Two hypotheses regarding Donald Trump’s surge in the polls.
The first: Trump’s plain-speaking approach serves as a political corrective, a rallying cry against tired postmodern identity politics. His campaign is a referendum against evil Progressives and their audacious demands that all persons deserve dignity and a chance to succeed.
The second: Trump’s rise signals the next stage in the natural progression of a morally bankrupt political system that bears no relation to the people it claims to represent.
Ann Coulter but with less testosterone, Trump “gets” nothing and he’ll get nothing done. He’s the political voice of disaffected Americans who sacrifice their economic interests for the promise of making America great again—code for kicking out Mexicans and drug-testing welfare recipients.
Obama became a celebrity president. Trump wants to be celebrity-in-chief—executive producer of a new brand of must-see TV.
In my encounters with other depressed and anxious people I have found behind their struggles a deep sense of compassion. Are they compassionate as a result of living with mental illness or is their “sickness” a natural response to being highly sensitive to their own bodies and the needs of others?
Like Forrest Gump says about whether we are free or determined by outside forces, maybe it’s both. Maybe both are happening at the same time. Sensitive folks take things harder than most people, and in coping with their pain want to ease the suffering of others.
I’m a sensitive guy, no doubt. While we’ve made some progress, it’s still unmanly to be sensitive. Dare I say many alpha males find sensitive guys “womanly,” or another hot-button name for lady parts? Don’t forget what term middle school boys (and grown men who act like boys) hurl at anyone deemed “gay.”
That’s the thing. Sometimes I feel the need to come out as straight. Just because I write poetry or don’t wave my dick around and drool like a frat boy, doesn’t mean I’m not attracted to Jennifer Lawrence, Amy Schumer or almost any woman who is both: (1) conscious; and (2) in my line of sight.
Maybe it’s my below-normal testosterone levels or how high my voice sounds over the phone. Thank God I’m not into musical theater and don’t have any fashion sense.
Okay, now I’m being a dick. But if you’re reading, J-Law, I hope you get my point.