part of a conspiracy to commit murder needless to say wasn’t a part of my original blueprint, similarly that she uses the children in sexually suggestive ways, comes from her design, and not mine.

I had said on Twitter that I hadn’t liked the bureaucratic aspect of the job role I had moments earlier being performing, I’d broken two ring binders, Freud would say I did it on purpose, that I really want to be doing something else. Madonna then proceeded to film and post her two young children, dancing semi-naked with a hose-pipe off camera spraying water over them both. I was appalled, what does she think she’s trying to say and to whom?! She posted the children naked in the bathtub after I had posted images of two fishes to my Instagram page. Her aim would seem to me to be to manipulate an in-group elite by employing innuendo into a gross misrepresentation of her object of obsession. It seems she needs this excuse. I seldom see a murmur of dissent from her marginal, but adulating and sycophantic fan-base that seem to me to have little understanding as to what she has been doing since the Women’s March Speech, 2017.

Some of her imagery and language can be perceived as double-entendres. Her photographs of her former boyfriend Jean Michel Basquiat, who shares the same initials as myself, and she writes in the caption box “My Past meets My. Present!! JMB”. She poses for photographs in front of his paintings, one wearing the US dollar symbol, spotted over her coat, the other coupled with the above caption shows a video clip of her children running toward the camera wearing “ooh laa” across the front of their outfits reminiscent of the Martians from Jeff Wayne’s musical War of the Worlds.

When I said “ships unseen” on Twitter Madonna posted a photograph gazing into the distance and holding in her hands what appears to be the tip of a man’s penis, a cursory glance doesn’t yield the information. When I said, “rabbits out of hats”, she posts "Hat Game On" and then follows with other posts that seem to show what appear to look like male organs emerging from her children’s hats. In one photograph she has her adopted son who she seems to think will be a future president of Malawi one day, holding up a book saying “To Kill a Mockingbird”.

Madonna seems to feel self-entitled to threaten, bully, humiliate, stigmatise, defame with a view of taking that which simply does not belong to her and of which she has and cannot have any legitimate and legal claim to. Many other artists have influenced and inspired her, I am not the only one, but they get credit, I’m largely unacknowledged.

On 16^th April, Madonna posted a video clip with the caption, “Now that Mercury is out of Retrograde, A Glimpse of things to come”…

I have been known under an abbreviation of my name, “Just”. In the video she can be heard to say, “I could just vomit”. “Vomit” seems to be taken from having denoted myself in such a self-deprecating manner after seeing the Blackstar video with the man on the cross vomiting and also having heard DJ Shadow’s track, the Three Ralphs on the monstrous assault album entitled, the Mountain Will Fall. This song seems to be the reason Madonna’s son can be heard “Ralphing” when he discovers the three eggs in the chicken coop posted on 18^th October.

Madonna wears the Mambo tag featured amongst her necklace jewellery which has been purloined from Shadow’s track “Mambo Together”. They took this word from posts I had submitted to Flickr of the brown Mambo rucksack I carried, bought from the Mambo store in London in 2003.

In the video clip she can be heard saying, “I think I’ve found my man”, the screen can be seen to be cut with images of blood which crackles in intermittently with the sound of static. As she repeats the line, “I think I’ve found my man”, a wine bottle falls from the edge of the table and she aggressively kicks out knocking a tin can that falls off the table after it.

I panicked, thinking that she may reveal my name and I sent a message to Twitter saying “I’m the HIDDEN hand”. The following day the Mail reported that the Queen’s last Corgi had died, and Prince William could be seen in a photograph holding his hand out in front of himself that he looked at with very wide open eyes, reminiscent of the lyric in David Bowie’s song Lazarus, “Everybody knows me now”. I wasn’t hidden to the media, or the celebrity sphere.

I had been writing about Bowie’s song Discoking on Twitter offering explanation and interpretation of the song, the Discoking was supposed to be Jusjus from Keep it Unreal, the Disco was Back to Basics in Leeds, but the following day on 20^th April Swedish DJ Avicii was said by the press to have died. An article appeared about how he had cut himself on broken glass from a wine bottle. Madonna posted a photograph of the two of them on the same day smiling and joking together.

