Donald J. Trump promises Freedom to move in the World just like he does, under his protection, according to one’s own rules (which comport with his). The most die-hard Trump fanatics do not hate Bernie Sanders in the slightest (some daughters think Bernie is going to give them free college).
Why Trump? Rich says he’s tired of the way things are; he wants Change; ‘Trump’s the only one who’s saying what people are thinking.’
Cheers arise when Donald mentions Christmas, building a wall between the United States and Mexico and the virtues of Waterboarding. He appears to wish something worse than waterboarding would be invented; like terror suspects would be placed under Niagara Falls and forced to catch it with their mouths. The terms and exhortations blend together, until you think, Hell; why not build a wall out of water on Christmas?
I expect to feel Donald’s force-field, but instead I perceive him as being barely there, almost peripheral — a vacuum into which rushing winds of white privilege, masculinity, $$$, American exceptionalism, drive, pride and ambition are constantly rushing. Rather than being drawn toward a vortex of charisma, I find myself floating away (Ground control, to Major Tom … or is it Rocket Man (song)?).
Diana Ross (no, that Diana Ross; You’ll never believe it. Wrong color, and I can’t sing) has a ‘daughter wh0 says she’s voting for Hillary Clinton. Hitlery, I call her Hitlery. Gathering her breath, she barely screams ‘The emails!’’ (in a this nails it, that’s all you need to know; The Smoking Gun, the straw that breaks the camel’s back; the piece-de’-resistance that topples the House of Cards; tone of voice). ‘Did you hear about Marco Rubio having a gay-thing in his younger days? They got a picture of him in a gay lake, you know, full of gay guys.”
* I suppress an urge to grip her hand and ask, Where is this gay lake, Diana Ross? Why bother with messy things like facts when the narrative is so compelling (and believable)?
Akira Morikawa 