I happened to catch a recent video clip of the GOP front runner doing his now all too familiar thing in preparation for yet another virtual primary acclamation — New Hampshire, if anyone’s still keeping score. And was put in mind of another’s lament:

. . . a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. (Macbeth, V, v)

Seems the ‘poor player’ is still banging on about the ‘mental test’ that he ‘aced’. His stellar result is now cited as further confirmation that his 77 year old intellect continues  superior to that of ‘Sleepy Joe’ (at the advanced age of 81). The current iteration of said ‘reassurance’ notes that SJ couldn’t have gotten past the first three questions (as the queries get progressively harder??); but that the PP (poor player) was happily presented with ‘3,293 times four, divide by 3’, noting that there’s ‘plenty of tough stuff’ — way beyond the apparent ken of SJ (but presumably well within his). 

Allowing that questions 2 and 3 consist of copying a picture of a cube and drawing a clock face displaying ten past eleven, we are indeed in deep water if SJ is unable to clear this bar — but are wildly reassured that the Donald can (clear the bar). The contrived math problem, sadly is purely a figment of DJT’s imagination (Confabulation: the act of producing false memories about events). 

Evidently, it has long since been accepted as read that truth, facts really don’t matter. There is no longer the need to count the lies, reinventions, denials, distortions — they are simply irrelevant. The compulsion to disprove, to catch the prevaricator in his lies has, at least in some very significant segments of the voting public, simply vanished. No necessity to rationalize. It’s all part of ‘the man’. After all, water into wine, healing leprosy, and that trick with the loaves and fishes are all part of the accepted tool kit — and, according to some very committed Trumpsters, DJT is sidling up to a similar status. (‘Chosen by God’ according to a straight-faced Iowan).

Young Julia, the apple of Winston’s eye (yes, I’m still ‘banging on’ about 1984) is described as ‘often ready to accept the official mythology, simply because the difference between truth and falsehood did not seem important. . .’, her summary comment being ‘Who cares? One knows the news is all lies anyway’. (Book II, v). Hmm. 

More currently and with the release of ‘Matrix Resurrections’ (yep, number four and a quarter century after the original), a decidedly older Neo is well, resurrected. . . and is still sorting through the fact and fiction of his planet. Channeling Winston, Keanu Reeves tries to explain the conceit on which the movies are based to the thirteen year old daughter of a friend: 

‘Well there’s this guy who’s in a kind of virtual world. And he finds out that there’s a real world, and he’s really questioning what’s real and what’s not real. And he really wants to know what’s real.’ 

Her response: ‘Why. . ? ‘ and questioned further, ‘No!’ in answer to ‘don’t you care if it’s real?’ Pretty much sums it up! 

And so here we are. Bereft of curiosity, disinterested in critical thinking, bored with research, and, quite literally, accepting of the ‘party line’. Virtual, smirtual . . . all the same — simply ask Julia; or, for that matter any adolescent (or the equivalent!). So just close your eyes, click the heels of those ruby slippers sharply together and repeat after me: ‘There’s no truth like Donald’s’. And there you’ll be . . . right back in Kansas, along with a base of true believers.