It might be an insight or maybe another shot in the dark, but something struck a chord after hearing that Donald Trump has threatened to invoke the Insurrection Act in Minneapolis. Minneapolis, of all places!

He’s been aching to do this for a long time, and now, apparently, he has a perceived reason for doing so.

He has some sort of cause for sending in military troops to restore order in a situation he fomented. Unrest and anger he’s sown may soon be addressed with additional manpower and weaponry and even less margin for error when it comes to opening fire on civilians who are going to be even more angry and on edge and fed up with this manufactured drama.

With all his assumed Executive power, Trump could stop this nonsense in its tracks, theoretically, since, I assume, much of the impetus and devil-on-the-shoulder prodding has been coming from Stephen Miller. But Trump has neither the courage nor moral grounding to do so, and may not want to, because he enjoys the mayhem and the power trip. Besides, he may not have enough sense to recognize motives or the ill-conceived nature of much of what has transpired since he took office. And his heart has always been at least ten sizes too small.

So, here we are, perhaps about to cross another Rubicon. Can’t be many more before all hell breaks loose.

When I think about the passage of time, it’s tempting to compartmentalize, meaning, for example, my college days seem like they happened in another lifetime.

I still remember certain details of being in first grade. I can recall certain events like they just occurred, while large segments are seemingly lost forever… until a prompt of some sort—a song or smell or someone’s recollection. Then the fog is cleared, and the memory shines through.

The brain certainly is a remarkable organ. Highly complex, a vessel of unbounded mystery. A storehouse of memories– all of which, when you think about it, unfolded just a minute ago, or a few, a few hundred, a few thousand days before yesterday.

Not even a veneer of concern.

Serious governance is not on the agenda, but survival is. The Trump administration is too far gone to think about actual governance.  That was never going to be their thing. Instead, it’s been a witch’s brew of strange bedfellows and questionable alliances, a patina of “patriotism” scratched off to reveal authoritarian intent, along with vengeance, paranoia, mind-numbing incompetence, and a conveniently interpreted, ill-conceived, heavy-handed brand of Christianity.

Governance as the founding fathers envisioned it is too hard for this collection of impostors. They prefer a white, subservient, ignorant populace, only good for filling positions on a front line of some war that didn’t need starting, or to work at jobs that end up enriching the one-percenters somehow and at some point. This is not tenable for much longer.

America the truly beautiful may have never existed, but many of us were optimistic that it someday could. The descent to some much lesser place is in progress, happening quicker than many had anticipated. And it is as if the Trump administration is daring us to fight back, so it can unleash the real ugliness, the unmistakable evidence of a takeover.

It’s laughable that Trump encourages the people of Iran to keep protesting–and dying– while the same thing happening here, in solely Democratic and ethnically diverse strongholds, is met with an influx of ill-trained ICE agents and maybe members of the military, always one panicked move away from bloodshed.

It’s only the middle of January. Trump and his cadre of Snidely Whiplashes seem intent on shielding their felon/POTUS for as long as they can from the relentless specter of the Epstein files, or maybe just from his stunning cluelessness and constant lies. So, we have a buffet of distractions– an invasion of Venezuela, a criminal investigation of Jerome Powell, talk of acquiring Greenland either the easy way or the hard way, saber-rattling directed at Iran and Mexico and even Canada, and a POTUS who is so immature and needy that he can’t rule out accepting an undeserved Nobel Peace Prize from its rightful recipient.

It’s enough to make one wonder if we are unable to awaken from an epic nightmare.

Each day, we think the bottom must be in sight, but the slide into the pit appears interminable and irreversible, with no one seemingly interested in doing anything about it.

No long-suffering indignance will leave a mark. Neither will righteous anger. Nothing will get through to the old man who’s losing his mind and who must still believe that everyone waits with bated breath on his every word and gesture.

Colbert’s take on why Trump got up and walked to a window at the meeting with oil executives is as valid as any other theory—he had to fart and didn’t want to suffer the embarrassment of letting one fly at the table. Or it might have been his penchant for “all eyes on me.” Or maybe he was just wandering and losing his train of thought.

We must come to terms with the fact that there is a long list of things to try when it comes to distracting from the Epstein files. Trump and those around him will go to great lengths to use every item on that list, and the actions taken, words spoken will get increasingly outlandish and consequential. It’s like the ultimate throwing of spaghetti against the wall, in hopes they can keep up the ugly ruse.

People keep saying America is in trouble, and that we have become the rogue state. So, what happens next, Russ?

The language uttered, the vehemence and frustration boiling over—these are the by-products of Trump 2.0. Coarse, guttural, raw emotion. Trump has given all of us permission to be some worse version of ourselves. He brings it out in us.

The trouble is that he enjoys this. He loves seeing people lose their cool. He chalks it up as a victory, somehow. It’s what he lives for—besides stealing undeserved honors and making people pay ridiculous sums in obeisance or to grease the skids. He doesn’t know much, but he knows at least three words in Latin: quid pro quo.

FIFA manufactures a sham peace prize just for him, figuring it will serve as a binky, I guess. The actual winner of the Noble (sic) Peace Prize acknowledges that she’s OK with sharing the honor, so the Nobel Committee has to spell out that such a thing is neither allowed nor proper.

Hey America! Are we bursting with pride yet? MAGA, are you seeing this, taking it all in?

You’d probably vote for him again, wouldn’t you?