In the desert, Stephen Crane
saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter—bitter,” he answered;
“But I like it
“Because it is bitter,
“And because it is my heart.”
Along with everyone else, I've been sick since Christmas, and not sleeping well. Yesterday I woke up at four, remembering a series of related dreams, all of which I understood to be related, emotionally, to Trump.
In one, I'd created a New Yorker cartoon showing the look on the face of a delivery man who, after humping a roomful of electronic gadgets, is being told by the rich liberal family that, like, they're not feeling that materialistic this Christmas. The look said, "What am I supposed to do with this shit?"
In another, I was going somewhere on my motorcycle with a Winchester rifle. I have no idea where I was going. All that remains is the good feeling that finally, a chance to get into some action.
In the most vivid dream, I had conceived of a kind of Socioeconomic Empathy Fantasy Camp designed to help People More Out of Touch Than Me understand what it is like for People Less Fortunate Than Me. No doubt partly inspired by a long story I read in Sunday's New York Times Magazine, the fantasy camp would work like this: Participants would fly into town on Friday, and somehow during a boozy night out with their fellow campers, out they'd cleverly be lured into doing something very stupid, that could get them put in jail for many years. They'd spend all of Saturday in jail, coming to understand that their life is over and realizing they don't have one friend who can help them. Then on Sunday morning someone would miraculously spring them. They'd be home for dinner Sunday night, but they'd never be the same.
What does all that have to do with Trump? I can't say, exactly. I just have the strong sense that I wouldn't be dreaming in semi-satirical sociopolitical sequence if Hillary Clinton or Mitt Romney were preparing for office. And I know I wouldn't be willing to share my dreams, all of which reveal that my self-righteous savior complex never sleeps.
There's so much we don't know about how Trump will unfold in the world, and should all be watching, and waiting in an athletic position.
We must also occasionally taste our hearts.