If, as Carl von Clausewitz as soon as noticed, the mark of a historic second is that nobody is aware of what the fuck is occurring, then what we now have here’s a historic second. (Fairly certain it was von Clausewitz who stated that.) What we now have right here is President Donald Trump, the day after his folks sacked the Capitol, attempting to strike a tone. Which tone? He doesn’t know. And it’s making him very uncomfortable.
He doesn’t need to scold them, to be censorious, as a result of that’s not his model; his model is to get everyone pumped. However that was yesterday. At present, apparently, he needs to be boring. He needs to be pouty and presidential. Folks died, in any case. Issues bought damaged. They wished to string up Mike Pence! As enjoyable because it was—and it was a whole lot of enjoyable—pointing an armed mob at Congress may not have been the best thought he ever had.
So now what? He stands on the lectern, in his lambency, in his mysterious Trumpy softness, between two sternly drooping flags: Donald Trump, nice communicator-confuser, nice charismatic muddle of indicators and twisty wires, groping for a temper. He’s pettish. He’s attempting arduous. Somebody’s written this speech for him, this pompous speech, and he’s studying it in his particular slushy, droning-intoning rhetorical-blah-blah-blah voice, the voice which means he doesn’t imply it. “I wish to start by addressing the heinous assault yesterday …” Heinous: wonderful American phrase. You need to use it to explain a mass capturing (“this heinous act”) or a foul slice of pizza (“this crust is heinous.”)
He makes a twirly gesture along with his hand. Go once more. One other take. Trump squints, actually squints, on the teleprompter, his squashy options knitting themselves into that Trumpian squiggle of obtuseness/penetration. His vibe is all over. “To those that broke the regulation … ,” he says with bedtime tenderness. Then he says “you’ll pay.” He appears uneasy. Paying for stuff: That doesn’t sound correct. Higher than “you belong in jail,” although, which he flat-out gained’t say: “Can’t say that, I’m not gonna—I already stated ‘you’ll pay.’” Maintain going! “The demonstrators who infiltrated the Capitol … have DEFIED THE SEAT OF DESTINY—” He breaks off in frustration, offers the lectern a double-handed thump. The road is “defiled the seat of American democracy.” Why can’t Trump be Trump? Why can’t he simply give it certainly one of his delirious in-the-moment rewrites? To defile the seat of democracy … massive deal. However to defy the seat of future? Now you’re speaking.
No improv at this time, although, no drifting off into dreamy Trumptime. At present he’s sticking to the script. Principally. He doesn’t need to say, “This election is now over.” As a result of the election isn’t over. The election is a everlasting state, a regulation of nature, bellum omnium contra omnes. And he doesn’t need to say “yesterday.” “Yesterday is a tough phrase for me.” (Oh the webs of philosophy you would spin from that.) “Simply take it out,” suggests someone off-camera, a voice from a cloud, like a beam of white gold. It’s Ivanka, candy, holy mother-daughter-editor Ivanka. Naturally she is there.
“My solely aim was to make sure the integrity of the vote.” That’s a tough line. A flaming, screaming, mile-high hovering falsehood after all, but additionally a thorny assortment of t-sounds. They get caught in his enamel. The integrity of the vote? Jesus Christ. Is there a fairy story the place some massive liar is attempting to inform a lie so huge, he’s actually unable to get it out of his mouth? Trump over-enunciates, fluffs the road, snarls ultra-whitely, tries once more, fluffs it once more, swats the lectern with a testy hand.
However this isn’t a fairy story. A pair extra takes and he’ll nail it. No curse will adhere to him. He’ll defy the seat of future, and are available bouncing, bouncing again.
