Wesley’s Inferno, Canto 2

 

 

Canto 2

 

Outside the cab colors swirled,

like a miasmic kaleidoscope,

obscuring the street. The whorl

 

eventually dissipated. A sign. “Abandon all hope,

you poor pathetic bastards.” A guard

nodded to Catullus, unhooked a rope,

 

and we drove on past, through a junkyard

of cars stuck in an epic traffic jam.

“We call this Limbo Boulevard,”

 

Catullus said. “Hollow men and women stranded;

You know the Eliot poem. These nobodies

In life never took a stand, didn’t

 

vote, etc., Not bone fide sleazes,

per se, so this is their punishment.

“Can they one day cop a plea?”

 

I asked. “Make atonement?”

“Naw, but this ain’t nothing,

not having no movement.

 

“What you bout to see on the other side will wring

your heart, if you think this here is hell.

Like, I said, tain’t nothing.”

 

Looking in the cars it was hard to tell

any of the passengers apart. We drove past,

swerved left, through a dell

 

towards the car ferry, the last

stop in Limbo. We took our place in the line

of cars. Across the river lightening flashed.

 

You can read/listen to “Canto 1” here.

 

Mentally Diagnosing the Donald

trum-narcissist

After yesterday’s barrage of Cheetos-stained tweets claiming that Obama had wiretapped Trump Towers before the election, some on my Twitter feed conjectured that Donald was in the throes of “a nervous breakdown,” accused him of harboring paranoid delusions. In fact, for some time now, mentally diagnosing the Donald has become a popular topic of conjecture for amateur psychologists all over the Internet.

Well, as I am fond of asserting, “Although I am not a psychologist, I do sleep with one” [not to mention that my undergraduate minor was in psychology, which means I had a least 30 hours of instruction (and in fact became very proficient at darkening bubbles on multiple choice tests)]. These two “facts” certainly establish my credentials as a credible source of wild conjecture, so allow me to weigh in on the mental pathologies that plague our 45th president.

I’ll list and then debunk two prominent theories before I share with you my ultimate diagnosis.

Theory 1: He’s bat shit crazy

bedlam

Although the phrase “bat shit crazy” sounds cool with the consonant t-sounds and its spondaic bang-bang-bang beginning, in the case of Donald, it’s simply not true. He’s not bat shit crazy, nor, fortunately, “crazy like a fox.”

A bat-shit-crazy person couldn’t have read from a teleprompter to deliver in relatively hushed tones (albeit dripping with insincerity) a speech even as pedestrian as the State-of-the-Union Trump delivered last week. A bat-shit-crazy person couldn’t have systematically turned his head from teleprompter to teleprompter as if he were watching a Ping-Pong match in super slo-mo. No, bat-shit-crazy people twitch and constantly scratch themselves.

A bat-shit-crazy person would have seen the original letters of the speech transform on the screen and start dripping blood as he shrieked, “Evil Triminicons have launched an evasion from Faltour and will be arriving on earth at any minute to destroy us all!!!

Conversely, a crazy-like-a-fox person wouldn’t lurch from crisis to crisis because you can’t be a lazy ignoramus and be crazy-like-a-fox. You need systematic thought, and Trump’s thought is about as systematic as shards of glass spraying from an empty Jim Bean bottle launched from a car in the parking lot of a frat house.

On the one hand, Donald is too well functioning to be bat shit crazy and on the other hand not well functioning enough to be crazy like a fox.

Theory 2: Trump suffers from “Narcissistic Personality Disorder

At first glance, this theory seems rather convincing.

Here’s Wikipedia’s (the go-to source for amateur psychologists like myself) list of criteria:

  • Grandiosity with expectations of superior treatment from others
  • Fixated on fantasies of power, success, intelligence, attractiveness, etc.
  • Self-perception of being unique, superior and associated with high-status people and institutions
  • Needing constant admiration from others
  • Sense of entitlement to special treatment and to obedience from others
  • Exploitative of others to achieve personal gain
  • Unwilling to empathize with others’ feelings, wishes, or needs
  • Intensely envious of others and the belief that others are equally envious of them
  • Pompous and arrogant demeanor

Okay, check check check check check check check check check.

But, whoa, hold on; it’s more complicated than that.

In fact, according to Raw Story, Professor Allen Frances, “the psychiatrist who wrote the diagnostic criteria or narcissistic personality disorder,” wrote a letter to the New York Times in which he stated “[Trump] may be a world-class narcissist, but this doesn’t make him mentally ill, because he does not suffer from the distress and impairment required to diagnose mental disorder.”

