For this 200th post, it seems appropriate to linger a bit longer and mine the vein that is Donald Trump. I don’t know the reason for the fixation. Maybe it’s because I’ve never liked the guy and I’m just trying to work through this (still) visceral anger. That’s what us liberals do, right? We’re always trying to get in touch with our feelings. We’re just a bunch of fragile flowers who care too much about silly things like breathable air, drinkable water, a sustainable lifestyle, and Presidents who aren’t assholes.
In the evolutionary scheme of things, perhaps we pansy liberal Socialists are destined for extinction, because we don’t have that ruthless killer instinct like The Donald (does he even have it, really?).
Or maybe we just aren’t motivated by the same things. Trump and company will disagree and say at some level we’re all the same, but that’s only because they need us all to be the same. They can’t comprehend aspiring to some higher good that doesn’t involve self-enrichment and astonishing arrogance and flat affect, and using any means to achieve an end.
When it comes to the ways of the world, our liberal heads are in the clouds, always daydreaming and refusing to acknowledge how things really are.
What’s beyond frustrating at this point is that the supply of adjectives has been exhausted. Sometimes it seems like we have no weapons left. Well-placed critique and thoughtful counter-narrative mean nothing to Trump, unless he’s tweeting something inane. He seems to get better mileage out of his limited vocabulary. Our only hope may be that he has the emotional IQ of a 6-year old, which could do him in.
Short of outright rebellion, there’s not much left to us who find the last three years to be a total loss, and the prospect of another term totally unacceptable. So here’s to keeping on keeping on, and hoping someone can find a chink in his armor.