Stepford children
The other night I watched Donald Trump’s speech at his golf club in New Jersey. Watching the speech, I felt completely surreal. My mind spun. I was well and truly stunned into silence. It wasn’t because of Donald Trump. His speech was actually very boring. He hit all the same notes. He played the victim with imperfection, and he generally came across like the criminal he is.
So no, friends and readers, it was not Donald Trump who gave me this feeling. It was the people. They stood around him in throngs. They howled and they clapped. His every word was met with reverence. The reverence of the enraptured ones. They reminded me of children, Stepford children. Perhaps artificial intelligence had designed them. They seemed to have no purpose except to cheer for Trump.
They were lost souls, but they didn’t know it , and on they went. At one point the Stepford children joined hands. They joined hands and they sang happy birthday to him. The love flowed from their eyes. Some of them appeared quite hysterical. Some of them appeared ecstatic. They almost looked the same as they all wore that same look of brainwashed fervor.
It made me sick. It made me wish to return to a simpler time and more loving time, a time that did not hold such disgust. Who were these people who could be so enraptured, taken in so easily? What were their lifestyles? What went through their minds as Trump spoke? Did they even bother reading one paragraph of the indictment?
They walk among us ,these enraptured ones, they might look like us, but they are so different that they might as well be from another planet.
