The man in red
Have you ever heard the term Rageaholic? If you haven’t, you’re hearing it now. You see, I believe among Donald Trump‘s many psychological ailments lies the fact that he may be a Rageaholic.
Where does this anger come from? It seems like it’s always been inside of him. The anger of Donald Trump is something that he passed on to his drooling group of brain dead fans And we know where many of their anger comes from Many of Donald Trump’s fans feel victims of a system that they think failed them.
Many of them have, perhaps not had easy lives, built up years of resentment toward the government, to authority, to anybody different than them. Donald Trump has led a life of privilege from the beginning. He is an unlikely vehicle for such rage.
And yet we saw it, did we not from the beginning? Donald Trump cannot be happy. He cannot be happy about anything. Many people talk about how they’ve never seen Trump laugh, and I’m not talking about a chuckle.
I’m talking about the kind of airy laughter that comes from deep within. The type of laughter where we become liquid, the laughter seems to come out effortlessly from a place deep inside, a place of joy. We’ve all laughed like that haven’t we, at one time?
The heart’s ability to expand, and to feel joy and let it seep in is possibly the most glorious human emotion one can ever feel. It is a beautiful experience, and I honestly feel sad for anyone who has never experienced it
I don’t believe that Donald Trump has experienced it. The color of his night is red. It is a bright and crazed cherry red. I never see soft colors near Donald Trump. I never see the effortless beauty of letting love and light in.
Donald Trump’s inability to laugh at himself is legendary, but he seems to have an inability to laugh at anything.
Even on inauguration day Donald Trump seemed angry, always had a hint of violence percolating inside of him. I saw it. I’m sure you saw it. That anger within him came years before he was ever president. Where did this come from? And isn’t it tragic that this person has thrown away their life in such a morbid way?
If someone would’ve painted a portrait of Donald Trump, the only color within, would be red. It would be as red as the juiciest, most poisonous apple. He doesn’t have any other color in his palette, no blues or greens or blacks or silvers or gold.
He has no ability. no imagination to just look around him, and breathe in the air and laugh. He doesn’t even know that he’s living in a limitless world, a gorgeous great big, colorful crazy world of amazing possibilities. And there he sits, the man in red. Slathered from head to toe in biting venomous anger.
