Sedona Gun Club: Second Amendment Protecting the First

On a living room bookshelf, rising floor to ceiling, ranges an arsenal of literature from Friedrich Nietzsche to Dante Alighieri, David Sedaris to Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. Chapbooks written by people otherwise unpublished sit amongst poems and books from the Beats; inspiration some days, history others. Five miles away, off a winding road between a tourist town and lavish resort, the same book lovers worm through rounds from .40 and .45 caliber handguns, a .32 caliber pistol, a .30-06 rifle, a 12-gauge and an AK-47. At home, book jackets. At the firing range, full metal jackets.

Greg Nix and Christopher Fox Graham are the 20-something visionaries and organizers of Sedona Gun Club. Once a month, they gather like-minded people who relish in the idea of popping off rounds after sounding off poetry, haiku, quotes or jokes. You see, this isn’t an ordinary gun club. First rule of Sedona Gun Club, there is no Sedona Gun Club. Actually, that’s not true, but how can anyone resist saying it.

Sedona Gun Club originated as the brainchild of writer and friend Nate Hansen, but shortly thereafter was adopted and given life by Nix and Graham. Its mission is to guarantee, and enforce if necessary, the First Amendment of the Bill of Rights and the United States’ Constitution by making use of the succeeding amendments, specifically the Second Amendment’s “Right to Bear Arms."

During meetings, members must read written works – original or otherwise – before shooting any weapons. Afterwards, the ceremony continues with one copy archived for a future underground newsletter called The Report while the second is fired upon. After all, words have and always will be natural combatants, Nix and Graham say.

“We use poetry as targets for it’s metaphorical statement. A poem is an intentional, concentrated effusion of words encapsulating a moment, a feeling or an experience. A bullet is an intentional concentration of metal, gunpowder and purpose,” Graham says. “Granted, the metaphor isn’t why we created the gun club — we initially just wanted to shoot at targets — but it seems to be a way to explain our rationale for blasting holes in our art.”

Nix sees things a little differently. Born and raised in Georgia, he prides himself for his Southern cynicism, yet always ends an argument in a gentlemanly way. He agrees with his friend in respect to why they do what they do with poetry and guns, but explains it in a broader sense.

“Poets are taken seriously in other countries because they are meant to challenge them, meant to speak truth to power, meant to question what others take as a given,” Nix says. “Poets in this country are just trying to figure out how to pander to the widest base and sell merchandise. Why take somebody seriously when they already make it clear what they’re all about?”

Nix slips on a pair of ear protectors and slides a 30 round clip into an AK-47. He continues his tirade, feeling for the import weapon’s safety lever.

“Poets aren’t taken seriously in this country because most poets in this country are fucking morons. Write me a poem that has something intelligent to add to this supposed national dialogue we fantasize we are engaged in,” he continues. “We all know racism, bigotry and war is bad, but how about you tell me why instead of just jerking off to the latest group think babble that’s put out there?”

Nix steps up to the firing line, flips down the safety so the weapon and range is “hot” and unloads an entire magazine of 7.62 on Graham’s 1980s hi-fi stereo. Graham looks on, laughing as remnants of a “Culture Club” cassette is blown to smithereens and scattered beside empty bottles of beer and wine consumed the evening before.

“You hit eject,” Ella Garrett, original member or SGC screams with her hands over her ears.

After Nix returns the weapon to its rightful owner, Graham loads four rounds of .30-06 into his rifle. As Nix did, Graham attempts to multi-task conversation with gunfire – sometimes oil and water, sometimes gunpowder and flame.

“Being an armed poet makes sense in the shadow of the Patriot Act. First, it’s knowing what type of literature we’re checking out of the library, then it’s restricting it, then it’s banning certain speech as treasonous. A cabal pursing corporate wealth at the expense of the people’ rights is far less likely to enact legislation restricting free speech if they knew their constituents had a breaking point and would back up their outrage with a forceful return of those rights,” he says.

Graham kneels down in the ready, looking oddly like a British soldier during the Revolutionary War. He makes sure his cowboy hat is properly adjusted over ear protection and returns to pay full attention on his rifle. He looks through the scope and focuses on the bullet-ridden stereo, his former boom box, ex-ghetto blaster.

