Monday, May 22, 2017

Twilight Of The Grampas

David Lynch was born on January 20, 1946. He is a late Capricorn, almost an Aquarius. As of now, he is 71 years old. Donald Trump was born on June 14, 1946. He is a Gemini. As of now, he is 70 years old. Two Grampas. Light And Dark. They are Grampas IRL, but also Grampas to Amerikkka. Both Grampas have weird, iconic hair. Both Grampas went to school in Pennsylvania for stuff that only tangentially relates to their later empires, which they built at least partially in 1970's NYC, a time and a place which formed who they would be and how they would be the rest of their lives. David Lynch has been married 4 times. Donald Trump has been married 3 times. They are fond maybe even fixated by women considered beautiful and alluring.

David Lynch is the kind of Grampa who will tell you amazing stories in as few words as possible, which are totally precise and totally vague simultaneously, who will take you to places he deems important, or which have the best desserts. He is the Grampa you can hang out with while they make furniture and listen to old records but you are never getting bored because it is just nice to spend time with them. This Grampa is corny, tells off-color jokes which are embarrassing, can't get your pronouns quite right or figure out what your deal is with all of that, but you let it go because no harm is intended and ultimately their heart is full of love. This Grampa is getting ready to die and is at peace with it, wanting to give an account and a statement of themselves to the world before they do so, one which is so totally them, in all of their weirdness and flaws and eccentricities that it is an account of a life lived, for both good and ill, but one which is honest as possible.

Donald Trump is the kind of Grampa who seethes and rambles, spilling language and phrases in as many words as possible, trailing off, contradicting himself, gossiping about the neighbors even when that stuff can't possibly be true, frightened of how the neighborhood is changing, angry at everyone around them, feuding with members of their family, unable to take responsibility for how their life is now, constantly threatening to rewrite the will to favor whomever is in favor and cast out whomever is not. This Grampa stays on the couch, watching TV all day long, yelling and cursing or muttering, forgetting to eat or eating only fast food that someone else has dropped off.

Both Grampas are obsessed with conspiracy theories, with the nature of what Amerikkka really is. Both love and fear law enforcement, particularly the FBI for what it represents and what it can do. Both see the world growing darker as they attempt their final statements about who they were and what they have done.

One Grampa you are psyched to visit. One Grampa not so much. People who know them like telling stories and anecdotes about their weird behavior and the strange things they have said in hushed tones of awe.

 Both Grampas operate improvisationally, open to possibility and changing fortune, requiring absolute freedom to unilaterally change course, contradict themselves, untethered to fixed being, shrouded in what is unclear, one in mystery and one in lies.

Once they are gone from this earth, they will be remembered and talked about as legendary folk heroes and villians, people who couldn't possibly have ever really existed, yet whose mark on the world in which we live is indelible, formative, greater than their personalities, greater than their individual consciousnesses, each having created whole realities from themselves for others to inhabit for years and decades and maybe forever.

They never fought each other with swords or with knives or with guns or with anything.

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