“The crowd, too, seemed electrified in a way I had not seen for years. The lifting up of the martyr, the processing of her death into rage, the processing, through Trump, of the rage into joy — the old alchemy was working again.” NY Times
I don’t think I personally give enough credit to the “joy” aspect of finding out that your worst fantasies about global conspiracies (the Democrats, the Ukrainians, the French, the Pope, the sex traffickers, the Fairies & Orcs, Mike Pence– whomever) are likely true, and that a savior– with his own custom leather-bound bible to offer– is bravely defying the courts and politicians and judges (even the ones he appointed) who are out there serving the interests of the international pedophile conspiracy by bringing him down. The swagger, the mocking, the insults (even of Jimmy Carter as he mourned the death of his wife), seem tasteful to you, hallmarks of virtue and moral courage and dignity. Surely he would have served in the military had he had the opportunity– okay, maybe he did dodge it– and surely some of those wounded veterans like John McCain deserved mockery, but he is sure to restore military spending to its normal level of ten times what everyone else in the world is spending combined, and he will stop crime, invent manufacturing, prove that all the world’s climate scientists are liars, put Stormy Daniels back in her place, pay the money he owes the National Enquirer, eliminate the deficit by cutting taxes (after increasing it massively his first term), stop abortion (unless the polling shows it’s a loser of an issue), cure cancer, and maybe actually go to church some days. Whatever he says, even if it’s the opposite of what he said yesterday or the day before that, or tomorrow, believe it, deliriously. You know in your heart that to do otherwise will bring not a rational, creaky, imperfect but functioning state; no, it will bring the apocalypse.