~ Light in August ~

Soon after writing this post, Shotgun encounters a random murphy…

“He wasn’t old enough to talk and say nothing at the same time.” ~ Faulkner

My augusts were a highlight. Sir Walter Scott was born in august. My grandmother, my best friend, and even my own birthday – all august. I tease my sister about forgetting her birthday – the joke being, we’re twins. Another august.

Now my augusts are marred by the death of a great man and friend: the author of CWNY.

It’s been a year ago now and I still have nothing of worth to say. I’m still at a loss. (That’s a phrase loaded with tragic irony).

This time, a year ago, I lost my mother and CWNY, at almost the same time, both gone suddenly and unexpectedly. To say I wasn’t in my right mind may not be accurate. I was coldly rational, dealing with the petty details and arrangements with a mechanistic focus that kept out the deep feelings. It took time for them to bubble up and out; an ongoing process. Better to say: I wasn’t in my right heart…

I never met CWNY in this life but I feel like I knew him.

In my inadequate video, I said I’d been reading him for 20 years, which was obviously wrong (I knew it was a long time but it couldn’t have been 20 years). Since then, I’ve been afraid people might take me as having been trying to establish some sort of unwarranted authority for myself: “I’ve been reading him thiiiiiis long!” … that certainly wasn’t what I was trying to convey. I’m no CWNY expert. My only claim of expertise regarding CWNY is two-fold: 1, I know when I’ve presented some idea or blog post that CWNY wouldn’t have liked or agreed with, and 2, I usually figure this out well after I’ve presented or posted it, then work to amend or remove it accordingly. In this struggling way, I eventually get to something close to what I hope CWNY would have been proud of.

He had such an intuitive grasp of Old Europe, its norms, habits, and attitudes. I’m afraid I’m too permanently marred by Satania to ever have the same intuitive grasp. Maybe one day? I hope, one day.

His death seems to have purged the old Presbyterian rationalism from my soul, once and for all. It took time for me to realize this. Time for that cold, mechanistic, rationalism (which was a defense against feeling) to wear off enough for me to realize my new state of mind. When faced with death of loved ones – especially when its unexpected – we might set aside the petty intellectual chess games or the false trophies of pride, and earnestly long for a Christian reality of grace and mercy.

I don’t want to be the lens through which people view CWNY. I don’t want to be how people discover his material. I want them to find it on their own, as I did. I want fellow adventurers. Yet, I can’t bring myself to stop talking about him, citing him, or setting forth his work, either.

His family has continued his legacy and done us all the tremendous service of completing the project, tidying it all up and organizing it, and making it all available for easy download (for whenever wordpress decides to remove it again). I encourage everyone to go there and get a copy.

Where we’re headed, we’ll be needing CWNY…

Like Thomas Hughes loved Arnold of Rugby, I loved CWNY (I wouldn’t have known of the comparison without CWNY!).

While I’ve seen the movie “Tom Brown’s School Days” many times, I’ve always been too afraid to read the novel. I’ve wanted to pace myself in reading the old “Cambria novels” (as I think of them) since there’ll be a tragic day when there are no more of them. Reading them is like a religious ritual for me, one laden with deep experiences, joys, sorrows, and the great delight that comes after the clouds of tragedy.

I think now is the right time for it.

…CWNY, taking me on yet another adventure…

A Foul Stench

When I woke up this morning and checked my blog I noticed an awful sulfur smell emanating from my computer. An odious reptile, with Calvinist skin, cited my blog as an example of “noxious argot” wafting off the “White Man’s Backlash” – which is his term to describe the overreaction against the Black Lives Matter ordeal.

Setting aside that I’ve been an evil “racist” and upmost sinner (according to his Satanic religion) my entire life – not just recently in reaction to recent negro jaunting – and setting aside that I go out of my way to avoid slogans and in-group patter (so, however noxious my writing, it’s certainly not “argot”), this reptile had the gall to insinuate that he and I (or at least, those whom my writing is supposed to represent) are of the same religion.

This, I emphatically deny!

