The sculpture “Orange Plague” by Danish artist Jens Galschiøt is on display in the European Parliament’s “Art” pavilion in Strasbourg; it depicts a naked, gold-plated Donald Trump sitting on the shoulders of a starving person.
For liberals, Trump is a sexual fetish. They are deeply enamored of him and despise themselves for this love.
It’s almost embarrassing to watch such painful manifestations of an unfulfilled sexual desire.
Have you noticed how obsessed they are with depicting Trump naked? That’s so weirdly sexualized. For example, I hate Putin. But the need to sculpt his naked form never visited me because euwww. I also despise Pedro Sánchez. I’m not painting him naked either even though he’s objectively fine looking. And all of the people in Spain who hate Sánchez don’t create his naked images.
Liberals, on the other hand, are glued to images of naked Trump. It’s a fascinating psychosexual phenomenon.
Creepy.
LikeLike
Pleasant surprise: the Nobel Prize in literature goes to someone I’ve actually heard of (Anne Carson)
LikeLike
And on this topic, when my profile picture on twitter was the Trump mugshot, a random leftist woman made a blatant pass at me totally out of the blue seemingly in response to that.
There are also entire communities of liberals who have a fetish for Trump supporters. True, this isn’t a fetish for Trump himself, but I don’t remember any of this nonsense cropping up around other Republican presidential candidates. Trump has clearly aroused the passions of this nation.
LikeLike
Demotrash is right about Trump’s eroticism–a description that explains the passions involved in discourse surrounding him, and one that exemplifies Plato’s fears of Eros consuming the state at the expense of logic.
“Erotic” also at least partially explains why folks like Slavoj Zizek and Clarissa are running wild with the eroticism and going on to assume that we lefties “goon” to images of Trump’s naked form.
(Although to be fair, that did hand me the biggest, happiest laugh I’ve had in… months? I was dying. I was weeping. So delulu. Thank you for that.)
As for the fetish for Trump supporters exhibited by the Left? I guess I can’t speak to that since I haven’t witnessed it, except for… “Ew.” I mean, for me, it’s ridiculously hypothetical, as I’m married with kids, but if I were looking, and someone I showed initial interest in were a Trump supporter–wow. That would break the deal like drug addiction, or not believing in bathing, or refusing to wipe after evacuations. There’s just no way we could communicate, as I’ve learned from… I can only say vast experience.
LikeLike
I have to clarify that I am not the author of the sculpture. I am also not the person who paid a large amount of public money to display the statue.
Let’s not deny reality which is that the statue exists and looks exactly the way it looks.
LikeLike
“I have to clarify that I am not the author of the sculpture…”
That… has nothing to do with what I wrote. Nor does it have anything to do with the topic at hand. Granted, if I were a sculptor (but then again, no–thank you, Elton John), I’d probably put a fully dressed Trump on the poor guy’s shoulders–and try to make it clear that he’s got filled diapers. What we have is a play on Trump’s self-presentations as the ideal bodily specimen–in his arches, his proposed statues, his A.I. images–sorry, Super Intelligent images. He even stands like a sorority girl trying to look thinner from the side in his speeches–that is, when he has the presence of mind to stand purposefully.
There’s sex if you want to find it–whether it’s Oedipus violating his eyes with makeshift phalluses just as he violated his mother, or whatever else you want to sexualize. And it’s a big world–I’m sure there are pockets of people who fap to the feculent one’s naked expanse. Maybe there are clubs like the speakeasies of the 1920s… you do the secret knock and say “Melania sent me.” Or Caroline. Or Natalie.
By George, you’ve done it again–I’m dying. I’m weeping, etc., etc.
Is that all it takes to shake me from my inchoate rage? The simple realization that just as I can be laughed at and ridiculed, I can also laugh at and ridicule as well…? Was it really that simple the whole time?
I mean, I just feel so much lighter now. I’m not turning my back on the hard work at hand–off topic, but I really don’t think there’s going to be anything resembling a “blue tsunami” or wipeout or whatever… Granted, those could be the beginnings of great, lovely, healing things for our country, but I think the reality is that we’ll be darn lucky if we (barely) take the House back. But laughter and having a sense of perspective, even in the face of dire calamity… it’s possible. I think Camus had something to say about something stronger and brighter pushing back in his favor even in a bleak world.
Oh, also off topic–I do hope your travels, your responsibilities, your impending family loss–well, I hope you find relief and peace. I can laugh at your idiosyncratic takes on satirical art and still wish you well–both things are possible.
Okay, brief break while I laugh for about 10 more minutes…
And done for now. Except for one final joke–it’s an old one, you’ll probably know the punchline from the jump:
A man visits a shrink, and the doctor begins by showing inkblots.
“What do you see?” the shrink asks.
“That’s a park, and you won’t believe what that man and woman are doing there–oh, boy!”
The doctor shows the next slide. “And now, what do you see?”
The man whoops and replies, “That’s a beach, and you won’t believe what that man and woman are doing there–oh, boy!”
Final slide: “What do you see now?”
“Oh, mama! That’s a hotel room, and you won’t believe what that man and woman are doing there–oh, boy!”
The shrink wipes his glasses thoughtfully and says, “Although this is an introductory session, I think we can conclude that you are disturbingly obsessed with sex.”
“I’m obsessed?!” the man protests. “You’re the one showing me all the dirty pictures!”
LikeLike
A conservative literary critic and college professor
Leave a comment