Dr. Thaddeus Recrum had destroyed the Queen City Water Plant. The evidence made itself known from the lack of drinkable tap water throughout the city. The powers that be busily flittered about and stomped madly down halls. The QCPD, the National Guard, and the Acclimated Society of Superheroes had joined forces to coordinate a stealthy and tactical assault on Recrum Inc., in an effort to reduce the risk of life to civilian and non-civilians alike. This prospect was rather dangerous as the sixty-six floor tower, shaped like a spine and topped with a skull, could crash down upon the surrounding city, causing great loss of life and damage to property. Opinions varied as to which was more important.

This went over well with most people involved, except Toadman. He'd nearly stopped the destruction of the water treatment facility himself. His only failure had been a lack of foresight. “Of course the supervillain used a big laser gun. ...Should have seen that one coming...” he mumbled to himself. On the whole, Toadman's mood was made worse by the asses at the A.S.S. refusing to rush headlong into danger. Therefore, he saw it as his sole responsibility to nearly ensure his own death.

Aqualia, his partner, begged Toadman not to go, naturally. Likely, her reaction had only been a preliminary request to create some kind of childish plausible deniability. She didn't honestly expect him to listen to her request and she likely really wanted to go with him, as that's exactly what she did. Infra Red, her father and the leader of the Society, flew into a rage at the news, forcing him to enact his plans prematurely.

Erne Eagleman, since he'd come back to town a year ago, had been assigned as a senior partner for the two. At that time, his track record didn't look very good. To be fair, the harpie was nearly insane and if he didn't take medication every single day, he'd speak in incomprehensible jargon and word salads. Ever since Erne had set up shop in town, the tensions between him and Infra Red glowed as vibrantly as the sun at solar maxima. Erne volunteered his help. This was convenient, since Infra Red was going to make Erne come along anyway.

To avoid the immediate notice of the National Guard, the two took Erne's Eaglewing. The Eaglewing looked like the bastard offspring of a helicopter and an eagle. Apparently thematics were more important to Erne than either usefulness or attractiveness. Erne took the pilots seat, while Infra Red slunk into the gunner's seat. Infra Red put on his reading glasses, as the targeting screen was much harder to read than the last time he sat in that seat, roughly thirty years ago. Curiously, Erne's mind had wandered to that era as well. He might have been completing his preflight check, but in his mind, he remembered clearly the first day he met Infra Red.

In this remembered world, Microwave paced in front of the new sidekicks, as though they'd all committed some great atrocity and were here to stand trial for it. His voice boomed above the background noise of the street. "Ultraboy, you're with Engine Joe. Obeast, you're with General Payne. Infra Red, you're with Toad Titan. Ultra Violet, you're with Modest Woman," he closed his book loudly. "And that's it, good luck to all of you in your... sidekickery."

Erne ran through the newly milling crowd. His name had not been called and he was on the verge of crying like the child he was. He ran up to Microwave shouting, “Sir, sir!”

“What is it child?” he asked, half annoyed and half concerned. He had to be a little concerned; after all, it was kind of his job.

“You forgot me sir! You didn't give me a partner.”

Microwave sighed and put his reading glasses in a home tailored pocket, “If you name wasn't on the list, you aren't getting a partner. I suggest you try applying next spring.”

Erne wouldn't be swayed. This was his dream and life's ambition. To come this far and be turned away was not an option. Microwave tried his best to grapple with a combination of bemusement and annoyance, “Listen, kid, I'd like to help you if I could, but there's just nothing I can do. Really.”

Which was when he came over. He spoke as loudly as he was big, “Maybe I can be of some assistance.” He bent down and gave Erne the once over. When he patted his back, he nearly fell over, “Boy needs a partner, right? I can handle two sidekicks, easy.”

Microwave didn't want trouble, and was glad to have a problem placed in the hands of someone else, “Well,” he paused, “there's not a rule against it, but... well.” He paused again, hoping that this time he'd find the right words to remove any personal responsibility he might have had, “Alright, Titan. If you think you can handle it.”

“Ah! Erne Eagleman, is that right?” I nodded. He paused and thought for a second before calling over his sidekick, Infra Red. “Alright, Erne, Red, you two are going to work out splendidly, I think. Before you know it, you'll have sidekicks of your own.”