Moreover, this degenerate Satanist, immediately after citing my work, goes on to characterize us backward whites as follows. (I’ll insert my responses in-citation):

“Personal identity is found in ethnicity; (I’ve never said this. Ethnicity is a crucial and important part of personal identity, but not the whole of it)

culture building is inhibited by immigrants, (I’ve never said this either, but it’s true that when immigration is used as a tool to genocide an entire people and our way of life, it is found to be an inhibition, to put it mildly)

it’s not sinful to have a mixed marriage but you ought not to do it, (while some Kinists hold this view, I most emphatically think it is a sin – at least, in our current context, when race-mixing is being artificially promoted and propagandized as a weapon against my people)

white people have a common culture, (is this slimy bastard contesting this? Christendom was our common, European, heritage!)

favor your race above the foreigner, (this, I’ll allow is an accurate caricature of something I’d say, but I rarely say it since it’s obvious to anyone who isn’t part of a suicidal, Satanic, religion)

ethnic separations are best, (see my last response)

white people should proudly act white, (does he think otherwise?!)

people should use skin tone to identify “their people,” (No one, other than reptilian liberals characterize racial loyalty as “skin tone” – this would-be leader of the flock gets his marching orders from Oprah Winfrey. His is a daytime TV naivete)

flourishing is dependent on keeping ethnic tribes, (just imagine the grades I could have achieved in government school if I wasn’t having to stave off gangs of negro bullies everyday)

cultural repair happens with the love of father and fatherland, (this makes no sense and smacks of a Hollywood caricature of white Nazis in the hinterland)

racial unity is the key to national harmony, (it’s one of the prongs on the key, but obviously more is needed, like a strong Christian Faith, unlike the Satanic liberalism this man preaches to his congregants, which has destroyed America)

build white identity in your children (try and stop me)

and marry within your tribe.” (I hope God protects your sons from the army of Shameekas and Latoyas you have in mind for them). (See his article, here.)

As we can see, this brave liberal pastor googled the word “Kinism”, found my stuff, took no time to read it, and just slid me in as a stand-in for the heap of Hollywood rubbish he has in mind of the evil white men who are “overreacting” to the poor, helpless, put-upon negros out there burning down our cities and murdering our women, children, and elderly.

We are *not* of the same religion, sir.

I worship Christ. I stand with Him and with St. Paul over and against your white-washed tomb of liberal in quasi-Christian clothing. Your religious leader is Martin Luther King Jr. You slip a copy of Calvin’s Institutes under King’s robes then prance around as if you’re in direct line with our savior. You most certainly are not.

Some of the worst people I’ve ever known claim to be Presbyterians. That I used to claim the title causes me no end of guilty nights.

Think of me, sir, as an unreasonable pagan – a goth – storming your rationalist, civil-rights, decaying Rome of a religion.

The likes of you will *not* stand between my people and my God!

You and your reptiles are sunning yourselves on the corpse of the very Christendom you helped destroy and now you’re picking at the bones of it. You will lose.

I defy you in the name of Christ.

~ Atlantis Down ~

With my mother’s death all settled happiness, all that was tranquil and reliable, disappeared from my life. There was to be much fun, many pleasures, many stabs of Joy; but no more of the old security. It was sea and islands now; the great continent had sunk like Atlantis. ~ C.S. Lewis

A year ago my mother was murdered by lab-coat-wearing psychopaths who enforce political agendas under the guise of “medical care”.

I will not forget what they’ve done.

Lewis’ famous quote was a beautifully-written passage to me, but little more. Not until this past year has it grown in importance. I, too, have lost the great continent of my life.

Feminists, as they laud the virtues of the fairer sex, never hit on the real value of a good woman. They can’t pinpoint any divine virtue in the word “homemaker” and see it only as a material description of a disrespectful job. They never know it’s meant literally; the woman really does make the home.

Without her, I’m truly homeless.

I will not forget what they’ve done.

Shotgun and the Wild Oats

Christ – our Lord, governing from the right hand of the Father – has paid the penalties of our sins. I don’t like formalizing this in legal terms (as so many Presbyterians love to do), but we might say He’s paid the legal penalties of our sins. The worldly consequences, however? He only rarely, and in special circumstances, relieves us from those. In the New Testament, at least on my reading, it seems like people were sick or lame as a result of their sinful lives. Then, when Christ comes along and heals them, He also says, “Thy sins are forgiven,” as if the two were related. While here on Earth, He would forgive both the eternal consequences of the sin as well as the Earthy consequences and His lame disciple would get up and walk.