In the letter he goes on to note that

Mr. Trump causes severe distress rather than experiencing it and has been richly rewarded, rather than punished, for his grandiosity, self-absorption and lack of empathy. It is a stigmatizing insult to the mentally ill (who are mostly well behaved and well meaning) to be lumped with Mr. Trump (who is neither).

Frances concludes with a statement that throws a very cold towel on the very purpose of this post:

His psychological motivations are too obvious to be interesting, and analyzing them will not halt his headlong power grab. The antidote to a dystopic Trumpean dark age is political, not psychological.”

Well, obviously, I disagree with the idea of Trump’s psychological motivations as not being interesting. After all, you’ve read on this far, right?

Theory 3: Trump is merely a lazy, ignorant and intemperate non-reader whose mother and father didn’t love him.

 freud-couch

(How do you copyright a theory? Is it enough to superscript a © over the “him” above?)

Anyway, I’ll quickly and eloquently prove my theory so you can get off this site and contact your representatives.

Exhibit A:

https://twitter.com/realDonaldTrump/status/837996746236182529

A temperate person who is not lazy would have done a little research to remedy his ignorance and discover that a president doesn’t have the power to order a domestic wiretap, that only a federal judge who must have compelling evidence can bug US citizens in the US. This intemperance will now cost Donald at least 3 days of bad press. Indeed, if there’s a document authorizing a wiretap at Trump Tower, Donald has in essence declassified it with his outburst.

But Donald doesn’t like to read as his misspelling of “tap” suggests.

Why read intelligence briefings when you can be watching Fox and Friends. Steve Bannon, Ph.D will explain them to you anyway.

Exhibit B:

web-ny1-trump-queens-long186376jpg

Certainly, if Donald had received paternal love, he wouldn’t be so starved for affirmation.  Look at the expressions on those wretches posing for a family photo. Sad!

It’s always the parents’ fault, people.

Was Follygras a Disaster or Perhaps Not So Much So?

Aging punks too lazy/cheap to dye their gray/white hair descend on Folly Beach

Aging punks too lazy/cheap to dye their gray/white hair descend on Folly Beach

I fear that Trump’s propensity to amp up his descriptions past hyperbole’s red line might be politically contagious.

A sampling of blaring Trump[eted] overstatements from the last debate before the election:

Our energy policies are a disaster.

Your regulations are a disaster, and you’re going to increase regulations all over the place.

We invested in a solar company, our country. That was a disaster.*

Not surprisingly, these “disasters” have transformed our once great nation into a hellscape where billionaires have to scarp over a higher percentage of their wealth than they did before Obama to fund health insurance for the poor.

Carnage!

Kiawah Island, the barrier island just south of Folly.

Kiawah Island, the barrier island just south of Folly.

[cue impatient cough]

Okay, okay, okay, back to my main point concerning contagion. Folly Beach’s mayor, whom I like just fine and would vote for tomorrow, has declared last weekend’s city-sanctioned Carnival street party known as Folly Gras “a disaster.”

You can see footage of the festivities here (with the extra attraction of hearing a soundtrack featuring the Wild Tchoupitoulas).

Trigger warning. If inconveniences and non-lethal foolish human behavior drive you to despair, you probably don’t want to read the following list of off-putting occurrences that when totaled = disaster.

The Post and Courier reports that Department of Public Safety Director Andrew Gilreath cited numerous problems with the festival, where his officers arrested 21 people and wrote 29 citations for “[l]itter, extreme drunkenness, disorderly conduct, underage drinking, public urination, narcotic use, indecent exposure, drunk driving, etc.,” [. . .]. “We could have arrested 100 people and not made a dent, and that was just within the confines of Center Street.”**

C’mon, Tim. Remember Hugo? That was a disaster. The Japanese earthquake that destroyed the nuke plant was a disaster.

Words matter. What we had last weekend on Folly was merely a shitshow – or in the words of the Public Safety Director — “a perfect storm that happened because of the combination of sunny skies, unseasonably warm 80-degree weather and the popularity of the festival.”

Folly after Hurricane Hugo

Folly after Hurricane Hugo


*Writing tip for today: “Disastrous” can be a handy, economical adjective for writers wanting to liposuction flaccid phrase-fettered verbs-of-being like “are and “was.”

** No telling what those aging hippies on the dirt road section of Huron were up to!