This is my Father’s world,
and to my listening ears
All nature sings, and round me rings
the music of the spheres.
This is my Father’s world:
I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
His hand the wonders wrought.
Oh, the dim oppression of modernity, slouching over me like an impish blanket to dampen out the fumes of my smoldering Saxon wrath. Even the weather, uncharacteristically gloomy for a Carolina fall, was conspiring with the devil, intent on sinking my spirits with all its cool drizzle and melancholy breezes. But then my cellphone rang. I was in the library of my community college, working on a paper about how evil European Christian males are (they can’t be otherwise for an “A” paper.) But as I said – my phone rang.
It was none other than the great radio personality James Edwards on the other end! His voice roused me from the hum-drum mood of liberaldom and that smoldering Saxon wrath I mentioned, blazed anew. Edwards had sounded the rallying cry. “Come to Memphis” he said to me. “The Cesspool is celebrating its 10th anniversary, and I want you there.”
Then Rohan will answer!
I’m no Theoden of course, but the poetry of the situation wasn’t lost on me. I was going to Memphis, though Hell should bar the way. James had called me personally, and I aimed to make it.
Weeks later, I hopped in the car and made the trek through the lowlands of Carolina. I’ve said before how the higher the altitude the closer to God, and my maxim held its truth. Travel west through Carolina and you’ll notice, around Hickory, the populace gets…erm…lighter, if you catch my drift. The further up the mountain one travels, the, erm, lighter the scenery.
My friend Tom lives at the apex of this last-bastion-of-old Europe. I picked him up in Knoxville, and we headed down to Memphis together. My maxim holds true in reverse it seems – the lower you get, the less …aw Hell, let’s dispense with niceties, (I’m not expecting an “A” on this paper)…there’s lots of darkies down that way. And given what we’d all heard of Memphis crime rates, we were all packing heat.
Tom, especially, always reminds me of one of the old Scots-Irish heroes in a Louis L’Amour novel. If we were going to have trouble, he’d be the guy I’d want in my foxhole. Wiry in strength, strong in constitution, Tom (I’ve often said) is one of the best community organizers we’ve got. He exhibits the old-world Christianity present in the wild men of Appalachia who were able to kill Indians in one minute, while hugging their daughters the next (that’s daddy!)
We made it with few adventures to speak of. On arrival, we teamed up with my buddy Flowers, (we chant “White Flowers” when he walks by), and the infamous Heimbach (the “future of organized hate”). Both men, icons in their own right, when together, make the sort of team I call “Hell-Shakers” – because they make Hell shake with fear.
Put all of us together and you might get some idea of what Edwards had managed to pull off.
The Cesspool event, it should be said, was the first I’d ever felt completely at home in. There’s something too pagan and intellectual about AMREN (not that I’m complaining about AMREN – Taylor provides a wonderful venue and has done a lot of good work). There’s something too low-brow about Stormfront (again – not saying anything bad about Stormfront conferences – they, too, have done a lot of good). League of the South events are slightly better, but tend to be too political and group-oriented (although, I don’t suspect they’re aiming to be other than what they are, so I don’t fault them for a shortcoming at this point). Edwards, however, managed the right mixture of Faith and Folk – and managed it very well.
The dinner that night was amazing – the cilantro and pork, mixed with rice and sweet potato casserole…mmmmy mouth is still watering. Those Cesspool guys know how to throw a party. I’ll give them that.
I met the Kinist godfather that evening and sat next to him during the meal. Imagine getting to sit next to the editor of Spirit / Water / Blood for a meal? I’ve often said Kinism.net is the brain of Kinism, Cambria Will not Yield is its heart, and, by God, S/W/B is its balls! (Or used to be anyway – hopefully we’ll get a re-launch in the near future).
I wont recount or summarize the speakers at the event; someone else is writing an article about them. All I’ll say is that they were each inspiring, making me dream of joining the radio business one minute, and wanting to start my own corporation the next. Combined with these practical talks, was a lecture on Nathan Bedford Forrest and the Ft. Pillow “massacre” which was about as much of a massacre as the Trayvon shooting was. That is to say – the official account has been dubiously inflated by Satanists to the detriment of the old South.
History and practicality having been effectively combined, my friend Nathan Strickland, editor of the Kinist webzine “Faith and Heritage”, took the mic to give an excellent presentation which mixed theology into the batch. As far as we knew (the godfather and I), this was the second time a formal presentation of Kinism had been offered to an audience – a historic event, if I do say so m’self.
Strikland got off lucky – there wasn’t time for questions and answers. My friends and I had planned to throw him all sorts of curve balls to unnerve him. “Isn’t it true”…I was going to ask, “that Kinism necessarily requires the formation of sub-cultural groups, like the so-called ‘bronies’ for example?” We’ll get you next time, Strikland.
At one point, some of us drove down to the Lorraine Motel where Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. We “trolled” the place with first-rate expertise. Heimbach, the most notorious racist in the country, along with me (the famed CPAC racist), Tom and Flowers…we could almost feel the blood of King Jr. crying out from the walls. “Get dem honkies outta heah! And where da white wimminz is?”
I don’t want to belabor a point, but I have to stress how perfectly balanced this Cesspool event was. Good friends, good people, and good speakers. So much of the advocacy for our people is morbid, profanity-laden, pessimism – not so the Cesspool. Edwards’ work ignites in me the same hope I feel when looking at a sunset, or when looking out over the Appalachians. His show (and this event in particular) left me feeling inspired and uplifted.
I remembered that this is my Father’s world. The rocks and seas, the skies and trees! All of it! There’s not a square inch whereupon He does not cry: “MINE”. It’s about time an organization remembered that. Thank God for Edwards and the Political Cesspool.
As a post-script, I should add (although it might anger the puritans among us), that if it’s true, as the old Southern mystics suggest, that God allows fallen saints to return to Earth for a time to watch over their loved ones, then I’m positive the entire weekend’s events were watched over by the late Bill Rolen. The man’s spirit was very much in attendance. When James mentioned him by name, I’m man enough to admit, I teared up a little.