After thinking about it, seems to me the Earthly consequences of sin are all some variation of death. Sicknesses, lameness, failure in fortune of one type or another – all tragic in light of our finite existence. Imagine not needing food or drink and if we had a body impervious to the elements. What would life be like? We’d never have to work. All we’d have to do is travel, find the beautiful places and recline there, surrounded by our loved ones, as we enjoy each other eternally. Thus, all worldly misfortune, be it physical, financial, or whatever, has to do with death…and death, of course, is the final enemy. Death’s been defeated, but we have to wait for Christ’s return for its final end.

In the meantime, and barring special, miraculous, providence from Christ, we’re left having to deal with the consequences of our Earthly sins. And please don’t mistake me. I am deeply moved, when I’m at my best (at least), when I think about what Christ has done for us. His sacrifice makes Him unquestionably worthy of our worship. Don’t read me as complaining about having worldly difficulties. I’m only trying to be practical about it.

I am one of the greatest of sinners. When I read the old European literature – especially Dickens, who showcases for us virtuous Christian characters – I often feel overwhelmed with my own sinfulness. I’d be one of the wicked characters in a Dickens novel. At least, flawed and likely to ruin myself or those around me. In any case, the chief sin of my life – I confess it now for my readers – has been the sewing of wild oats. I sought adventure with no thought of my future or of positioning myself as a provider. As a result, I’m almost 40 years old and have little wealth or stability to show for a lifetime of glory seeking.

I hope I’ve come to my senses soon enough to repair (or, at least, lessen) the worldly consequences of this sin, although I’ve had to come to terms with one of the penalties being my never being positioned to have a family. How could I look a Christian woman in the eyes and have her seriously consider me as an option with nothing at all to offer her other than a lifetime of poverty and hardship?

Still – there is an old truism among white working folk: hard work pays off…

Therefore, if any of my readers are in a similar position, consider the F.I.R.E. movement, a popular trend among financial bloggers and life-planners. “Financial Independence, Retire Early.” It sounds great, but how to go about it? F.I.R.E. adherents are defined by their extremely frugal lifestyles, often competing among themselves for how low they can get their monthly expenses. The average, last I heard, was around $400 U.S. dollars per person. All the remaining income is put into safe and stable investments. Once one is comfortable with a 400-a-month lifestyle, it takes a comparatively short amount of time to save up enough in investment capital to ensure a monthly dividend (or interest) payment for that low amount indefinitely.

(I’ve long been a fan of the high-yield savings accounts, many offering a 6% return annually – and that, with none of the ups, downs, and speculations of the stock market.)

I’ll never undo the damage my sin of wild-oats has caused. All the years I’ve missed out on with a wife and children. But maybe I can at least become self-sustaining and free myself from this Satanic plantation. Even if I can’t manage it, though, I have a wild and unimaginable inheritance waiting on the other side…

Shotgun and the Old Sea Captain

My friends and I, in a foreign land, were piped ashore to amuse ourselves. Peacoat clad we hit the town, bundled against strange winds. Finding nothing of warmth at our late hour, we ambled to the south. There we saw the merry glow of an inn with people about.

It was small but strong against the night with a fire in the hearth. The barmaid saw us straggle in and brought over the best of the house. As we sat and warmed ourselves, we noticed a quiet buzz. It came from the corner where an old man sat, his pipe-smoke circling above.

He looked us over with a haughty eye and nodded his approval. “You look like sailors lads” he said, with a trace of an English accent. “I was too, when I was young, and was again thereafter. Be wise and buy my next round; I’ll tell you about my … disaster … ”

Nothing better in mind and curious about the man, we pulled up our chairs and gave him our ears, to see what he was after. He wore an old captain’s hat and coat from better days. His beard was white but trimmed, his eyes blue as the ocean waves.

“Disaster?” I asked…”was that the name of your ship?”

“Ha!” he scoffed, “…if only that were it…”

He leaned back in his chair and pulled on his pipe, the tobacco glowing red, then leaned forward again with an ominous look, and this is what he said:


We had rounded the horn of Africa, crossed the Adan gulf.

Sailed up through the Red Sea lads, like Moses long ago.

We headed up to Cairo, through the Suez Canal,

It was somewhere near Ismailia – hard to remember now.

We watched the Arabs from our bow, as they went along their way,

The women wore flowing gowns that covered their whole face.

And, ah! But lads, yes, there was one. Caught my eye with grace.

No! She didn’t bow, nor stoop, as was the common, Arab, way.


“A woman!” I cried, and my shipmates laughed.

