reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: untruths


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punchbowl musings. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

and so i have some hesitancy on this. it was on the bottom shelf, tucked back into the shelf unit in the storage room, next to the blow-up pool floaties. it didn’t seem like i had thought about it for years. ok, for decades. i listed it for sale – after researching its ‘value’ as a vintage (circa 1980) cut-glass punchbowl set.

but part of my research brought me to a few blogposts others had written. and in those blogposts were these absolute gems about all the ways to use a lovely punchbowl. not just for punch.

the one that really stuck out for me – and debilitated my quest to sell-sell-sell – was the story about a lovely summer gathering where the person served gazpacho and crusty bread, glasses of chilled sauvignon blanc. yikes. i immediately wanted to have a lovely summer gathering where i serve gazpacho and crusty bread – each attendee ladling delicious soup into their handled cup and visiting on the deck or the patio under warm sun and blue skies.

so, yup…hesitancy. i mean, it all fits conveniently into a box – the base, the bowl, every last cup and hook – so why not just keep it a while longer…?

the power of story, eh?

i cried this morning. it wasn’t about the punchbowl. it was about seeing a post by my very own sister that made it obvious – beyond a shadow of a doubt – that she is completely on the other side of the current dangerous political divide.

gauging by how overtaken i was by grief, i guess i was holding out hope that the stories that are now reality in this country might have changed her mind, the minds of her immediate family members. because every story we are hearing breaks our hearts ever more. every story makes us question what in the hell is going on. every story makes us absolutely sick to our stomachs that this country has devolved into such a cruel and bigoted, sadistic and extreme place.

it is impossible for me to wrap my head around anyone – any.one. – finding acceptable any of these stories of the realities of this kind of depravity.

yet i know that there are media outlets that so many subscribe to – leave on in their family rooms, their florida rooms, their kitchens, their living rooms – for hours on end. these outlets distort the actual truth – to the nth degree. these outlets obfuscate. these outlets lie. and people are watching them, soaking it all in, pompom-ing them, lost in them.

lost.

and i feel totally crushed.

crushed.

the power of story.

used and misused.

i’ll probably eventually decide to keep the punchbowl. it is not likely to sell.

i will make gazpacho or vichyssoise and serve it in handled cut-glass cups. there will be glasses of chilled white wine and sunshine, laughter and conversation.

and stories.

of adventures, dreams, disappointments and loss.

yes.

loss.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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galloping gishers. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

it was only later that i could put a name on it. after the onslaught, post-avalanche, suffering from shock (though no awe), swirling from being bombarded with zero chance for retaliation. and it all came from what-would-seem the unlikeliest of places – a person in esteemed position, regarded as powerful and wise – a person who turned out to be the wizard behind the curtain. it actively devastated all chance of truth and the cadre of co-conspirators rode the horses in this brigade of destruction. in the end, it was sad. in every way.

later on, i learned it was called the “gish gallop”…a strategy employed to distract, to overwhelm, to usurp any ability to correct the ship – there are simply too many false things, spurious statements at once – all being stated in rapidfire. it’s nicknamed “shotgun argumentation”.

in my experience, it was smack in the middle of the gish-galloping when i realized i had no way to counter all the untruths that were being said. it was too-much on purpose. if someone is going to resort to this sort of gallop – and there are no parameters or guardrails placed upon that person – the race is over before it has started. stating half-truths, misrepresentations, outright lies, it is a painfully sad strategy by wizards who lack decency and integrity, who need to hide behind the oz-curtain and blitz-word-attack. it’s ugly nonsense. and – unfortunately – it often works.

so…as we sit in the stands of this new horse race toward the attempt of demolition of our democracy, we have decided that we absolutely cannot listen or watch or cue in on every single gishy thing going on. it is not healthy. it is not truth. it is devised to make us all walk around in – live inside – the middle of the sickness that permeates this new administration. though – in reality – cantering completely the other way isn’t pragmatic – staying out of the horse race is.

winning is not about pushing all kinds of negative, hateful ish down others’ throats and convincing them that the sky is falling every second of every day.

winning is remembering to live best we can, to be the best we can, to live with compassion and solidarity and generosity and to call out the gishers galloping by.

i’d love to canter the other way – into the sunset. but i don’t have a horse.

*****

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swiss cheese games. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

and adults play it too. the telephone game.

you remember…when we were kids, we played it in a circle. sitting cross-legged. on the floor. like right after duck-duck-goose.

it started with one little girl or boy leaning over to the next and whispering something in that child’s ear. that child whispered in the next ear and that next ear whispered in the next ear and the next and so on…until it came around to the end of the circle.

the child at the end of the circle would then state what he or she heard – whispered to them.

and it was inevitably always completely different from how it started. and everyone would giggle and giggle about how funny it was that this tiny message would be so misconstrued – so distorted – by the end of the circle game. it became a tiny beehive of misinformation.

i recently learned that adults play this too. only it is not with the innocence of children in a cross-legged circle. it is not a game of giggles. it is, however, played in a beehive.

and instead of lighthearted buzzy laughter, it is an effort with meanness and agenda at its core. it takes information that hasn’t been fact-checked or questioned or even properly considered and passes it on. and one person passes it to thirteen people who pass it to thirteen people who pass it to thirteen people and voila! the real-real has been warped beyond repair and the telephone “game” has taken on an air of righteous targeting, the spirit of nasty, baseless and malicious. this now-swiss-cheese-story is punctuated with lies and innuendo and is passed on and on and on – with no thought or respect to truth, no thought or respect for the target.

it’s a far cry from cross-legged giggling children on the floor.

but it’s still a game.

an ugly game.

*****

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worried. [k.s. friday]

bridge box

i am worried.

in a tenuous time of fraying loyalties and the aggressive recruiting of followers, people are being indoctrinated into what they believe are the-cool-groups, welcomed with open arms, social-media “love-bombed” and, it would seem, encouraged to believe that which has not been proven to be true.

indoctrination (noun):  the process of teaching a person or group to accept a set of beliefs uncritically.

uncritically.  terrifying.  without critical thought.  without mining for facts.  acolytes of persons who gaslight, persons who claim absolute knowledge and power, persons who, like the scum on a glass of sour milk, rise from the acidification of true idealism, true tenets, the true basis of a society as a community.

i am worried.

the bridge between us as a country seems as crumbling as the infrastructure of old roads and bridges across this nation.  the fragile bridge sways now in the gentlest of breezes.  the bricks, mortar, concrete, steel are wearing thin, their veneers weathering storms of severed ties, storms of conspiracy over fact, storms of cronyism over love.  the bridge-slayers taunt, tempt with poison fruit, the oldest story of stories.  the ideologue-apostles forego conversation for testaments of belonging, baseless creeds.  the indoctrination devours relationships, forming unions useful only to itself, without heed to emotional ties or history.  crazed, yet measured, words of untruth and hatred blur clear vision to the other side.

the bridge ceases to exist.  it becomes but a shadow.

and i am worried.

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