April 4, 2017
Unlike sex or art, where being specific is the likely path to fulfillment, to creatively address Trump corruption one must generalize. Focusing on details, even selecting which disgusting Trump exploits to treat, quickly becomes unwieldy. I mean, how does a guy choose between treasonous collusion and poisoning the planet. And there’s so much more.
We have nepotism and the kind of patriarchal deference last seen in ancient Greece – not to mention an awkward father-daughter dynamic. But, addressing nepotism leads to boredom from constantly repeating the same names – after all, it’s nepotism. And tedium is assured when we re-litigate battles won years ago. (I’m so weary of old white guys once again grabbing all the power, and I’m an old white guy.) And frankly, that last topic leads to a place, even I, care not to go. (Ugh…)
There’s the chicken-hawk aspect. Gotta love the militarist despot who didn’t have the stones to serve. Whiners like this hold a special place in my heart, but I can’t effectively write about them because, when I try, it always comes out as string of expletives. Can’t seem to contain myself when talking about that fucking piece of shit Russian-ass-sucking cowardly shit-stained prick. (See?)
Taking a step back and looking at our Trump-era congress, only reveals more cases of corruption too numerous and cartoon-like to track without a research staff and sophisticated computer system – and Russians aren’t going to let us use theirs.
Congress offers more of the same; perhaps, the one interesting aspect is how effortlessly they got on-board with the Donald. But, self-righteous evangelists willingly in bed with a sexual predator can only hold our attention just so long. Normalization is brutal.
No, need a metaphor, something inclusive but dark…
So, I browsed through several “dark” writers (Poe, Lovecraft, King, Rowling) looking for a seed or even a direct quote. Got nothing. Everything they had to say was too pretty. Trump’s not, he’s painful.
One-hundred-forty-seven days ago, late on election night, my daughter called; upset and worried, she asked, “What happened? How could this jerk win?”
Frankly, I didn’t (and still don’t) know. I told her it would be okay; we would resist; the country made it through Nixon, through Reagan.
That was a parental mistake and did her no service. I should have been honest and said, “Honey, monsters are coming.”
The republic is infected with monsters; exorcising will be painful.
(Well, wasn’t that just a gentle springtime shower of unicorns and rainbows?)
In Peace and Justice,