“We’re familiar with your disaster…”

“Familiar, and want no more of it,” said one.

“A woman! That’s right” he said, as he took another drag of pipe.

“I thought like you in a former life, before my Suez adventure. And if you’ll hear me well and take my advice, you’ll see you’re all the ones in danger…”

“Carry on!” we all cried, amused by our captain’s earnest…


This angel, for so she was, lads, held my eyes with her own.

On we inched, to the north, while she walked beside alone.

We continued on like this until the sun was set,

When finally she spoke; and that, lads, was how we met.

Her story, it was a sad one, it brought a tear to my eye…

She’d been a Christian woman, brought to the east to die.

“And why were you brought to die?” I asked,

“Why sir, you musn’t ask.”

“And if I’m not to ask, then why should I care? What friends are you and I?”

“Aren’t you a Christian?” she asked “From a land of chivalry?”

“Me?” asked I “I hate the word. I know only of business and the sea.”

“Then you’re a coward,” she said, as we drifted along, and her words stung me deep.

I had thought of myself as a man of the world and all that was in it to see.

“Listen, ma’am, you’re pretty – I can’t deny you that – but you followed your vanity to the east, you’ve sought your own disaster. I’m in my ship, safe from harm, while you’re on the shore, despite your charm. You’ve followed your happily-ever-after. Am I to bow, to bend to charm, when you’ve given it all for baubles and bluster? A man to whom you owe your danger? And now you’ve seen your own life’s fault, you seek refuge from a stranger?!”

“Not a stranger,” she said.

“Here where all the faces are black, to see a one like mine…to hear a friendly voice from home? Oh sir, I dream of going back! But I can’t deny what you’ve said is true. I am here by choice and folly of youth. So, if you decide to abandon me, I’ll still pray for you to have a safe journey. God, at least, may hear the prayers of one such as I. He, at least, may help a sinner – help one who is about to die…”


“Well?” we all asked…

“Well, I left her,” he said. “And she’s haunted me ever since.”

We all looked into our drinks at this somber turn of events. How could a man of our own profession, one of the sea, have such cold-hearted confessions?

We pushed back our chairs and gave him a nod, wanting no more of his stories. He’d told us all we’d wanted to hear, we were ready to get back to our berthing. We threw on our coats and wrapped up our scarves, laid down some money onto the bar, then headed for the door. But before we could leave, we heard the old man once more, a final word in parting:

“Remember the sea and what it costs
to be a man who’s free.
To see the waves and endless sky,
To be unbound from all that ties,
To land, to life, to lovers lost,
Remember the cost of the sea.”

As we walked away, I thought to myself, about the sad old captain’s words. Maybe all I need is a pair of big blue eyes to tie me to the world?


“A true man of Europe, a man with a sentimental attachment to his people and our common hope, must fight his way out of the belly of the leviathan and then turn and attack the leviathan.” ~ CWNY

I’m deeply ashamed of how much time and money I’ve put into building a philosophical system falsely called (by some) “Christianity.” Worse, when the moon was full, I’d return to my old ways, despite all the warnings of CWNY. I told myself, for awhile, I wasn’t taking it seriously. It was more of an intellectual chess match with atheists. A game. Not a serious contest of faiths. The antique-European may very well ask, in reply, why ought anyone engage in games that aren’t serious contests of faith?

In the wake of the Roe repeal, debate between the pro-lifers and pro-choicers flamed up to levels I’ve never seen in my lifetime. I’d see, one after the other, of these swaggering “big-brained” Christian intellects, dispassionately entertaining the idea of child sacrifice while they engaged in heartless tit-for-tats with unbelievers. How? How can a man with Christian sensibilities dispassionately entertain such things?

Abortion advocates don’t need argument, they need execution. I couldn’t bring myself to think of it as a “game” when the stakes were this miserable. I saw it as deeply unmanly to parry limp-wristed conversational tactics with all that passes for wit on the internet. When the spiritual tension reached its pique with me, I slammed my computer closed, rushed outside, and began doing pushups. Then I pounded out pullups until I got dizzy in the summer heat. I needed bodily pain to snap me out of this delusion.

I’m going to clean out my storage unit this week – get rid of all my tomes of philosophy. I don’t need them or want them anymore. My only advantage in having studied the depths of philosophical speculation is now having a very clear view of how useless it all is. The most advanced philosophy gets so specialized and nuanced, no layman can keep up with it anyway and, at the end of the day, at best, it all amounts of an intellectual draw between the atheists and Christians. God can’t be rationally proven, certainly not to people with a petulant and vengeful desire not to see Him in the first place.

