To my historically obsessed mind, there is this almost whiff of Shakespearean drama unfolding, political theatre, providing the background, the bits the players speak beguile, woo, or would seem to, hidden meanings, whispered secrets of once loyal men, yet concerned only with his own wealth and power, at the cost of the people he was elected to serve.
“Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand, Blood and revenge are hammering in my head”William Shakespeare, Titus Andronicus
A brings to my mind a kind of Titus Andronicus sort of tragedy, rewritten as a tragi-comedy, playing out before our eyes, a slow spiral of hatred and vengeance that unfolds after he captures the Goth Queen and her sons, sacrificing her eldest as payment for the loss of his own, and pays the price for his cruelty, levelled at the man by her sons with the rape and mutilation of his daughter, and fate, and by the end of the play there is this uncomfortable kind of horror tinged with pity, if but a fart of pity.
Although, in the case of the rumpTus we have a fool who thinks himself a sort of Roman General.
Loyalty, you know, this obsession of the 45th, will over time be his downfall. As those around him are chosen only for that quality above all others, his administration will wither in pandering to an incompetent man. As we watch as he destroys everything he touches, the Midas touch of doom, who values nothing but brown noses of his chosen, the few.
One of the greatest delights though will be the next installments of this shitshow unfolding in the land of my birth, with events unique in American history, oh what stories to tell the Grandchildren, eh? Oh, the blessed curse of living through these sort of monumental times, of watching the slow destruction of a man and his empire, and the Grand Old Party power dissolving before our eyes with all their fake morality, their family values are thrown by the wayside, offering loyalty to this amoral man will be their last stand and their epitaph.
“O, why should wrath be mute, and fury dumb?
I am no baby, I, that with base prayers
I should repent the evils I have done:
Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did
Would I perform, if I might have my will;
If one good deed in all my life I did,
I do repent it from my very soul.”
Watching from the sidelines the pleading, misleading, the greed he uses like a drug, an obsession, a curse, and the high he gets from the accolades of his crazy universe will unravel him.
I mean, is it wrong to look forward to this spectacle that awaits us, with our ringside seats to history? Watch as he fails to mislead, or defeat, us, we, those who he is supposed to serve, protect, lead.
The man who ruled his corporate entities, through thick and thin, top-down, and now he’s suddenly… oblivious? He was not aware of what Cohen was up to? He wasn’t aware of the details of his own campaign? He admits he is incompetent? Really? I guess that’s his excuse, sorry, I’m an idiot. That he let his minions get him embroiled with this mish-mash of Russian oligarchs and other international sleazy cohorts, and, shucks, ol’ turncoat Mueller and the SDNY are just meanies with a knife to their throat.
… the judges have pronounced
My everlasting doom of banishment.
O happy man! they have befriended thee.
Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive
That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers?
Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey
But me and mine: how happy art thou, then,
From these devourers to be banished!”
He really does have this kind of strange relationship with the truth, of telling it, listening to it, understanding it, I really think he fears it, certainly doesn’t like to hear it. Ignorant of the concept of common sense, exhibiting that dangerous sort of stupid that is so sure of themselves that they have no idea how completely ignorant they are. Do you think the reason he gets away with half of what he gets away with is that he just leaves people so speechless, like some kind of paralysis of mumbled acquiescence just to get away, maybe live another day, until they write ‘the book’?
And there is no future in Trump’s world. None. It doesn’t matter to him, the future is pointless, unfathomable, not his problem, only this minute matters, this moment, maybe because he’s never had to worry about it, he has his millions his daddy even from the dead rolls into his accounts. And not like some Buddhist live in the moment meditative thang, but rather a three-year-old rampaging toddler sort of thang. Him at the centre, cameras rolling, playing patty cake for the kool-aid crowd, adoring this fool in a tie. He cares very little for what his actions will do, how they will affect others, you know, like the air they breath, water they drink, jobs they lost cause of his tariffs, he doesn’t consider that stuff important, not to the bottom line, his bottom line, which is money, control, power. I don’t think he has remorse, empathy, certainly, not compassion, and his relationships are transactional, gestures, ownership, like legal documents stating his worth, and act out his wishes, drugged by the same greed in their blood.
He doesn’t want a wall, he wants to talk about a wall, no different than any other politico, talks the talk and doesn’t walk the walk. If he wanted a deal he would make some kind of effort, not stamp his feet like a child and threaten to leave the sandbox. Well, course he is anyways, taking a 14 day leave to his little oasis down south at his golf course.
“Hark, villains! I will grind your bones to dust.”
Maybe he can be talked into leaving his phone behind? Yeah, wishful thinkin’.