Thursday, September 17, 2026
The Babel of Trump Tower
We begin here the chronicle of my friend "Harry the Human," the stage name he used in his years as a night club telepath, during which Harry, an actual telepath, pretended to be fake. Seeking early retirement and release from the falsity of his life, Harry relocated to a shack in the Mojave desert, where he found a soul-mate, a gila monster named Robert, or as he calls himself, "Robert the Telepathic Gila Monster," a stage name he adopted in emulation of Harry (all gila monsters are telepathic, but only Robert, in defiance of his species' prime law, has opened up to a human). I hope you enjoy the soulful tales in this blog, where Harry and Robert spar on philosophical and political questions while enjoying their unfettered, though alienated lives.
Here begins Harry the Human's journal:
Greetings, whoever might someday peruse these pages. Out here in the desert, the mundane doesn't stay that way for long. To wit: Consider a recent evening when, tired of reading East of Eden for the 10th time, I soothed the passing void with mind-numbing TV, while wondering why I had not seen my reptilian companion Robert the Telepathic Gila Monster in a while. I was thus employed for several hours, allowing the laughter and music to blare out of the open windows, traveling at the speed of sound to diffuse over the silent Mojave, when I finally clutched the remote and killed the endless show. I was about to commence staring out the windows, part of my bedtime routine, when from atop the TV came Robert's unmistakeable whine:
Here begins Harry the Human's journal:
Greetings, whoever might someday peruse these pages. Out here in the desert, the mundane doesn't stay that way for long. To wit: Consider a recent evening when, tired of reading East of Eden for the 10th time, I soothed the passing void with mind-numbing TV, while wondering why I had not seen my reptilian companion Robert the Telepathic Gila Monster in a while. I was thus employed for several hours, allowing the laughter and music to blare out of the open windows, traveling at the speed of sound to diffuse over the silent Mojave, when I finally clutched the remote and killed the endless show. I was about to commence staring out the windows, part of my bedtime routine, when from atop the TV came Robert's unmistakeable whine:
Harry, why do you watch that crap?
Robert! Oh my god! Why are you on top of my TV and where have you been?
I'm not sure why I'm on top of your TV, but some of my group figured out algorithms for our return, and this is where I ended up.
Your return from where?
Your kind would call it another "dimension." We just say it's a continuation of "here." We explored it because this part of "here" is getting a bit untenable.
Amen to that! So, how is the other part of "here"?
It has its own problems.
Figures.
I trudged over to the TV, picked up Robert and set him on his favorite cushioned chair. He eyed me appraisingly for a few moments, then continued his mental livestreaming.
I'm not sure why I'm on top of your TV, but some of my group figured out algorithms for our return, and this is where I ended up.
Your return from where?
Your kind would call it another "dimension." We just say it's a continuation of "here." We explored it because this part of "here" is getting a bit untenable.
Amen to that! So, how is the other part of "here"?
It has its own problems.
Figures.
I trudged over to the TV, picked up Robert and set him on his favorite cushioned chair. He eyed me appraisingly for a few moments, then continued his mental livestreaming.
Harry, from the other "here" we had a revealing perspective on things "here."
How so? I asked, though afraid of the answer.
We could appreciate, for instance, that human scriptures, in this case what you call the "Old Testament," tend to be surprisingly accurate.
Can you give an example?
How about this: Donald Trump's presidency may have been prophesied in Genesis, 11:1-9, the story of the Tower of Babel. In the story, the people of Babel wanted to build a tower so high...
"...that it reached to the heavens, so that they might make a name for themselves."
Robert continued:
"...that it reached to the heavens, so that they might make a name for themselves."
Robert continued:
The phallic imagery of a tower suggests a male flavor to the story, of an erection pointing high into the sky. In the contemporary version, the intrusive force is Trump's ego extending into the heavens.
In the biblical version, as you might expect, God is not pleased with mortal maleness invading his space, and he devises a way to thwart it:
In the biblical version, as you might expect, God is not pleased with mortal maleness invading his space, and he devises a way to thwart it:
"The Lord said, 'If as one people speaking the same language they have begun to do this, then nothing they plan to do will be impossible for them. Come, let us go down and confuse their language so they will not understand each other.'"
Harry, what God ordained for the people of Babel- destruction of their common language- has been happening to you since the advent of Trump-who plays here the role of both human intruder and vengeful god. Consider the people you know or meet. Does it seem that their thoughts are kept from you more than they used to be? It could be they don't understand your language any more. Trump's mix of engaging ideas with suicidal ones has short-circuited human social thought. The definitions of key terms- like liberal, conservative, right wing, left wing, racist, sexist, spiritual, material, selfish, altruistic, good and bad - are in such flux that anyone who speaks openly is sure to be misconstrued.
What do the people around you think of Trump, Harry? Have some been seduced by him? Maybe they have but can't admit it. Just as perhaps you can't admit that you've been partly seduced. Think about it: After years of feeling trapped in a relentless consumer culture that radiates superficial warmth while chomping down on the world's previous cultures, replacing them with bags of Screamin' Pickle Pringles, you might, in spite of yourself, enjoy the initial rush of rapid change. Human folk wisdom cheers you on with the promise that "Change is gonna come!" Or not. Or you'd better hope not.
Robert, as I've asked you many times, do you have anything helpful to add to your epiphanies?
What do the people around you think of Trump, Harry? Have some been seduced by him? Maybe they have but can't admit it. Just as perhaps you can't admit that you've been partly seduced. Think about it: After years of feeling trapped in a relentless consumer culture that radiates superficial warmth while chomping down on the world's previous cultures, replacing them with bags of Screamin' Pickle Pringles, you might, in spite of yourself, enjoy the initial rush of rapid change. Human folk wisdom cheers you on with the promise that "Change is gonna come!" Or not. Or you'd better hope not.
Robert, as I've asked you many times, do you have anything helpful to add to your epiphanies?
Harry, Robert responded, with a reassuring spark of animation, you're on a similar wavelength to mine. I just scanned your thoughts on my Tower of Babel, or should I say Babel of Trump Tower analogy? I'm sure you'd agree that the human dysfunction is spreading. All earth's lifeforms are feeling it. As you recently witnessed [keep reading] even gilas are losing their grip on social communication. It's been tens of thousands of years since any of us has felt this isolated. The malaise has spread across the world, and I don't mean just the part your species calls 'living.' Atoms and molecules are feeling it too. The planetary surface is a time bomb.
Hasn't it always been?
Yes, but now it's primed. Communication is the buffer between explosive materials, whether in humans or protons. The buffer is disintegrating.
What do you recommend?
There has to be a movement among humans, maybe underground, or maybe with high profile supporters, to communicate in meaningful symbols to restore the buffers.
Wow, that's great advice! Let me just call the Antelope Valley Press with this breaking story.
Human sarcasm, I love it so. Why don't you meet me halfway?
How?
Report this conversation, just blog about it if nothing else. Tell the world that an old hippie and a telepathic gila monster met in the desert and discovered that sentient beings of this world can't communicate any more because humans challenged the sky god and plunged us into language hell.
Robert, you didn't have to drag yourself all the way from another dimension just to fill me with hope.
More human sarcasm. I really do love it. Anyway, report the conversation. As Kwetch-a-chock-chock-Gwenny, the great gila philosopher said, "You never know what can happen."
I found Kwetch-a-chock-chock-Gwenny's words hard to refute, so I've fulfilled my promise to Robert by reporting our conversation. To quote the human philosopher/poet, Alexander Pope:
Hope springs eternal in the human breast.
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