Foster, Folk, and Faeries

A statue of the folk-song writer and singer Stephen Foster was recently removed from a park in Pittsburgh because it was deemed “racist.” The statue was a depiction of two musicians of different races playing – together – the famous song “Oh Susanna”. Rather than being seen in a positive light as inclusive, the equality babblers and tolerance mongers chose to see it in a negative light as racist. The brown man, you see, was seated – with a banjo on his knee, as it says in the song. Tell me, oh raceless ones, just how is a man supposed to play with a banjo on his knee while standing? On one leg, like some mad but musical stork? Tell me, oh raceless ones, how you would have likewise complained if the positions were reversed and the brown man had to stand in that infernal Southern heat while the white man lounged?

Nothing will satisfy the raceless, nor the sexless, the faithless, the classless – those who want -less from life for they know they do not deserve more.

Some of us do indeed deserve more and we will take it. We will not stand idly by as our memories are erased one at a time in the name of universal leveling. But we will stand – for our own history, our own mythology, our own folklore – for this is what makes us who we are. Our stories are endangered because we are. Do not let our storytellers and singers disappear quietly in the night. Do not let our gods and faeries disappear with them. Imagine if you will that the last of the faeries is depending on you. She has seen much; she has dreamed much. Now, her dreams are in our hands. What must a faerie’s dream be? Stephen Foster sang about it:

What must a Fairy’s dream be,
Who drinks of the morning dew?
Would she think to fly till she reach’d the sky
And bathe in its lakes of blue
Or gather bright pearls from the depths of the sea
What must the dream of a fairy be?

What must a fairy’s dream be,
Who sleeps when the Mermaid sings?
Would she rob the night of her jewels bright,
To spangle her silv’ry wings?
Rock ‘don the wind ‘bove the land and the sea,
What can the dream of a fairy be?

What must a Fairy’s dream be
When storms in their anger cry?
Would she madly chase in the winds embrace,
The lightning gleaming by,
Or seize on its flash with a child-like glee,
What must the dream of a Fairy be?

What must a fairy’s dream be
When mid-summer breezes play?
Would she proudly sail on the perfum’d gale
To welcome the dawn of day?
I know that her visions are sportive and free.–
What must the dream of a Fairy be?

The above faerie’s dream was recorded long ago. What is the dream of a faerie today? Is she watching us from what is left of the forest? Have her dreams become nightmares?

What must a Fairy’s dream be,
Who thinks of her world askew?
Would she think to cry while her kindred die
And wait till they number few?
Or sharpen bright blades from the boughs of her tree
What must the dream of a mad fairy be?

What must a fairy’s dream be,
Who weeps when the chainsaw sings?
Would man rob the light of its rays so bright,
To bedeck their imposter kings?
Hunted on the wind ‘bove the land and the sea,
What can the dream of a lone fairy be?

What must a Fairy’s dream be
When poisons color the sky?
Would she madly race pollution’s embrace,
The airplane speeding by,
Then seize on its wings or in anger flee,
What must the dream of a sad Fairy be?

What must a fairy’s dream be
When there is no one left to sing?
When folklore and myth are left to rot
Alongside grails and kings?
Forgotten, left to drift on history’s sea
What must the dream of the endangered be?

The faery, a symbol of unsullied nature and ancestral lore, is endangered. So is the culture that gave her wings. Will you pluck her wings with mere passivity or will you fight for her? A fight for the stories of old is a fight for the future. Their propaganda pushers tell us to Never Forget, but these spinning spiders want to trap our faeries and bleed them dry as they encourage us to remember only their version of events.

Never forget? No, we will never forget what they have done and are actively doing to our past. We will never forget who we are, where we came from, and all that we are still capable of. Remember your songs. Remember your stories. Remember those who want you to forget, for they are the same who cut down our sacred groves and replaced our tales with lies spun from their false Wood of Holly. Never forget? No, we will never forget. We will never forgive.

Rachel Summers
Known as the Dropout Philosopher, Rachel Summers walked away from the Ivory Tower, spent a year in a motorcycle mechanics program, and started research for her first novel, CondAmnation, in a local Harley Davidson shop. Her novels are what some have called a journey into antinomian mysteriosophy, where socially sanctioned morality is turned on its head in order to shake out just a few drops of enlightenment.

Summers holds degrees in History, Comparative Religions, English Literature, and Philosophy but ran afoul of academia when her dissertation proposal was rejected as something that might cause a scandal or, worse yet, cause the check-signing alumni to sign fewer checks. Welcomed to stay and write if she accepted a pre-approved project, she chose to leave and vowed to cause a scandal indeed, whether with pen or sword. She is currently writing her fifth novel as well as articles for the Revolutionary Conservative and Europa Sun Magazine; thus far, the sword remains sheathed. You can buy her books at