It’s here C.S. Lewis can be the channel back to genuine Christian sentiment. He’s earned a respected place among all the would-be apologist philosophers in Christendom. They all claim Lewis as an influence and honored mentor – yet they all, without fail, reject his philosophy (especially the Calvinists). “Lewis was a great writer, but he made many theological errors…”

I think they intuitively like him because Lewis, unlike all the other rationalist philosophers, was spiritually connected to old Europe and the hero Christ at its center. His greatest apologetics weren’t his philosophical arguments, it was his appeal to the heart; his championing of the true Faith. In this, Mr. Cambria far surpassed Lewis.

Owing to my study of philosophy, I’m often asked about the best way to teach these complex apologetic arguments to children. This question used to flatter my ego and spark my creativity – now I’m appalled by it. The best way to teach children Christianity (and its subsequent defense?)

Turn off the television and read to them! Read the old stories. Out loud, as a family. Allow them to live in old Europe – to breathe its air and walk its country lanes. Let them see the land of evening lingerings. It’s our home and where we belong and once familiar with it, they’ll never want to leave.

Once there – and it’s a difficult journey through an extremely narrow gate – our job (as CWNY says) is to turn and attack the leviathan.

I’m not a great writer, poet, artist, or musician. I’m not sure how to do what CWNY or C.S. Lewis did. But I have to find a way…

The Lost Patrol

“The restoration of the misplaced Europeans of the 21st century, the ‘Lost Patrol,’ will take place when the European people once again side with the human personality, joined with His divine humanity, over and against the scientized committee men in church and state.” ~ CWNY

I am, like many of you, excited by the recent repeal of that Satanic “Roe v. Wade” supreme court decision. Moreover, in a just world, this would be a victory for President Trump’s second-term and may have lessened some of the yelling in his direction from what passes for the American far-right. In a bid to win favor from the liberals, the far-right talking-heads have been heaping scorn onto Trump by the bucket-loads. I wont restate their insulting pet-names or insults.

Doesn’t it seem the least bit traitorous to insult and criticize him in this way? In addition to the petty names, these dissident-right talking heads take up and repeat every liberal talking point against the man, adding their own twisted “twists”…

I’ll tell you why: it’s because they’re spiritually severed from the pulse of Christendom. Mr. Cambria always appreciated Trump, even while acknowledging that he was, at best, one of the white pagans who retained suppressed, though healthy, intuitions. He was fighting a “rear-guard” political action. Trump’s campaign played to whatever is left of the white folk spirit in our people and gave us all a focus point. That alone is praiseworthy – but he managed to do good things for us politically, as well. CWNY was deeply sensitive to the Spirit and could feel it in Trump. That the dissident right talking-heads fail to “feel” the import of this is proof of their being spiritually disconnected.

The liberals are foaming at the mouth and threatening violence. They are threatening to move from any state that outlaws abortion (as many states have done – please God more of them will…) The phrase “civil-war” is being tossed around in mainstream news. How I wish to God that would happen. The moment Texas secedes, I’m moving and will give my life (if such is called for) in her defense.

Secession on a state-scale is vastly superior than the sort of micro-secessions I’ve been advocating, yet if it can be done, it’s a cause worth dying for. Otherwise, a man in my position – seceding on an individual scale – is apt to get lonely and lose all community focus. Take it from me – I desperately read old European literature to make up for the lack, in my actual life, of genuine and strong community relations. We’re not meant to live as nomads on a Satanic plantation.

I’ve thought a lot about how my attitude has differed from CWNY’s over the years. Unlike our dissident-right talking-heads, I’ve never hated Trump, and I’ve always been aware of his appeal to the folk-spirit of our people, but I’ve always been apathetic or cynical about him. I preferred to look to my own affairs and disconnect from the world. While this strategy insulated me from much of the evil out there, it also eats away at a man. Mr. Cambria, however, was connected to a people and place. He spoke often of having a big family. A wife and children change the playing field for a man – they make all the evils of the world vastly more close and serious.

I don’t care about black communities because I just avoid them; but what if they move into your neighborhood where you have a wife and children and are heavily invested in a home? I hate public school (with a deep passion), but never cared much about PTAs or school policies because I have no children; but what if homeschooling is outlawed and the CDC begins stealing away all those children who refuse to attend?

