I like the idea of American Culturism over American Nationalism.
A longtime reader and sympathetic Neanderthal Paleface sent this to our comment section some time ago. I have often wondered, as I passed this comment in my archives, where I placed it to use as a heading, a heading that seems to fit half my subject matter.
In the end, I just like it, even if Davy Crockett begged when the Mexicans executed him on his knees—they had to kill Bowie in his sick bed and the spirit of Appalachia was aptly demonstrated when a platoon of Mexicans were obliterated when a 32-pounder canon, loaded with chopped up horseshoes ripped them to pieces, and most emphatically when the relieving force under Sam Houston plinked “fat heads” as their owners tried to swim for their misspent tropical [1] lives.
“We are Frontier Americans.
“No king but Crockett; no knife but Bowie; and no Mexicans in the Alamo.”
-Koanic
Notes
1. One of the worst tragedies of the Alamo Campaign was not that Santa Anna and Sam Houston were both high on opium—that’s cool and very American—but that the Mexican force was composed largely of squat Indian and Mestizo men from the southern portions of Mexico, accustomed to tropical rainforests, outfitted in light uniforms and ancient British-surplus Brown Bess muskets, which looked ridiculously large in their hands, and marched through a wintry Texas, even through snow, to be thrown against terrible makeshift artillery and then marched to meet a force of backwoods riflemen who shot them dead like so many possums.
A Bright Shining Lie at Dusk
A Partial Exhumation of the American Dream
link › jameslafond.blogspot.com
The Internet frontier is our overtime clock to retake the frontier America, whose last outpost was Texas, whose Department of Education foolishly imprinted me with notions of romantic freedom, a buried instinct to return like a salmon from the ends of the Earth to sow my immortality at the Alamo.
Before the machines swallow us forever, and the materialist slave pyramid completes its panopticon eye, transfixing our flesh in its soulless gaze, editing genes like a false god, to restore the Garden of Eden without the mistake of consciousness,
Heroism has one last gasp:
Long live America
Death to the USSA.
The most loathed segment of my family, my most beloved.