Donald Trump isn’t compelled to plumb the depths of himself because he finds himself most interesting. It's worse than that. It will happen because he’s the only thing that exists to him. The rest of us aren’t even imaginings.
We have no hint of existence. This is the man to whom the American people entrusted their nuclear arsenal and military might. For Donald there was no real surprise. He’s the last resort and destiny has placed him there.
His rise wasn't only the inevitable result of his greatness. He was always alone at the top but it took a while for the physics of it to play out as the inert, valueless matter, meaning us and the rest of humanity, sunk to the bottom.
There it belongs, leaving him free to breath the rarified air of divinity in a place reflecting his unprecedented and incomprehensible fineness and superiority. Never before has there been such a specimen of humanity.
Never again will there be. Trump is seeing to that. Increasingly the world is Donald Trump turned inside out, a morass of filth and can of worms for the ages. The world must end with him for the drama of it all to make sense.
He wills it so. He is the ark, covenant and end-point of creation. He thinks so. Try to tell him otherwise. And good luck with that. On the scales of life Donald outweighs the rest of creation. That's his assessment of things.
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