As it is now, my instincts are to avoid trouble, keep my assets liquid, look for places to hide (economically and maybe physically). If I had a family, I’d have to fight. I would fight, and not indiscriminately, without planning, but seriously, and with all the passion of a Christian knight.

Some nights I wonder if I’m a coward deep down and have avoided the fairer sex for this very reason. Look at the cost…

I don’t see the repeal of “Roe…” as an awakening of the Holy Spirit in our people but God’s ways are mysterious. I’m convinced He will not let us, His beloved people, slip away into a dark, Satanic, oblivion. He will call us to rise and ride and maybe this is the first trumpet blast?

The liberals want a war?

By God, they can have it…

African Politics…

“If you ever want to understand African politics, do business for a day in Atlanta…” ~ Shotgun

As I entered the kiosk to get my paperwork, I noticed, behind the desk, three lovely ladies: Shameeka, Lateesha, and Sha Nay-Nay, all in dey elevated place behind dey countah and sittin’ in dey churs. Shameeka be lookin’ at da computah and aint be doin’ it right, so Lateesha had to be helpin’ her…

…meanwhile, the line of frustrated white men, some in suit-coats, grew ever longer, stretching out of the air-conditioned foyer and onto the sidewalk. The Atlanta heat (98 degrees and climbing) accompanied them as they wiped their foreheads and glanced eagerly at the kiosk. “What’s taking so long???” one man shouted…

“Why dat white man out dur wit dat attitude??” asks Shameeka.

“…ohhhh no, he didnnnn” says Sha Nay Nay.

“Mmmm-mmmmmm” says Lateesha…

I’m in a desperate hurry. Need to move. Gotta make the money! If only they’d hurry it up! But Lateesha be on her phone, talkin’ to her girl, complaining about her baby-daddy. The conversation is so important, she has to talk while performing whatever mysterious, rocket-science, task she’s up to on her computer. I glance at the clock. The seconds are tick, tick, ticking away while Lateesha click, click, clicks away – her gaudy fake nail hitting one key at a time, matching tick of seconds.

A commotion outside! Tyrone swaggers up from the back of the line, ambles into the kiosk, jives up to the desk, and begins flirting with Shameeka. She, in turn, sets aside my case and chats with Tyrone in some jargon I can’t even fabricate.

“Ohhhh you so silly…”

“Naw girl, why you be frontin’?”

“Nuh uhhh…”

Another man enters from the other side of the kiosk. A white man.

“Excuse me… these forms are all filled out incorrectly, but even if they were correct, they’re not even *my* paperwork. This is outrageous!”

“Sir!” Shameeka yells…”You gots to wait in line, you can’t just be comin’ up here!”

“This is insane!” he says, half under his breath, as he meekly heads out into the heat.

She says something unintelligible to Tyrone, presumably about the discouraged white man, and the two chuckle.

…tick, tick, tick… click, click, click… 10:50 turns to 10:55 which turns to 11:00, and….

“Ya’ll gonna have to come back cause we bout to go on break…”

~ sigh ~

Happy Juneteenth to the readers of SBS.

Love Again

Love had made him dangerous. ~ Clementina

So much has happened in the world of late. Our Satanic overlords are trying to demoralize the populace until there’s no domestic resistance left to their agenda. They’re trying simultaneously to bully and demoralize all those non-liberal powers left in the world, trusting to China’s unwillingness to go to war, and to Russia’s willingness to exhaust itself in a bid to preserve its own existence. On top of it all, and very much related, in my humble opinion, the crackdown on dissident thought began again in earnest, resulting (among other things) in the axing of popular dissident sites. I’m sure my readers noticed CWNY was taken down again (it’s back up now, but was down for almost 2 weeks). Is it a coincidence that this round of blackouts happened right before two new “mass-shooting” events? I seriously doubt it. I also seriously doubt that these events were random. But we’re not about prying into the mechanics of Satan here at Shotgun Barrel Straight – at least, not more so than is necessary for us to know how to counter them.

There’s only one real way to save ourselves at this point in history. We must have a deep and abiding love for Christ and the culture of the people who took Him into their hearts and mixed their blood with His blood. Without this, even the staunchest of public Christians will succumb (and easily so from the enemy’s perspective) to the acid-baths of modernity.