Erne's mind came back to the real world. He just realized how he'd been dodging bogeys, freshly incoming from Recrum Inc. By now he could see the helipad, inside the skull's retractable dome. There was one problem, something he noticed as soon as bogeys stopped taking off from the helipad, the dome was closing. The Eaglewing was moving too fast to avoid crashing into it. Only one option remained open, abandoning ship. The Eaglewing had no parachutes; it didn't need parachutes.

Erne Eagleman and Infra Red locked arms, and decended to the ground on the wings of an eagle-man. As they landed, grunts surrounded the two. Hand to hand combat ensued. Erne spent several minutes trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to. He worried it sounded too self serving. His second revision seemed to not address the problem quite as much as he'd like. Finally, he said, “Red. I'm sorry about what happened in the past. Let's try to not let it happen again.”

Red looked thoughtful. Maybe he just looked angry. Beating on robots doesn't generally allow one much time to reflect. Yet, Infra Red could multitask. “We won't.”


Toadman and Related Characters © Alan White and Toby Barrett 2005-2009

To be entirely honest, there's no one bright spot or dark spot to my childhood. I imagine, like most children, I had my share of emotional and social troubles. Despite that, like how one part of the cosmic background radiation is cooler than all the rest, there is one part of my childhood worse than any other part. Students will humiliate and pick on one another; this is a fact of life. Teachers, however, should never take on the same role as antagonist.

Mrs. Barnett was not a nice woman to begin with. She was as big as a truck, mean as a rattlesnake, and her skin had the texture of Frito Corn Chips. Although I did not like her, I did respect her. She didn't demand authority as most teachers did. She sucked up authority osmoticly like a porous paper towel. Whether or not she was an effective teacher, I cannot recall. I did do fairly poorly my first nine weeks of school that year, although my parents decided the root cause was, ultimately, pressure. I would, however, hazard a tentative “no”, in lieu of convenient access to a time machine. I reason that she was not based on the egregious amounts of busywork we were given.

Before I continue any further, it is important to introduce a secondary character to my worst school experience in my childhood. Her name was Ashley Mitchell. Ashley Mitchell is what most kids call a “tattletale”. Tattletales are children who desire attention to such a great degree, they will gladly sacrifice popularity for it. No one liked Ashley Mitchell. We once read a book called Mitchell is Moving, and the entire class broke out in a chorus of cheers and applause. Honestly, I cannot blame Ashley Mitchell for her role in this story. She was, after all, a child.

One day, six weeks before the end of school, Ashley Mitchell shouted, “Meeeyus Barnett! Alan didn't do his work!”

Mrs. Barnett stamped over like an elephant or a rhinoceros. She bent down and started pulling sheets of busywork out of my desk. Unfinished crossword puzzles and word finds flew through the air and into a pile two inches thick. I protested the entire time, “Mrs. Barnett, those are just busy work. You told us we didn't have to finish them!” Mrs. Barnett refused to listen to reason. When she was finished, she straitened up the pile and stapled them, with some degree of difficulty.

“Alan! Why didn't you do this work? If you don't finish this before the end of the year, you'll have to repeat the second grade! No more recess until you get this done!” She yelled at me.

Now, when something like this happens, I usually took it up with mom or dad. I could not, however, as mom and dad were on vacation. I no longer remember what happened to the end of school. Somehow, I made it through the day despite being depressed physically and mentally. As soon as I arrived at Mamaw and Papaw's house, I immediately began to do the word finds, as they were much more difficult for me. I must have worked on it for four strait hours. I would have worked on it until my bedtime at 9 o'clock, if Papaw hadn't had us go with him to pick up Mamaw from the hospital, who had been released following a severe hip injury. As I awaited Mamaw's car, my spirit sank. Every passing minute seemed to be an eternity.

When she finally arrived, I explained my predicament. Mamaw freaked out and gave mom and dad a call in their hotel. I worked nonstop until 8 PM, having finished a grand total of two word finds. My Mamaw insisted that I stop working and enjoy the last hour of my day. She assured me everything would be alright. I woke up the next morning, in my own bed in my own house. I found mom and told her about the previous day. She said she'd already heard, and that I shouldn't worry. On the kitchen table, a poorly arranged pile of busy work had magically completed itself in the night.

In reflection, this was both a terrible and great school experience because, despite my emotional trauma, my family really came through for me when no one else could.