The Mail posted clips of Avicii being drowsy, and on the same day Prince William, the future king of Great Britain could be seen falling asleep in a Christian pew.

I had used the words “half-wit” on Twitter and Madonna followed up with posting an old photograph of herself with the supermodel Kate Moss. Kate appears to be drunk in the photograph, Madonna’s knee half obscuring her body. It was Kate’s birthday, it looked like they were modelling, “half-wit”.

I seemed to be aware from reading magazines when younger that Kate was said to be from Croydon, and I thought and typed into Twitter, “Mosaic Fishes”, because I had known of a mosaic design in the town, or city, depending on where one comes from, called Croydon Fishpond, and because the word mosaic was a play on the supermodel’s surname, Moss.

Kate I recall in memory from reading was a David Bowie fan, and a few days after my comment, on a Thursday morning as I walked home from Phresh Cannabis, Moss was standing in the middle of College Road in front of Pacific University. The Daily Mail staged her in Paris on the same day, a fashion event! Moments before seeing Moss, a student walked past me with blonde hair wearing a big ear-to-ear wide smile she was nodding her head vigorously and excitedly. I didn’t feel very well that morning and I couldn’t wait to get home and light up some medicinal flower. It wasn’t the Thursday pay week.

Moss was looking back at me, rooted to the spot like a statue, I thought she appeared to look like the actress Lauren Bacall; she was wearing a brown version of the long black Blake’s coat that I wore. I was thinking that I knew her, that she looked familiar, was she an old girlfriend? I had thought to myself, she looks like a proper woman, she looked at my old shoes, and didn’t like them. I stopped momentarily and asked “do I know you?” and she nodded her head up and down to answer the affirmative.

I walked past her, and home. I had ignored her like I did everybody else that had attempted to speak to me from the University. The following morning I opened the Guardian online and I recognised immediately the model who had been standing in front of me in the middle of the road 24 hours earlier. There was a photograph of her heading an interview she’d been involved in with David Bailey. In the interview she made reference to the song sung by Freddy Mercury and David Bowie “as the best duet ever”. It was this song Under Pressure that had influenced the British government into staging Grenfell Tower, “Brings a building down, tears a family in two, puts people on streets…”

At one point she asks David Bailey, “Have you ever had a day at work where you’ve thought, you’ve just killed it?” and David Bailey responds, “No”. I thought thank God I didn’t stop, talk, become seduced by, and get on a flight with this woman. The interview could have been in the morning papers as I flew across the Atlantic to meet my doom, in a black comedy movie. She was scripted to bring me in, hence the military salute in one of the photographs.

I joked online about the power of supermodels and how they possessed the ancient magical technique of being in two places at the same time. Kate had once being somebody in my youth that I had spoken highly of. I Google searched Kate Moss with David Bowie and I found myself looking at a photograph of her with her arms wrapped tightly around the psychopathic pop-singer, he was jutting an aggressive middle finger up at me, it seemed.

I had already resolved to leave the town, if they would let me. The police had once stopped a Max train for half an hour when they realised I was heading to Portland, I wanted to talk to somebody with sense at the British embassy if I could, someone who didn’t trip out hearing British vernacular, and on my way back I got off the train and I walked past a driver and heard him say to another driver, “it had something to do with an Englishman . . . a medical emergency”. They didn’t know I was that Englishman.

