There are many people of all shades and persuasions who wish you a speedy return to health. I think various factors propel such sentiments. First there is the humane and sincere propensity to not wish ill on others, to not want to sink into the swamp of hate that ensnares with ties that bind. Then there is the less benign fear of being seen as uncaring. There is probably also a desire to appear civil and mature – and to avoid criticism. Whatever.
My own feelings about you, arguably the most life threatening scum to ever slither across the planet, are a bit complicated. As an individual, I see you as way beneath contempt. I see a rampaging beast where I know the beast is just doing what comes naturally. Not an iota of choice involved. A victim of its own inner drives. Often you seem to me like such a beast growling outside morality, outside choice. Donald just being Donald. I can’t hate a spider, a boa constrictor, a lion, nor even a tiny little virus speck. So why hate you?
But the overriding fact is that you are not just another Donald. You are not a speck unto yourself. You are in power, and you cavort with others of your ilk. Thankfully, not everyone who likes you nor even everyone who adores you is remotely like you. Many Trump voters have multiple factors pushing and pulling them into your orbit. Their attachment to you may be mutable. Their escape might even be relatively quick and painless. Others, sadly, are perhaps so deeply embedded in your orbit, so tightly tied, that getting out will be a stupendously hard climb. Providing them ladders is a worthy act. Wishing you well so you can ensnare them even more tightly, not so much.
But, again, as to you – and of course, everything for you returns to you – you are not just a beast, but also a beast rider, a beast provoker, the Beast in Chief, and I must admit, you are good at it, better than most acknowledge. At once stupid as a turnip and effective as an idiot savant, you may yet make the best of having sickened yourself and having sickened even those guarding you, even those praising you, and of course millions of others by your anti-science self-seeking, power-seeking, deaf, dumb, and blind wizardry. You may get well and use that accident of clueless nature to strut and sputter that the Virus is no big deal: be like me, thank me, praise me, follow me, you would gleefully scream over the corpses of your victims. Skip the masks, skip the social distancing, go back to business as usual. Or, barely less destructively, maybe nature’s neutrality will make you remain sick and you will somehow parlay your pain into sympathy for the devil that is you. Or, finally, maybe you will die. Which outcome would I celebrate?
I am a child of the Sixties. Part of my milieu was love and kindness. Part of my milieu was dignity and respect. It is hard for me to wish ill on another individual. But back then there was also a song that seems to me more appropriate even a half century later than today’s get well soon messages whose motivation I can understand, and even feel sympathy with, but which I ultimately find out of time, out of place.
So here’s to you Dearest Donald, to you, not an individual but the foremost Master of War against all humanity. I hope someone turns on a stereo near your bed and plays Dylan singing this to you, over and over, just out of reach, so you can’t turn it off, until the end.
And then I would weep for your soul, but you don’t have one. I would bemoan the loss of your intelligence, but you don’t have any. I would lament the loss of your sly and slippery genius for self preservation, but the end of that would be a blessing for all.
Here, then. Listen. Listen. Until The End.
Come, you masters of war
You that build the big guns
You that build the death planes
You that build all the bombs
bb
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks
bb
You that never done nothin’
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it’s your little toy
bb
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly
bb
Like Judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
bb
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain
bb
You hide in your mansion
While the young peoples’ blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud
bb
You’ve thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
bb
For threatenin’ my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You ain’t worth the blood
That runs in your veins
bb
How much do I know
To talk out of turn?
You might say that I’m young
You might say I’m unlearned
bb
But there’s one thing I know
Though I’m younger than you
That even Jesus would never
Forgive what you do
bb
Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good?
Will it buy you forgiveness?
Do you think that it could?
bb
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul
bb
And I hope that you die
And your death will come soon
I’ll follow your casket
On a pale afternoon
bb
And I’ll watch while you’re lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I’ll stand over your grave
’Til I’m sure that you’re dead
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4 Comments
Mat Grind’s sober comments below are very much worth pondering. And Mike’s original article needs to be remembered.
Oomph. That was intense. Thanks Mike.
Thanks Michael, Excellent in style and content!
Trump dying would probably save some lives, and more easily preserve what democracy the USA has left. Trump living would continue this incompetent and uncaring response to the pandemic. Trump living (as it appears he will) will threaten the integrity of the next election, possibly moving the most powerful country in the world to a dictatorship.
Normally, I would simply think that the result of Trump dying would be nominal, his replacement would continue doing similar things, and the system would continue on. However, Trump is unusually selfish, and has a powerful base that might allow him to hold on to power, even if he is defeated. Therefore, his death would help matters.
Whereas, thinking back to George Bush, his death would not have done much good, his replacement would have simply carried on similar policies.
Trump is different, it seems.