Always I soothe my soul with rock 'n' roll but, generally, it's Trump versus the tomatoes at my house lately, with the Trump thing blowing every meter and measure I have available. Truly Trump is a fifteen on a ten-scale so higher math is required, and I think we've got to go beyond normal methods to get the guy on the page in graphing whatever it is he represents.
What he represents, I don't know, apart from a huge "screw you" arising from the souls of puritanical Republicans craving utopia and coming unglued over the horrible imperfection of everything. I celebrate and embrace imperfection. It enables me to do as well as I can with my own inadequacy and failings. Perfectionism is horrible and a curse.
In my experience of certain clinical cases, meaning diagnosed OCD, there is usually a dump or landfill around. In every instance I've seen the person has a closet or part of the yard which is a dump, so I think Trump is a dump, a repository of repressed, right-wing psychological garbage and the refuse of denial, probably composting, at his age.
He's the closeted reality of Republicanism, slowly emerging. Meanwhile I'm eating myself into oblivion with tomatoes, all that digestive energy diverting from the Trump conundrum. I've never seen a technically perfect tomato, the embodiment of the form, but I love them and I'm ready to share. You may contact me about this, as long as the harvest lasts.
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