The 1990s

My world was governed by the seasons in the nineteen-nineties.  The winter wheat slept under the snow; there was green in spring as the ditches ran muddy.  Leaves filled out the lilac bushes and deciduous trees.  Pine pollen floated in blobs on the puddles or in amoeba like shadows on asphalt as the water went away.  Summer baked into dust as combines spread across the hills harvesting the wheat.  The sun started falling to the south as the days grew shorter.  The leaves fell and the snows came again.

Yes the cesspool of existence that is the world occasionally backed up and you had a whiff of what was going on in the world, but all in all, Donald J. Trump was a myth, a joke, a late night monologue punchline.  There were other monsters out there more real than the gilt blob of Trump floating in the obnoxious tank of sewage that tests people’s souls.

I checked to be sure.  I looked on Wikipedia for the key events from the nineties.   No mention of Trump.  What started me thinking about that time was the video that came out this summer from nineteen-ninety two of him at Mar-a-Lago partying with cheerleaders from the Buffalo Bills.  You might remember it.  This is a still:


That is Jeffrey Epstein standing next him.  Who the man on the left with the drink in his wedding-banded hand is I have no idea.

I filed that date away in my mind as something to think about in the general behavior of the rich and what they can get away with because they can afford it.  Later in the summer, I was taking old photos of mine off the wall for scanning, and the date I had written on the back of one of them was nineteen-ninety-two, these two.




I know that I was at least once down at Buffalo Eddy on the Snake River in nineteen-ninety-two.  There are all sorts of ghosts that I can dredge up from that year, that decade.  None of them have anything to do with Donald J. Trump.  The film “Home Alone 2” came out in nineteen-ninety.  There is a scene where the kid asks a stranger for directions in a hotel lobby.  I do not even remember the film, but there was a flutter of consciousness of film-technique that this was somebody who might be in pop-culture.  Somewhere along the line, somehow, I found out that was Trump.

The next time I ever thought about Donald J. Trump was during “The Apprentice”.  That did not air until two-thousand-four.  I never watched it.  He was a commercial for mammon.  He was a golden calf.  This is what he did while the rest of the nation was trying to come to grips with the mass murder at the WTC and The Pentagon in 2001.

It is not the nineties anymore.  For the last two and a half years, I have personally felt that I am once again trying to deal with mass murder.  I will be working through that feeling for the rest of my life.  Fortunately, I still have the passing of the seasons to remind me of better days, and I know that The Devil is a chimera.

I found an old interview of Trump by Chris Wallace today on YouTube.  It was from nineteen-ninety-eight.  It sounded like Trump was trying to convince the world that he was relevant.  That is why I looked up the nineties on Wikipedia.  He did not make a ripple.  He was a myth, a joke, a late night monologue punchline.

It is two-thousand-nineteen now.  It is November.  The snow is coming.  Jeffery Epstein hung himself in his cell, at least that is the official line.  I do not know who the guy with the drink is or was.  But Donald J. Trump is in the White House for all the world to watch.  He is a threat to self and others.  One way or another, he will be removed.

Whatever way he goes, I am sure he will be thinking, “Look at all the damage I did!  You’ll pay attention to me now!  Who’s relevant now?  Losers!”  His cycle of abuse will continue however.

God is a jealous God, he punishes to the third and the fourth generation.   That is pretty Old Testament, but as far as the threat to self and others, that damage Trump is inflicting has generational effects.  Hominids are like that.  I have seen their behavior before.  There are bigger troop leaders out there than Trump.  Some of them helped put and keep Trump where he is today.  Hominids are like that; I have seen their behavior before.


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About johnsmithiiimxiii

John Smith, IIMXIII is the avatar of an award winning poet, artist, etc. who still lives in the Palouse country of the Pacific NW. He has not received much notice with his prose . . . but as his avatar, I hope that he keeps plugging along.

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