About Me

There’s no quick pitch for this. I’m a small-town dad from Indiana who started making things—patches, essays, signals—because I couldn’t keep watching the world fall apart without trying to make sense of it. Red Pawn wasn’t planned. It was a reaction. A coping mechanism that turned into a forge.

This isn’t a brand. It’s not an aesthetic project. It’s not content. It’s a toolkit for people who are trying to survive a collapsing narrative environment with their integrity, curiosity, and sense of humor still intact.

I don’t belong to any political faction. Too authoritarian for the anarchists. Too libertarian for the communists. Too principled for the liberals. Too honest for the grifters. If that sounds like a contradiction, it is—but I think that’s where the truth lives. Not in purity. Not in allegiance. In tension, in complexity, in the places that don't flatten.

I believe in care. In housing. In dignity. In not letting people rot. I believe that capitalism, imperialism, and institutional liberalism have built a reality-distortion machine that is eating everything—our minds, our movements, our futures. And I believe the only way out is through: clarity, critique, and community that doesn’t collapse under aesthetic pressure.

Red Pawn makes gear, but that’s just the delivery system. The deeper work is epistemic. The patches are satire, but they’re also armor. The essays are long, but they’re tools. The memes are jokes, but the stakes are real. This is for the ones who’ve been radicalized, disillusioned, and betrayed—but still give a damn.

Everything you see here is made by me. No staff. No automation. Every patch, every order, every message is handled by hand. Every email gets read. I care more than I’m comfortable admitting. I hold every kind word close, and every criticism even closer.

This project isn’t trying to lead anyone. It’s not a movement. It’s not a manifesto. It’s a signal beacon in the fog—a weird little campfire for people who don’t fully fit anywhere, but aren’t willing to disappear.

If something here speaks to you, good. If it sharpens your tools, even better. If it pisses you off but lingers in the back of your mind—welcome.

Thanks for being here. For reading this far. For giving a shit.

If you ever want to talk, you can reach me. Directly. Always.

We need the biggest tent and longest table. Luckily, my father was a woodsman and a carpenter.

—Red Pawn