Every day I waited for and checked for the arrival of my debit card in the mail. I had called the bank and complained. In the morning I saw on Twitter that Gary Oldman was starring in a movie called the Darkest Hour. On the shelves in the local supermarket was a second issue release of a Rolling Stone special edition magazine featuring David Bowie, his face on the front cover. The magazine itself was extremely low in information, I had a copy from its first issue. In the socio-political-cultural background was the second Women’s March, this time without the troublesome speech, and in the following evening I was having an argument with my wife for the second night running, this time on the side of Main Street. Everything the English foreigner seemed to say was a lie, from the simple to the complex, every piece of information met with rejection, a shake of the head. This wasn't a unique experience among Americans, but we were in danger; she had been happy and complacent, settled for life. Her inability to comprehend the severity of my troubles, from celebrities like David Bowie and Madonna and the public online trial by the Oregonian under the deceitful guise of Jeremy Christian was frustrating. I had to get us out of that apartment. I had a raised voice, I was strong and Vampiric, and a man came out of a nearby house and he held a baseball bat in his hands and he was waving it at me in a threatening and aggressive manner, “I’ve just called the cops, I saw you hit that little girl”, he said, “your a*s is going to jail!”

The stress had become too much for me, in the morning of the 21st I had followed her to the bus stop and asked her to start paying more attention to what is going on, “it affects us both”. On the evening of the 22^nd I saw that she had posted the song “Heroes” onto her Facebook page. It was a live recording from 2006 in Berlin. He was probably literally thinking of me by name when he was singing, “we can beat them”. I had been trying to explain to her about David Bowie without success since December 2016.

I hadn’t “hit” anybody at all, the Americans seemed to prove to me to be a dishonest people, the argument and the circumstances weren’t his business, and he certainly had no thought, knowledge, or understanding of the situation I was faced with. My wife was a 58 year old woman, he had poor eyesight, it was dark outside in his defence, and maybe he hallucinated what he expected to see, or thought he could see, or else exaggerated to get the cops to come out. It was the night of the 23^rd of January, and the police pulled up on the side of the road. After some discussion, one cop was saying, “I will arrest you and put you in jail for trespassing even if your foot has just slightly strayed onto the concrete of the parking lot”. He was pointing to Pacific University’s parking lot, on Main Street. I had a written ban notice. I was then arrested under the false charge of “right, kidnapping!” which carried a 25,000 dollar bail. I had not long before lifted my wife up and carried her from one side of the short road to the other so as to avoid police after the brute with the baseball bat had warned me he'd called the cops, her feet had hovered an inch above the tarmac. She wouldn’t listen to me the cops were coming, and after 5 minutes walked straight into them.

After three weeks in Washington County Jail awaiting pre-trial I eventually pleaded guilty to “harassing and annoying” my wife, which was true, I had harassed and annoyed her. The kidnapping charge was dropped. Had I not pleaded guilty I would have had to have waited two months in the jail for a trial date. Washington County has a very high rate of guilty verdicts for this reason. I had waivered my right to a fair trial. The punishment for having an argument with my wife which wasn’t the state’s business was two years of parole, which involved been made to do courses each week at a cost of 50 dollars a course. The courses were intensive and would have required disclosing too much information. The jail-parole system was a lucrative money making business.

I was getting headlines on the front pages in the Oregonian whilst I was still in the jail, occasionally I would see an influence of mine on the TV news. The day of my release a mountain climber had fallen from the highest summit of Mount Hood, at least according to the media.

When I arrived back at the apartment everything had gone. The cat, and the computer had gone, and all the evidence I had saved and compiled over the previous year.

On the morning I had to give up the apartment I walked up College Road and on the bollard in the middle of their front entrance I applied a Spiderman cap, glued to the back of the cap was an ace of spades with a black-and-white image of Saddam Hussein in the centre. I had written the words in marker pen, from your local bilious neighbourhood Spiderman. I visited Safeway and the girl who worked there who also lived next door to me played the song, “The Power of Goodbyes”, and I turned David Bowie upside down on the magazine rack.

Madonna followed by posting an image of herself with a person wearing a Spiderman like mask. The information for this hadn’t come from me.

