So the wall is down. Of letters, that is. Not down by Mexico. Cemented into the concrete. Of the Kennedy Center. Where music has sat. (Near where a now defunct wrestling arena rusts in peace. Or a bloodied White House lawn. With leftover paper cups and plates, more likely bowls and small utensils, anyone?) Or more ornate than inside? A tarp the size of Pennsylvania, the predominant battle state, covers workers as they chip. So geez, how big are the letters? Four times 50 living workers high? But now none remain, or so we are told by flunkies. Or is there a token one? Is it a vowel?
The letters, each in its place, one by one, have been replaced. (By court order. As The Donald lost one.) Perfectly in cadence and meter. And now, the politics have shifted. The rulers are measured differently. But the size remains the same. As far as length of the name. With grandeur, in yards not inches. So they now spell …
Barack Obama!
Or Maybe Joseph Biden. Not same old Joe, though Trump would object. (Not Josef, as that would be too Nazi. Or would it?) With that said, if they got one letter overscrubbed, just maybe, it could be Donna. Another ouch. Just grab her breasts. Damn that’s seven letters, reduce it to breast. So further cut it down to Ona, three of six letters already there. Or back to form Donala. But heavens, not Danielle or its various equivalents …
Back to the construction and thus danger zone, there are many men, maybe four times 50, climbing scaffolding and ladders, to chisel the work of removing the actual letters, not having to guess at where to apply their hammers and saws, despite the damp night air and the dark plastic tarp cloaking them. They climb several stories high, earning their keep. But I still hope they are not being paid overtime for their lengthy task. Many knew it needed to be done, but why did it take so long to get started? Unlike say, his deep-blue-sea D.C. pool project, turned that bright by algae. There is no truth to the rumor that it’s from the Dems peeing in it after a night out.
Nearby, Trump sits awake at night pondering his next construction project, as they just seem to keep coming at ya. Arches, bridges, dug-out-in-concrete pools and more skyscraper casinos in Moscow. (When pondering the next day’s questioning, and prepping before bedtime, I’d put more faith in that Hudson woman, who when Biden was concluding his bid, set new standards on Wheel of Fortune. Or was it Jeopardy? Same hard questions, each in their own way. Sometimes that’s just a matter of the timing involved.)
But hardcore and gullable GOP people, though their ranks are dwindling, still worship at the altar of extravagence. Their own project, they flew their flags with them as they walked on the same day, Flag Day, across sidewalks and store side aisles, as it was the 80th time by birthright Donald Trump would be self-exalted. Their faithful formed in a mal-adjusted line with a flag proclaiming Trump Nation and another saying 250th Birthday — both flying backwards as seen from the street. What do they say, via the lyrics of Jefferson Airplane long before they were Starship, only the devil can speak backwards?
The real King, of England, was here, and as He and Trump swapped ideas that are often self-serving, there still was a defense of tariffs on it, what, the same country? And what a country. That could be a bad, weepy song with too much twang. Or go new metal, Project British Steel.
Speaking of the Land That Seems To House All The Royals, in 2026 in England, the economic indictator that is very high in what indicates the state of your economy, the GDP was up 2 percent. In the EU, up only 0.1 percent. (They could use more Trump-style, huge construction projects that pay $40 an hour for back-breaking labor.) The stats were highly touted by a guy online, and he was not a fan. Even though these numbers are small potatoes, considering for comparison the inflation that keeps creeping up here. Creeping Death? Or was his a type of veiled sarcasm? Like the continued growth of toenails on a corpse. Fake news or nails? Like on fingers? Through your wrists and feet?
Per se, Trump a few weeks back on The Iran War Project, describing the non-static state of his so proclaimed near new deal bringing peace, and the wrath he will bring if he does not get his way as, “lots of bombs going off.” If the Iran ceasefire expires. Could he be more specific? Although there was context, he didn’t even specifically say which country would be firing them. Give a number of “their bombs and their drones” or a region? Wait that would be bad for Intel. And not a bug in the computer program.
Re: Lower southeast on that end of the world, each side on the opposite end of a ceasefire has constantly accused the other of violating it, that’s invariable in warfare, and the flip-flop continues by the day about when will the wars end and how soon and will the peace talks actually move toward finalization. Back and forth. Trump is always vague with his assertions, while Putin of all people, sometimes offers a bit more concrete of talk — though not always.