The Trumpet blares. Both the words themselves and the compulsion to produce them interest us.
The words are those of the playground: unreflective, impulsive, charged with emotion. It is this charge that generates so welcome a real experience for many people drowning in the great abstractions of our age. Those other politicians, many of whom are no more reflective than the current great ape, their habit, these latter lesser simians, is to generate a grey line of mostly meaningless syllables in their public roles to keep themselves wrapped warmly in the folds of power.
The compulsion arises from an emptiness, not of the Zen variety but of the lost child with no home. No amount of anger, taunting, abuse, bullying, fear-mongering, baiting of the other, can ever fill that emptiness. The only remedy is to give love and receive love in return, as the lyric goes.
J. B. Thompson 