“High spirits these lads had. They chronicled their adventures with a good creamy romanticism such as nobody in flying had treated themselves to since the days of Lufbury, Frank Luke, and Von Richthofen in the first World War…Like olden knights, the F-86 pilots ride up over North Korea to the Yalu river, the sun glinting off silver aircraft, contrails streaming behind as they challenge the numerically superior enemy to come on up and fight. Lances and plumes! I’m a knight! Come on up and fight! Why hold back? Knights of the right stuff!” ~ Tom Wolfe “The Right Stuff”
An ugly smell wafted through the streets of Marietta in the last weekend of January. A looming shadow approached. Mothers reigned in their toddlers, store owners eyed their shop fronts, and arm-chair pets ceased their merry yelps…
The communists were coming; a hoard of chanting, government schooled, zombies. A tragedy of modernity, these once beautiful lads and lasses were captured by academia and had their consciences systematically burned away until all that remained were soulless transmutations: ANTIFA soldiers. Frothing at the mouth, spitting up vile profanities, and trained (like so many Pavlovian dogs) to hate all white men who still have souls. They marched the streets seeking their enemy; seeking the white ghosts rumored to be haunting a local conference venue. As they passed and their stench dispersed, the conquered folk of Dixie must have wondered at the horror of Reconstruction and prayed to God for relief.
Relief, such that it is, took the form of a band of gentlemen and scholars, congregated on a scenic porch across town, smoking cigars and chatting amiably about the successes of the recent year. Have you ever wondered, dear reader, what those archetypical Southern gentlemen, sitting on those porches, sipping juleps, talk about? Ever wanted to hear their conversation? I was fortunate enough to be there – to be part of a small handful of the most notorious and passionate Southern nationalists left in Dixie. All the big names were present: Hunter Wallace, Michael Cushman, Musonius Rufus, and many others. That fortunate porch housed the virtual “who’s who” of the South. If any of the old spirit of Dixie remains – if any one is left to sing the Song of the South – it will be the men on that porch.
Musonius Rufus, the fiend behind the gathering, has a quiet, scholarly air about him. We stood off to the side, discussing Roman architecture and Southern philosophy. “Things aren’t looking good” I reminisced. “We’ve got these doxings, leading Southern churches are excommunicating us, and we’ve got ANTIFA licking at our boots.”
“Well…” he said…”…we’re not going to stop.”
Just like that, the courage, moxy, and damned-it-all-to-Hell charisma of our people, the “Right Stuff” attitude, was seen again in Georgia.
We wont stop.
Bring your cracker asses to the next Atlanta Forum.
You’ll be glad you did.