Donald Trump Tried to Reintroduce Himself to America. Instead, He Introduced America to Whatever This Was.

Trump’s Poconos speech wasn’t a comeback, it was an autopsy in real time

Trump was supposed to be at the Mount Airy Casino Resort to give a speech about the economy. That was the plan. It was billed as a serious policy address, an opportunity to reassure voters, calm donors, and project the image of a man capable of coherent thought in a venue best known for slot machines and midweek buffet specials. The idea was simple enough: talk about jobs and growth, maybe wave around some charts, and convince the country he still has a grasp on something larger than a microphone.

Instead, Donald Trump delivered remarks that felt less like an economic vision and more like a paranormal reenactment. If this was meant to mark the triumphant kickoff a “resurrection tour” to raise his sagging poll numbers, someone ought to tell him he accidentally conducted a séance instead. What unfolded wasn’t a revival; it was an attempt to summon his former political self. And even that failed, because whatever spirit he managed to call forth was sounding distinctly unwell.

The weirdness began before he even entered. The casino ballroom, already a fittingly liminal space where hope goes to be monetized, was overtaken by what can only be described as Karaoke Night at the End of the Republic. The crowd was treated to a disjointed, wandering medley of Bowie’s Space Oddity, Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven, a country lament about weary veterans, and what might have been the Rolling Stones filtered through a malfunctioning speaker. Periodically, as if summoned by some outlawed ritual, the audience erupted into an unexplained, metronomic chant:

“Heat. Heat. Heat.”