The authentic America is a place of unrelenting scenes of desolation.
Authentic America is a place where half empty bowls of onion rings sit on dirty tables littered with beer bottles and used napkins. Where overweight women watch their greasy husbands bowl.
Where dirty diapers rest solemnly in the crowded parking lot of the Walmart.
Where 19 year old girls want to get pregnant, for some kind of validation and the possibility of having someone in their lives who will unconditionally love them.
Where the American flag and gun racks are proud symbols of manhood, displayed upon the moving monument to rugged individualism, the Ford pick up truck.
Authentic America is a place where the fundamental premise that the human individual is of primary importance has been replaced by the herding of the spirit to the drumroll of patriotism.
Authentic America has no place for the modern folk hero to be born, only room for camouflaged icons to a lost civilization and a vision of a shared history nobody knows a damn thing about.
It’s a place where hypodermic needles are found in playgrounds,
and fathers can’t be found at all.
A place where crucifixes are worn like war medals and Christianity is used as a “get out of jail free card”.
This is the authentic America.