Got another Trump tidbit. Yes he is a megalomaniac. But a genius megalomaniac, in a rotting dull stale republic full of bloodless technocrats.
Someone asked me, “When is he going to make a mistake? Is he going to go crazy over the attack on his wife?” Answer. The great ones calculate everything.
He said so himself at the last rally in Tuscan. You did not here it? No? That is because he speaks in code. For ears that can hear.
He invited a fan up to the podium with him, she was leaving and he told here to use the stairs.
And then he said, what, you remember?
“I never hurry, I approach the stairs nice and easy, if I were to fall they would have it all over the front page. That’s how we take it, nice and easy.”
He has a genius IQ. Everything is calculated. And like all great tyrants, he likes to boast. But only for ears that can hear.
“I have at this moment so many fundamental thoughts, so many truly metaphysical things to say, that I suddenly get tired and decide not to write any more, not to think any more, but to allow the fever of speaking to make me sleepy, and with my eyes closed, like a cat, I play with everything I could have said.” -Fernando Pessoa.
That will not work in a blog at all. It is election night. Over at Scott’s blog comments are rolling in, here it is nice and peaceful. I need to fix the comments section, but it takes so much effort to go adjust the setting. And if I did I may find out that no one is reading this…
“Let’s buy books so as not to read them; let’s go to concerts without caring to hear the music or see who’s there; let’s take long walks because we’re sick of walking; and let’s spend whole days in the country, just because it bores us.” -Fernando Pessoa
Let’s follow an election…
Trump up in Florida. What about that weird state. Uta. No it is spelled Utah. Got to soothe out the state, to harsh otherwise. Becks stomping grounds are in this area. Results not in yet. Bernie is getting the beat down again.
“We live by action—by acting on desire. Those of us who don’t know how to want—whether geniuses or beggars—are related by impotence.” -Fernando Pessoa
That about sums it up.
Something original, out of the blue, dance those thoughts for us. We has some inspirations this morning, but used it all up buying groceries. And forgot the coffee, source of all inspiration. If I were to think about the world right now… Somebodies love is not coming home. But somebodies love does not come home every day…
“One of my constant preoccupations is trying to understand how it is that other people exist, how it is that there are souls other than mine and consciousnesses not my own, which, because it is a consciousness, seems to me unique. I understand perfectly that the man before me uttering words similar to mine and making the same gestures I make, or could make, is in some way my fellow creature. However, I feel just the same about the people in illustrations I dream up, about the characters I see in novels or the dramatis personae on the stage who speak through the actors representing them.
I suppose no one truly admits the existence of another person. One might concede that the other person is alive and feels and thinks like oneself, but there will always be an element of difference, a perceptible discrepancy, that one cannot quite put one’s finger on. There are figures from times past, fantasy-images in books that seem more real to us than these specimens of indifference-made-flesh who speak to us across the counters of bars, or catch our eye in trams, or brush past us in the empty randomness of the streets. The others are just part of the landscape for us, usually the invisible landscape of the familiar.
I feel closer ties and more intimate bonds with certain characters in books, with certain images I’ve seen in engravings, that with many supposedly real people, with that metaphysical absurdity known as ‘flesh and blood’. In fact ‘flesh and blood’ describes them very well: they resemble cuts of meat laid on the butcher’s marble slab, dead creatures bleeding as though still alive, the sirloin steaks and cutlets of Fate.
I’m not ashamed to feel this way because I know it’s how everyone feels. The lack of respect between men, the indifference that allows them to kill others without compunction (as murderers do) or without thinking (as soldiers do), comes from the fact that no one pays due attention to the apparently abstruse idea that other people have souls too.” – Fernando Pessoa