agree to disagree. He is the right man for the wrongest times in history. He is, or his main advisor, a managed genius, perturbed as a fox, brought up on a silver platter, breathing through the purest whisps of realization, a total spiritual wreck, seeking eternal hideaways, as did for instance some permanent recursively written figures of modernity.
The epitome of arrangement always highly symbolized by. The Garbo, who not only figuratively, but literally , lock stock and barrel took up residence in escapism. Trump seeks release from involvement by riding on empty, the emptiness of spiritual gasses of American idealism, refurbishing the old Chevy so that the levy will again come into focus.
He knows that works domination is long gone, but internal cohesion can not be maintained actually, but only by such appeal to the under-informed, that he can muster up from within his own infant terrible personality, somehow reverting to a very old firm of tragic-comedy, the birth of which formerly was performed through actual masks.
Nietzche tried removing them, and he really knew he went overboard, he really wanted to keep it within the secured wraps, but did not , couold not control the eventual unforceeable consequence of the inflexibility of Pandora’s box.
Now this is such a very slight film of separating the ideal under which anthropomorphic ideation rule, that it becomes structurally a veritable illusion of a reversed triangle.
Standing on their head, professing ethical desperation, crying heavenword obsessing mantra to 7th heaven.
“No, this is no what I wanted, I didn’t realize it would come to this!”
They got what they wished for, but they did not realize what it was.
The intellectuals dreaming up their functional equivalence are really not to be blamed, they mean well.
There is always, of course searches for safety valves, and they do, for the most part, work.
Trump is a safety valve, convenient, as he is used for that particular role: To show, the world, that YES, America is still, and always will be the only place on earth, that a chaplenisque character still get a part in modern society, and get by. That idea can even
appear to defeat the ideal without really doing so.
That is what happens in post modernity, everyone stars in his own Dali type hyper-exxageration, as an attitude for suppressing absurdist positions, again inverted by the hyperkinetic, frantic pace at which life becomes featured.
The logical contradiction becomes technically inversely proportional , as the repressed idea/ideal surfaces from a sea/see/saw of malleable uncertainty.
No, Trump may be crazy, but he ain’t no fool.