Where did I go wrong?
I lost a friend,
Somewhere along in bitterness, and,
I’d have stayed up with you all night,
Had I known how to save a life…
I got to Paddy’s before Heimbach (aka: The Little Fuhrer) showed up, allowing for an hour or so of pleasant conversation with the man, now famous in Alt. Right circles for his musical hit “The Ballad of Tiny Tim Wise.” Call it vulgar, but bathroom stops resulting in disruption of travel plans that weekend were blamed on the unfortunate Tradzi having to “…stop and take a tiny Tim Wise.” Paddy, however, was too humble for accolade; instead of devoting the weekend to promotion of his music, he lead the Mid-Atlantic chapter (and friends) of the Trad-Worker’s Party in an event devoted to Tribe, Tradition, and finding local solutions to globalist problems.
I traveled to Philadelphia at great risk to myself – I lose my superpowers north of the Mason Dixon – to attend the Trad-Worker event and Paddy, a great leader in his own right, was kind enough to host me. As I was poking around his home, I noticed the music to “How to Save a Life” by The Fray on the piano. Even though we were separated by hundreds of miles, Paddy and I shared a desire to learn how to play the song (just last week I had been working on a rendition of it for the banjo). Yes – despite the inroads made by the damned globalists, we honkies share an affinity for the same things; we’re still bound together in a slip-shod culture.
Uprooting us from these ties-that-bind is constantly in the minds of the globalists. And while it has profound economic and political implications, it has an even more nefarious effect on the soul (or psyche for you godless heathen). When one loses the “chains of place” one loses his very sense of personhood. Lost are the social mores, the etiquette, and all the humble ties of human hearts that give a man purpose and meaning. When so uprooted, a man becomes suicidal. Seeing The Fray’s song on Paddy’s piano reminded me that no matter how powerful the Devil’s minions become, the simple and loving acts of individual hearts, when reaching out to our suffering friends (be it in prayer or the countless kind acts Christians perform for each other throughout the day), have, inherent in them, the mighty power of toppling strongholds.
I wont say where we met because it was so surreal in its whiteness, we hope to meet there frequently (we don’t need ANTIFA showing up to protest). It was a predominately white, working class enclave, nestled in the heart of the city and blew my southern mind; everywhere I’d see a group of people on the side of the road, I’d expect, owing to the surroundings, to see blacks or mestizos, but instead, they’d be groups of healthy young whites. I joked with some of the locals who attended (Keystone United!) that the neighborhood was kept pure because all around it the crafty denizens made a barrier of “help wanted” signs to keep out the coloreds.
When our merry meeting (detailed elsewhere) was over, I travelled with Heimbach and company through the heart of Pennsylvania (made inexplicably difficult by the state’s insistence on tolls), to the house of the famous doctor of political philosophy, Orthodox priest, and Alt. Right hero, Matthew Johnson. There, lining his make-shift chapel, Matthew Heimbach was baptized into the true Orthodox church, while receiving apologies on behalf of all Christendom (and the Church in particular) for his rough treatment at the hand of the American clergy.
It was a pivotal moment; a moment tied to the past and profoundly symbolic. I was so affected emotionally, I ventured into the sanctity of the place, despite my being a nominal Presbyterian. To the surprise of all (except maybe Fr. Johnson), I didn’t burst into flames. Instead, I had to wipe the mist from my eyes. Seeing Heimbach undergo such an historic ritual, officially inaugurating him into the church of Christ, made all the more meaningful given his trials and the thankless stance he’s taken in public life, was a bit much. If anyone asks about it later, though, I’ll blame the incense.
Fr. Johnson, without knowledge of the Fray, spoke with inspiration from God when he reinforced the importance of camaraderie, the ties that bind, and friendship for staving off the inevitable depression caused by the pending rootless dystopia of the Globalists. It was the most powerful Orthodox service I’d ever attended; that it’s the only one, thus far in my career, doesn’t diminish its importance to me. I doubt I’ll ever attend another like it.
Afterwards, we all ventured our separate ways; only now, as I returned to a bleak Carolina life, I had the knowledge that I wasn’t alone in the world and that there is a Kingdom of friends and a power looming in the hearts of Christian men that globalists, wherever they are in the world, lay awake at nights thinking about…and fearing.