Paul Edwards
There is an unfortunate phenomenon that humiliates some men in the process of attempting sexual union with a woman that has become so common as to be acknowledged clinically.
It is the inability of a man to perform the normal coital function with a female partner. The desire can be strong, and the wish compelling, but uncertainty about his ability to execute his function inhibits his physiology and makes consummation of the act impossible. The condition is called performance anxiety.
Few men in recorded history have been so pathologically inept and insecure as Trump, while operating behind a wall of fake bravado.
That term is used specifically in regard to the sexual problem but, in fact, that same insecurity and inhibition operate for the same reason to impede and prevent a vast range of other activities.
A person—not necessarily male—may decline to attempt some important effort in life due to the deep, private conviction that he or she may not have the moral, physical, or financial strength to bring the issue to a successful outcome. In doing so, on the negative side, they eliminate any chance of gaining their object, but, at the same time, they end the risk of inglorious failure.
This is best illustrated in the realm of politics, where deceit is the norm, and chicanery the favored mode of operation. One clear example was destruction of Russia’s Nord Stream underwater gas pipelines. Fearing to commit an open act of war, The Empire sabotaged it, after boasting that it would prevent its operation.
In that case an end was achieved without owning a purpose and, setting aside the ethics of it, in its own terms it was a success.
It is altogether different when a person or state, either does not state a purpose, commit to it, and fail; or is maliciously secretive and achieves its end. If it adopts neither option, and achieves nothing, it is in exactly the position of the miserably uncocked lover whose fears render him impotent.
That describes Trump, the poster child for performance anxiety.
How many times has this braying Avatar of Impotence fulminated rabid threats only to lose his rhetorical tumescence and droop limply? He has vowed so often to bring thunder and hell down on persons or nations with so total an absence of result that even our imperial press that hates him but serves him has to remark it.
He is in the throes of the worst and most damaging episode—to his own nominal country, that is—of classic performance anxiety yet: his catatonic inability to dominate and control Iran. And the reason for it is clear. Making his unprovoked, full-scale attack with all the force he could muster, he was repulsed and failed. Failure in execution is what creates the dread that kills the capacity to perform. Fear of failure has paralyzed his will.
His military advisors are not wrong in what they’re telling him. He can’t succeed. Iran will not break. He simply doesn’t have the chops to impose his will and achieve his obsessive purpose.
America, The Empire, has so long operated on the assumption that its tremendous War Machine can impose its political and financial control wherever it wishes, that the shock of its obvious failure—yet more evident in the Iran defeat than in any of its other recent debacles—is all but impossible for its arrogance to digest.
In its steep spiral of undeniable decline, The Empire has failed repeatedly to check it’s fall, and been driven ignominiously from every field where it engaged, and one would think some of the abject hacks in the ruling elite might have absorbed the lesson.
Trump, though, has no functional connection to reality, and lacks the intellectual capacity to draw conclusions from evidence. He seems to operate on the basis of daft, loopy, baseless hunches, revising them as they dissolve in error, ever prepared to launch another Hail Mary of imbecility to replace the last one blitzed.
While none of the exalted civilian panjandra of his inner cabal have any depth of intellect, or judgment, and all his debased whores act on the basis of their prejudices and indoctrination, his military high brass have the advantage of being able to count their inventory and to grasp the realities of production.
These Praetors have made it known that, in his excellent Iran adventure, he has already cut sharply into their stockpiles of missiles to no useful effect whatever, reducing their numbers to a level considered dangerous, and that they can’t be replaced with any speed, regardless of the urgency of need.
In support of, and conjunction with, this hard reality, there is the equally or perhaps more troubling fact to Trump that nearly all of the sophisticated locating and tracking radars installed in those shamelessly prostituted oil and gas rich states that have so long been on their knees to The Empire, have simply had the living hell blown out of them and are defunct, destroyed.
The upshot of it all is that you don’t have bullets to shoot, even if they made a difference, and you don’t have the means to defend your bases and forces, either. This condition is called defeat, and is normally followed by the signing of a surrender document.
This sober concern of his military due to reality on the ground has left Trump flaccid, impotent, shamed in the rumpled bed of his own making, humiliatingly unable to consummate his lustful dream, and the world is enjoying the spectacle.
