Lucas Vorsterman: Fighting farmers after a card game 1619-1675

Gallery Notes: Fighting farmers, after a card game. One holds a threshing flag and hits the other on the head, while another man tries to stop him. The other farmer has a pitchfork in his hands. A woman holds a jug and is prevented from hitting it by a man holding her wrist. In the foreground, a fallen bench, a jug, and a scattered deck of cards. In the background, a village.

" … the future refuses to disclose which castles topple next."

" … the future refuses to disclose which castles topple next."

Every half-decent charlatan masters the construction of at least one House of Cards. It takes an exceptional one to oversee the development of a Community of them, and a once-in-a-very-blue-moon one to fabricate enough buildings to result in a genuine CityOfCards. The City seems no less tenuous than the original single building, though it's exponentially more fragile if only because of the proximities of similar fragilities. One errant puff of wind, one clumsey addition, and the entire fabrication can crumble. After some point, the marvel no longer comes from the construction, but from the ever more unlikely preservation. The likelihood of catastrophic failure blooms as the charlatan continues adding roofs. He eventually can't stop himself from ever-more-frantically adding roofs.

The sure bets ride with failure, but then a second wind, if you'll excuse the expression, comes in to encourage ever more frantic and apparently successful construction. Those who couldn't quite believe the first card hovel, long before he started creating genuine castles, marvel at the astounding resilience. Each morning that finds the CityOfCards still standing leaves its original critics wondering whether the laws of gravity have been repealed or, indeed, if the underlying truth will ever be revealed. The true believers, those whose judgment was originally fooled, remain convinced of the awesome power of their revered leader. No good reason ever seems to emerge from the shadows and noise capable of collapsing the obvious fantasy. The reasonable might even start questioning their historically reliable understanding. Could a CityOfCards actually persist?

Eventually, regardless of how carefully or cavilierly the developer manages his investment, entropy starts having her way. A minor element first threatens to fail, creating a small cliffhanger that the charlatan tries to resolve with the usual confident application of bullshit and bluster, the tactic that has always worked for him before. For some unknowable reason, though, this time the patch fails—some of the CityOfCard's foundation splinters. A catastrophic crash could occur. Even the charlitan concurs. He applies even more of even more of the same sort of glue that always pulled him through before, hoping for a few old reliable supporters to swallow the lure, hooks, line, and sinker, as they had so often swallowed them before. But this time, for no apparent reason, a few of the more influential members of his long-time supporters refuse to swallow. They push back with passionate vehemence. They feel betrayed to see that no foundation ever existed to preserve their shining city on an otherwise obscure hill.

Those convinced by deception seem to carry the greatest convictions. They were true believers when the charlatan insisted he was building for the ages, that his constructions would rival those of Greece and Rome, and that his construction material was far superior to mere limestone or granite. Constructions of Cards would utterly transform and render all associated great in ways they'd never before experienced. The expanse of the fabrication had to grow faster than that of the actual construction. The lies served as the foundation for the inherently flimsy card construction. Belief so created always was destined to disintegrate in something akin to a second. No dust-to-dust or ashes-to-ashes, just deceptions instantly evaporating, leaving no hint that seemingly grand edifices once filled ultimately vast and vacuous spaces.

The CityOfCards leaves few traces save for a few disillusioned veterans of conflicts they can barely recall. They might have once memorized their catechism: the stolen election that was never stolen, the Russia Russia Russia pseudo-investigation, the ten thousand tiny and tremendous fabrications, but once the illusion supporting a single fundamental foundation crumbles, the entire development goes. The usual bluster only further undermines now. The bullshit suddenly smells terrible to even the formerly truest believer. It was never once as he said it was. It was insincere promises and sleight of hand justice. Tar and feathers come to mind. What once seemed a great gift to the easily persuadable morphs into another in an ever-lengthening line of betrayals. Grudges freshly honed, the future refuses to disclose which castles topple next.

©2025 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #FollowingChapters, #PureSchmaltz