I’ve seen strong Kinists, swaggering around in defense of Christ and race a few short years ago, now fully succumb to the pressures of the modern world. It starts by a sort of exhaustion with all the “drama”. A retreat from the battle-field of debate. Then, owing to the influences of women and children, little allowances are made to Satania. “We can watch this movie, dad!” or “What’s wrong with seeing that film?” Or listening to that song? Or going to that church? Or wearing those clothes? Do we really have to be so staunch? After all…we know the truth, yes? Before long, a man has become just another member of Satania who may, deep down, have a few good doctrinal views that he’ll never publicly express.

Of course, I’m not saying we ought to engage in internet debates. I’m ashamed of all the time I’ve spent doing such a nonsensical thing in the past. Nor am I saying we must devote ourselves to outright warfare at this point – a more noble, though equally as useless – task. Rather, I’m saying we must always be “framing” the world as Christian men, forcing our view onto reality instead of allowing the devil and his countless minions to force their view onto us.

If you love Christ and love Old Europe, then try just saying the “n-word” out loud from time to time. Hear how it sounds. Re-affirm to yourself that there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s not inherently evil and may be inherently noble. Try waking up in the morning, looking into the mirror, and saying: I hold this entire, modern, world in mortal defiance, in the name of Jesus Christ!

There are, of course, the secondary important things: turn off the television. Stop allowing the news media to dictate what ought to be our important thoughts for the day. Think about fairy tales and chivalry instead of mass-shootings and meta-politics.

Love, and love of Christ specifically, is the only thing that will keep us from literal death of the soul.

I haven’t been posting much of late, I’ve been too caught up in the drudgery of life. But hear this: I’m preparing for another long water fast. I’ll do it as a way to rest my soul and wholly immerse myself in the world of old Europe – to be one with my ancestors, to feel what what they felt, and worship the way they worshiped. To commune with Christ directly and for a 40-day span.

It’s time to gird up our loins and love again.

Shotgun vs the Wade Authors

Because of my job, I spent last week stuck in Chicago.

Boredom, unfortunately, caused me to seek out a cigar lounge. “How you gonna get them six-pack abs, Shotgun, if you keep smoking up that temple of yours?!” Stop lecturing me, readers!

In the Carolina lounges the men are more free with their politics. They’re all neo-cons and parrot Fox News talking-points. Here, the men were talking about sports with a mix of pretentious intellectualism. One man, dressed like a caricature of a university professor, began talking about the smoking habits of Carl Jung. He says Jung preferred a blend of tobacco called “Virginia”. This lead him to discuss C.S. Lewis, who, apparently, according to our professor, enjoyed the same blend.

Well, that reminded me. Seeing as I had nothing else to do, I was close to Wheaton College and ought to visit. Over the years, I’ve run into many lecturing professors from Wheaton who claim to be connoisseurs of C.S. Lewis, Tolkien, and the rest of the Inklings. They throw in G.K. Chesterton, George MacDonald, and Dorothy Sayers for good measure. The Wheaton campus is home to the Marion E. Wade center which exists to carry on the intellectual tradition of these Christian writers. Also, they have a cool museum full of Inkling memorabilia. So, I said a polite goodbye to the lounge gents and off I went.

The college was beautiful. It looks like everything you’d imagine a college ought to look like had our world not descended completely to Hell. Well-dressed white students hurried along the sidewalks, one carrying books, another jogging, yet two more, hand-in-hand, straggling along under the early-spring blossoms. These last two strolled into the Wade Center ahead of me and I ended up sharing the Museum with them. They’d be in the Lewis corner, whispering and giggling to each other, while I’d be in the Chesterton corner, looking at his artifacts.

I know what you’re all thinking and yes, it did make me feel especially aware of how much better it would have been had I also had someone to be whispering with in a corner. Well, rest your minds because, for much of my time there, I had the honor of being escorted by the enthusiastic curator. At her urging, I opened Lewis’ wardrobe – the actual one, shipped in from Ireland – rifled through the fur-coats, and made sure the back was solid. Lewis fans wouldn’t have been surprised. No one gets to Narnia the same way twice.

They had both Lewis and Tolkien’s desks. Tokien’s was accompanied by a hand-written note declaring that he wrote the Hobbit on that very desk (and most of LotR). They had Lewis’ coffee mug and tea kettle (the mug had a picture of an English fox hunt). They had a pair of Dorothy Sayers’ spectacles as well as many books from the personal libraries of the authors (you could see Lewis had been scribbling in the margins).

