Lovis Corinth: Slaughtered Ox (1905)

Stop Clutching Their Pearls
As if this world had not grown weird enough, we now have MAGA Democrats, people so devoid of strategic integrity that they're willing to discard a winning administration for less than a handful of magic beans. They seem untroubled that they cannot name a single qualified replacement for the ticket most likely to win, all at the suggestion of a felon and the worst administrator ever to hold office. I expected the Dems to clutch their pearls and wring their hankies. Those are their traditional election-year antics. I had not anticipated that so many suddenly started believing in polls that nobody had ever believed in. Not even the pollsters believe their own polls now. We inhabit a distorted playing field whose dimensions have been obscured by the repeated torturing of traditional rules of engagement.

The opposition religiously refuses to commit a single truth as if incapable of such an act. The incumbent has consistently been underestimated. The almost unforgivable element might be the lagging self-esteem this whole defection represents. Dems have always struggled to stand by their man or woman when the going got real. Berney proved to be enough distraction that the felon was elected the first time. (Thanks, or something!) I've stopped reading my newspapers, and I'm unable to distinguish between news and propaganda. The world seems to have lost something in translation. The MAGA movement was always a scam. Anyone who felt it answered their prayers, except perhaps for billionaires, was a shill. I struggle to find an ounce of Grace in any of this shameful dance.

It has universally been the case that if I can hold my attention and continue engaging, Grace always appears. I pray that will be the case once my fellow Democrats stop clutching their pearls.

—

Weekly Writing Summary

This Grace Story, AintNoCure, finds some Grace in treating a popular incurable disorder, one that induces senses of sadness while encouraging the continuing pursuit of happiness.

Alphonse Marie Mucha: The Seasons (1897)
" … an infinite game perhaps intended to encourage the pursuit of happiness …"
"There Ain't No Cure For The Summertime Blues." - common folk wisdom
—
This Grace Story finds me Recovering from my recent bout of whatever affective disorder I'd contracted. Recovery seems more infinite than finite, more ongoing or ever necessarily over. This story tied for most popular this week.

Edmond-François Aman-Jean: Reverie (c. 1900)
"The patient seems to be Recovering this morning."
—
This Grace Story finds me engaging in the inevitably disorienting ReEntry dance, a performance unavoidably initiated on the wrong foot. After an inexcusable absence comes the predictably embarrassing ReEntry dance.

Unknown Hopi carver: Owa-nganroro [Mad Stone Eater Kachina], (c. 1900, First Mesa, Arizona)
"Grace exclusively works in such mysterious ways."
—
This Grace Story finds me following ReEntry, finally getting BackInto the game. Few experiences seem more reassuring than reengaging after an absence or resignation. This story tied for most popular this week.

Dan Rico: Noon Game (1935 - 1943) United States. Works Progress Administration
"My emotional crankcase drained …"
—
This Grace Story finds me considering the etymology of The BIG Lie and how it's evolved from sheer absurdity to threaten democracy. I find no pleasure in telling this sorry story.

Karl Zerbe: The Face of the Big Lie (1951)
"I will feel vindicated when he loses …"
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This Grace Story asks the mildly unsettling question of whether I might have learned to do everything Backward.

Lovis Corinth: Nude Bending Backwards (1919)
" … we've somehow managed to make some headway, anyway."
—
This writing week found me struggling to accept as Grace what seems to step up to slap me in the face. The endless summer continues with considerable discontent. I contracted a case of The Summertime Blues, for which we were all instructed at an early age there AintNoCure. I somehow managed to enter Recovery anyway, perhaps proving that a cure ain't the only way to get over something. I made my ReEntry into a dance, a performance I only hoped few noticed. I managed to get BackInto the game again, a little wiser for my exit. I took a tiny side trip down a familiar rabbit hole and railed a bit about the etymology of The BIG Lie. I ended this writing week considering if I had learned everything Backward and how I probably couldn't notice if I had. It was a weird and wearying writing week. The endless summer will continue into and beyond the foreseeable future. We got a spot of rain last night that evaporated on contact. Thank you for continuing to follow along!

©2024 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #Grace, #PureSchmaltz