“Put the needle on the record. Put the needle on the record,” P.J. Robbins, newest member, sings, tauntingly.


Echoes ring out over the forest service area when Graham pulls on the trigger.


A cloud of dust and disc jockey debris fly from nearly 100 yards away.


A miss, but it seems half the hillside collapses as dirt showers from 20 feet above an embankment.


After his fourth and final hit, Graham rises from his position and approaches the makeshift armory, all smiles.

“Pro-gun and anti-gun lobbies have a far-too narrow view of the Second Amendment. At the same time your neighbor probably doesn’t need a howitzer to hunt pigeons, it also shouldn’t restrict ownership to the police and military. The Second Amendment is very clear, ‘a well-regulated militia’ protects the nation in case of invasion, while the ‘right to bear arms’ protects the free speech of the people from government infringement,” he concludes without missing a beat.

Friends and members of SGC are familiar with the two’s eloquence and well-versed antics, but this is impressive. Chewing bubble gum and walking has nothing on blowing an old television away while citing Shakespeare.

Nix and Graham aren’t only the organizers of Sedona Gun Club, they’re housemates. Before they began sharing a two-bedroom home in West Sedona, they were rival slam poets. Each one varies in writing style, political stance and personality, but when it comes to their views towards free speech, they’re brethren.

Nix is from Georgia, but Graham is from Montana. He prides himself on a western heritage, and similar to Nix, a heritage that has never been one to rollover and say “die.” On the other hand, the fact they both sleep over nearly 1,000 rounds of ammunition stored under their beds is comforting as well. While other members of SGC take turns on weapons of their own, they step away for a moment to discuss the gun club’s mission and vision. Nix notices a Star Buck’s coffee cup sitting beside a semi-automatic weapon cooling near the center console of a pick-up truck. He can’t help but laugh, then begin another socio-political rant.

“America is just a longing for a plot of land you can guard with guns, a soapbox made out of empty beer cases, and a night sky willing to listen to all the crazy, shit-pot theories you dare to come up with, he says. “Something’s always wrong with America, but then again, something’s always wrong in a family, a group of friends, and your mental state at any given moment. If shit wasn’t going wrong, we’d have nothing to bitch about. If we had nothing to bitch about, you’d have nothing to read. Peace, love and happiness is a Goddamned boring state of mind and doesn’t keep circulation up.”

Graham chimes in quietly.

“These are critical times for civil rights. Perhaps the most dangerous times for free speech in our history. Hope for the best with a pen in one hand, but prepare for the worst with a firearm in the other. If the worst should befall us, the common people are going to look to poets for hope,” he says.

Rival poets, rival marksmen. On stage; bright lights, a microphone and an audience. At the range; a trigger, recoil and a backstop of dirt. Whatever the venue – competition.

After calming themselves with passive glances back toward the firing line, both Nix and Graham insist their intention is not to promote aggressive behavior towards any entity, whether it be foreign or domestic, but rather ensure the freedom of speech without censorship. In other words, SGC maintains one right, by upholding another. Everything SGC uses – ammunition, weaponry and targets – is as legitimate as a person can get. Soon, the gun club plans on making it mandatory for all members to take a gun safety course. Some already have their CCW – a concealed carry permit.

All in all, and odd as it seems, it’s good fun for a good purpose.

“Being a poet and knowing how to use a weapon safely isn’t a contradiction, despite the stereotype of socially liberal poets as nonviolent peaceniks,” Graham says.

“All I know is that after I get my concealed weapons permit, mu letters to the editor don’t get rejected anymore,” Nix adds.

Before rounding up bits and pieces of technical targets and empty shell casings, the two make plans for everyone to meet at the Martini Bar, one of Sedona’s few spots for night life. Thirsty for a few Pabst Blue Ribbons and Oak Creek Ambers, you can hear members talk among themselves.

“Imagine scores of armed poets springing up across the West like Chuck Palahnuik’s fight clubs or a Cacophony Society with ammunition,” Graham says to a dread-locked marksman.

“I can’t decide what bothers me more – the fact that Fox [Graham] can’t change his own Goddamn oil [ in his car], or that he owns a gun he doesn’t know how to clean,” Nix complains to a friend.

Sedona Gun Club: Second Amendment Protecting the First


Rimrock, United States

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