Kaum mag ich mich mit Trump befassen, es ist doch alles zu schlimm, irgendwie auch zu banal und offensichtlich, die Analysen erschöpfen sich ja quasi in der Dumpfheit des Donalds.
Aber Rebecca Solnit hat eine so poetische Betrachtung über ihn als Figur geschrieben, dass ich das hier gern festhalten will:
A man who wished to become the most powerful man in the world, and by happenstance and intervention and a series of disasters was granted his wish. Surely he must have imagined that more power meant more flattery, a grander image, a greater hall of mirrors reflecting back his magnificence. But he misunderstood power and prominence. This man had bullied friends and acquaintances, wives and servants, and he bullied facts and truths, insistent that he was more than they were, than it is, that it too must yield to his will. It did not, but the people he bullied pretended that it did. Or perhaps it was that he was a salesman, throwing out one pitch after another, abandoning each one as soon as it left his mouth. A hungry ghost always wants the next thing, not the last thing.
Es lohnt sich, das ganze Ding mal zu lesen: