All the gossip and craziness becomes a kind of sustained

“All the gossip and craziness becomes a kind of sustained narrative which, in turn, can become history. It's scary.” Thus spoke Barbara Kruger, the artist of words and images who wields truth like a blade through illusion. Her voice echoes as both prophecy and warning. For she has seen what many refuse to see—that in the modern age, where whispers travel faster than reason, gossip may grow roots deeper than fact, and craziness may harden into history. What begins as rumor, if repeated long enough, may wear the mask of truth, and what was once false becomes the foundation upon which entire generations build their understanding of the past.

In the ancient days, the wise feared not swords but stories. Empires were built not only on stone and steel but on narratives—crafted, repeated, believed. The tale of the gods justified the wars of kings; the myth of superiority justified the chains of slavery. Kruger, in her insight, reminds us that this old alchemy still breathes among us: that men and women still shape the world through stories, whether pure or poisoned. The danger is not in speech alone, but in its repetition, its endurance, its becoming sustained. For what is sustained, endures—and what endures, becomes the record of what once was.

Consider the story of Marie Antoinette, the queen who never uttered the infamous words, “Let them eat cake.” Yet the gossip of her supposed indifference spread through the salons of France, carried on the breath of anger and envy. The people believed it, and that belief burned hotter than truth ever could. In time, rumor became history, and history became legend. A lie, repeated by the multitude, wrote itself into the pages of the human story. Such is the terror that Kruger names—how craziness can outlive sanity, and how illusion can stand in marble where truth lies buried in dust.

And so her words strike deeper still in our own age, where the air is thick with information, yet thin with wisdom. The internet, that vast marketplace of voices, magnifies gossip until it roars like a thousand drums. Falsehood travels swifter than reflection, and spectacle is devoured as sustenance. We no longer merely watch narratives—we become them, we feed them, we repeat them until even we forget where they began. Kruger’s fear is not the madness itself, but the permanence it may gain—the way a fleeting distortion, through endless repetition, cements itself into collective memory.

But her warning is also a call—to discernment, to awareness, to courage. The ancients said, “Guard your tongue, for words can build or burn a kingdom.” Today we must add: guard your ears and eyes, for what you consume becomes what you believe, and what you believe becomes the world you help create. The responsibility of truth rests not only with the speaker but with the listener. To question, to verify, to pause before sharing—that is the modern form of virtue, the discipline of the wise.

Look also to the story of Galileo Galilei, who spoke truth to a world that preferred its gossip. When he declared that the earth moved around the sun, the whispers of heresy drowned him. Yet though he was silenced, truth endured beyond rumor. Centuries later, history itself turned, and the gossip of his age became a cautionary tale for ours. Thus, though falsehood may triumph for a season, it cannot forever bury light. But light must still be tended—nurtured by minds willing to seek it.

Therefore, children of the present and stewards of the future, remember Kruger’s words as both shield and compass. Gossip is easy, but truth is sacred. Be not among those who build history upon noise. Let your narrative be one of clarity, of integrity, of patience. Speak only what you know; share only what you understand; question what the crowd proclaims. For each of us, in our silence or in our speech, becomes a writer of the world’s story.

And let the final truth be this: what you repeat, you immortalize. The rumor you echo may one day be taught as fact; the lie you share may live longer than you do. But so too may the truth you defend. Choose, then, what kind of history you will help to write. For as Barbara Kruger warned, the future remembers not what was true—but what was believed. Let it be your task to ensure those two remain the same.