Then, I saw the smoking display. They had Lewis and Tolkien’s pipes. Lewis’ had a smaller bowl than average, while Tolkien’s had a much larger bowl than average. Maybe Lewis preferred to fidget with his and constantly be refilling it, while Tolkien preferred to pack a lot in at once? And, ha! What’s this?! My professor friend from the lounge was wrong? You don’t say?! Next to the pipes, they had the Inklings’ favorite pipe tobacco, a brand called “Clan” and packaged in red tartan.

If any of you are ever in the Chicago area, I recommend the museum.

I can’t as readily recommend the Marion center. While they are virtually the sole institution keeping the Inklings’ work alive, they’re also pop-liberals who take every opportunity to read feminism or any manner of egalitarianism into the works. I’ve seen it already, like storm-clouds on the horizon, the frothing-at-the-mouth demoniacs in American universities are taking exception to Lewis and Tolkien and laying initial groundwork for their deconstruction (and subsequent dismissal). “Dem honkies don’t be deserverin’ all the attention they be gettin’!” The Wade Center is similarly deconstructing them from the right.

I almost look forward to it because then, the few real Christians left in the world will have them to ourselves again.

I intended to go through a brief overview of each of the Wade authors – there are seven in all – and yet, I can’t do them justice in a single post. I’ll just say that Lewis was the best of them because Lewis was the only one who was self-consciously attacking modernity with his entire heart and soul and doing it in the name of Christ. Tolkien was attacking modernity in his own way, of course, but never as self-conscious – at least in his published work – as Lewis. Chesterton was himself a liberal, at least in the “Pickwickian Sense” (as one ISI lecturer put it). All of his prose is technically brilliant and at times profound, but he’s too naive about the Jacobins. (I see Chesterton as similar to Conan Doyle in this respect – both were liberals and brilliant writers but neither loved their own race enough to keep from dabbling in Satanism. They’re also both worth reading and Chesterton, especially, has brilliant insights from time to time. Just have to be careful with them).

George MacDonald, as I alluded to in my last blog post, is more enigmatic. I’ve read almost all of his novels and never read anything explicitly liberal (until that off-hand passage in What’s Mine’s Mine, which is ambiguous but smells like sulfur). I’m certainly not intelligent enough to pass judgement on any of these men, but I’m here and they’re not, and furthermore, I’m living in Satania, while they all lived in Christian Europe. I have the courage of hindsight.

Owen Barfield and Charles Williams are probably the least Christian of the group although their fans would attack me for saying it. Barfield was too fascinated with Rudolf Steiner in my opinion, although Steiner may have single-handedly rescued Theosophism from descending into complete paganism. Barfield’s work on language is fascinating (History of English Words). Imagine yourself an archaeologist, only instead of digging through dirt, you’re digging through language to determine the spiritual origins (government-schooled materialists would say: cultural origins). His novellas are esoteric introductions to Romantic Christianity, especially his Rose on the Ash Heap. His “Night Operation” might be the most politically-incorrect thing written by any of the Wade Authors, excepting all the times G.K. Chesterton uses the “n-word”…(listen to his novels as audio-books if you can and crank up those parts while you’re sitting at a red-light).

Of them all, I’ve read the least from Sayers and Charles Williams, Williams was a friend of Lewis and Tolkien and an honorary Inkling. I’ve read two of his novels, Descent into Hell and All Hallow’s Eve. They tend to break down into complete esoteric unintelligibility and yet, if you’re somewhat familiar with Plato and how Christians try to use him, you might struggle through. Big on Arthurian legends, he may have influenced Lewis’ use of the mythos in That Hideous Strength. I’ve read some of Sayers’ detective novels, as well as her popular essays “Are Women Human” – which the Marion E. Wade feminists love, I’m sure. There’s not much in her brand of feminism to object to, neither is there much to object to in grease of any sort. But to what skids will it be applied?!

I’ll continue to read and enjoy all of these authors for many years to come, I’m sure, but my true home is old Europe, the people who built it and the God they worshiped. All the foppery and clever wordplay swirling around it really, at the end of the day, is pseudo-profundity.

Maybe it’s a sign of my own maturing faith that, the closer to God I get, the simpler my reading pleasures?