Allan, there once was a then famous Dutch writer writing so much (and fast) that a then famous Dutch poet exclaimed: ‘you are writing faster than God can read’.* I remembered this while reading your last two posts. I’m exhausted by now, hardly able to handle the applause machine. To cut the clap, I just bow for you.
You have reached the stadium of satire where it has become impossible to discern reality from narrative. In the beginning I thought: has that guy really done this, said this, tweeted this? The answer was always noooo, Allan just made this up to entertain me. This is beyond any conceivable human behavior. But now I think: this guy really did this, said this, tweeted this. This is what he is, a vile alien with small hands and a pea brain, serially blabbering nonsense based on nothing.
Interestingly enough, we all thought this alien was by some invisible process programmed and operated by others, especially Rasputin Bannon. But now he is all alone in his space suit looking like a disoriented tangerine business man from a D-rated film noir. He must be lost in the Witch House, nothing and nobody to fall back on, amidst evangelicals prone to swap the Constitution for their Old Testament as interpreted by them, and generals prone to go on firing the rest of his men and women, till a silent military coup results in a government led from the chapel in the Pentagon. The military-industrial complex will be taken over by the evangelical-military complex and the B.C.-in-C. will become their puppet. And where will the puppet end? In the Hell of Fame.
Yeah, this is satire, of course. This is made up by me. You just replaced reality by an otherworldly alternative but true reality. Where did I hear about this before?
*Just for the record, the writer was Simon Vestdijk, author of 52 novels, hundreds of essays, 57 short stories, a system for classifying the quality of classical music, and poetry. The poet was Adrian Roland Holst.