I moved into a house with recovering addicts for a few weeks in East Portland, sharing a room with a man called S. After a conversation one night he took me in his car to see the statue of Jeanne d’Arc, I took photographs of the golden saint on horseback, posted them to Twitter and the following day a nearby factory went up in flames. Soon afterwards I moved to a house in Beaverton which quickly became intolerable. I was once immediately breathalysed upon entry, because the blisters on my feet from walking into Beaverton and back had meant that I had hobbled and stumbled, the house mentor thought I was drunk. Another evening I arrived home from a full day shift at work and sat in front of a computer and I saw the Queen with David Attenborough and she was standing in front of what appeared to me to look like a marijuana plant and I was smiling at this image and the house mentor became suspicious that I must be high. He paced back and forth, in the patio doors, out of the patio doors, looking, and checking in self-confirmation that I must be high which would break the rules of the house and the conditions of my parole. He gave me a UA test, made sure to stand behind me while I peed, then he read the results wrong. A faint line as I later learned from the parole officer meant that I’d passed the test. He had said that I’d failed. “Marijuana doesn’t stay in the blood for two months I protested”. I demanded to be moved to a different house.

His boorish idiocy wasn’t the only reason that I wanted out of there. I had been working at a factory in Forest Grove and the students a mile further up the road would follow me home as I rode the bus with them. Once they had the young man who had surgically operated on my cat’s head sitting in front of me for the entire distance. I didn’t assault him. I noticed in the Oregonian live feed they had included place name locations that I could often be found or seen at. This was getting frightening for me.

Before relocating I had spoken on Twitter about how I always become Muslim whenever I encounter drunks. Later that evening, sitting outside on the back porch smoking a cigarette I could overhear a rowdy drunken man singing from over the fence in what appeared to be Arabic. The professors at the University, it seemed to me, were able to jump to antithesis, but couldn’t think. Most Muslims I have known in Britain would have been offended.

I was in the next house in Aloha for one week when around 8 O’clock, after having finished my day shift and having called at both the store for an evening meal and at the library to check what the media were saying that day, I rounded onto the road that the street I lived on connected to. In the middle of the road, parked on a slanted hill was a car, the engine rumbling, the headlights pointing at me. There was a man in each of the front seats and in the passenger seat behind the driver was a woman with long blonde hair. It was Madonna.

I momentarily paused when I saw the car, took in a deep breath, braved myself and continued. I walked up the road, passing the car, and I was looking, and she was looking, her face was in profile, she had long blonde hair that dropped down. When I had walked entirely past the car I turned around and she turned around away from me in her seat. I didn’t sleep that night, and with the daylight rolling in I knew I could not go into work in the morning and do the job that I’d been trained to do. I felt awful, because the foreman was leaving that week.

The following day I read in the Daily Mail the news from the day before and that Madonna was incognito in huge sunglasses and a quirky hat making a low-key arrival at JFK airport, New York. I checked her Instagram posts and I saw that she had posted images of herself in profile showing her long blonde hair as she looked through a camera lens. This was how I'd seen her. Her caption read, “I was the Bride married to Amazement!”

I booked an online ticket for a bolt bus to Seattle. I bought new clothing, hair dye, thick-rimmed-glasses. On the freeway I checked my mobile for news headlines, Korean-Americans had gone missing in Korea, “they’re probably taking in the sights”, Trump had said, “they’re eating good food, we know that much”. I had spent around 40 dollars on my foodstamp card immediately preceding getting onto the bus in Portland. They were onto my disappearance extremely quickly.

After walking several miles in hot sun and with heavy bags filled with clothes, I reached the top of a very steep hill and I discovered that the hotel that I’d booked to sleep in for the night didn’t exist. I walked up the road, down the road, asked passers-by, checked maps on their mobile phones because mine only worked with WiFi. I took a photograph of the lake on the end of the street, after I had posted this to Twitter there was an article that appeared in the Oregonian about keeping the public away from lakes.

Around half past eight a woman with a dog sitting in a bus shelter asked me for a cigarette and I gave her one, offering a light. I told her what had happened with regards the hotel and asked for directions. She told me I could sleep at hers for the night for 45 dollars, but after she had gone into the store and spent the 45 dollars she too bolted and I didn’t see her again.

I slept on a bench on the streets of Seattle and it was one of the coldest nights in living memory.

My Facebook post 26th August, 2017