Tunica was bustling one Independence Day afternoon, for reasons not related to gullible people and an amazing scam. Above the tree line, fireworks burst in a rainbow of colors and lights and briefly illuminated the world below. A thirty minute parade of crimson, cerulean, viridian, and vermilion danced before my ten year old eyes. I was awestruck for mere minutes after it ended and the parade of lights turned into a parade of taillights, all returning home as slowly as possible. Ten year olds are not known for their patience and I and my brothers were no exception.

My Mamaw and mother talked with one another until it became apparent that we were not at all happy with the entertainment accommodations in the 1992 Buick LeSabre. My mamaw turned around in her seat and said, “So you're bored huh, boys?. How about a ghost story?”

“Yeah!” we said in unison, more or less.

The world around me blurred out, as my grandmother's story filled my ears. “My grandfather—that's your great-great-grandfather, was a doctor. He serviced the entire area of North Mississippi, and consequently, traveled long days and nights on dusty or muddy roads throughout the entire area. He'd receive a telegram and my father would drive the team of horses for him.”

“What kind of doctor was he?” asked my younger brother.

“Lots of kinds, Aaron. This was a long time ago. He had to do a lot of different kinds of doctoring. My grandfather was riding through Mt. Olivet. Do you know where that is?” We all shook our heads, “Well it's kind of...”

“Voncile!” said Mom, a woman often tasked with keeping her mother-in-law on track.

“Right, well, that night, it started to pour rain. My father turned up the flame on his lantern, to find a place to pull over, lest his team become trapped in the mud. Fortunately on his path was a church, his church. This time something was strange, though. A light was on, in the west wing of the building.”

“Yeah, so someone left a light on in the building; big whoop,” said Austin, my youngest brother.

“This was 1880. We didn't have electricity in the area,” Mamaw noted.

“Sounds like a personal problem,” my brother remarked.

“...Yes... well, my father pulled the team over to the church, er, or however it is horses stop going places.”

“Not a fan of horses?” I ask.

“No, I was born in 1934. I'm not that old,” Mamaw shot back.

“Could have fooled me.”

“Hey wait a minute!” Mom shot Mamaw a glance begging her to let the comment go, “Anyway, he entered the west wing of the building, where the light was coming from. The door was unlocked,” then she added to preempt further questions, “there was no need to lock doors at this time.” I had a really witty come back for this, but she shut me out again, “As he opened the door, the light vanished into the main building. So he left that wing and walked back to the front. Light from the windows illuminated his path and the falling rain.”

Mamaw took a breather to, apparently, create suspense. It created a chorus of, “Get on with it.”

“He and my father approached the door to the main hall, but as soon as the doors were opened, the light disappeared.”

“This was a lot scarier in your childhood, huh?” I asked. A few minutes of awkward silence passed.

“Hey, I've got one!” said Aaron.

“Really?” asked Mamaw.

“When I was littler, one night, I decided to sleep on the couch. At midnight, I heard a spooky,” he italicized 'spooky', “roar! I got up to see what it was. I approached the end of the hall, a Tyrannosaurus rex ghost started chasing me!”

The awkward silence became quieter and more awkward. Mom decided to break the ice this time. “Let's play 'I Spy'. I'll start. I spy with my little eye something... white.”

“Is it a star?” asked Austin.

“Oh, yeah...”

I don't remember much about my childhood, except my reading ability. Apparently, I could read from quite an early age. This ability was thanks in no small part to my mother, who read to me every night from the ages of zero to eight. My night stand contained every conceivable children's book published and republished from 1986 to 1994. One would think I'd grow up with a healthy appreciation for books and reading in general. That impersonal person would be wrong.

I'm not exactly sure where the disconnect came in at, but sometime around the time that mom stopped reading to me, her mother got it in her head that I was stagnating literaturally. Reflecting now, perhaps this wasn't an unjustified position. To be fair, it wasn't that I didn't enjoy reading or anything, but honestly, giving an eight year old a choice at the library between a book and a VHS tape, containing some cheaply made and easily forgotten cartoon, on them isn't a hard choice for the child.

One weekend, I came back from my grandmothers with four books my granny expected me to read completely. They were hardcover, 100 pages each, certainly longer than anything I'd read before. They were also the most boring, vapid, and patronizing books I'd ever read. Their infamy is legend. Those who have not read the Fun with Dick and Jane series are missing a vital element in their childhoods, the element where they give up on reading once and for all.

I've had diseases I'd prefer to have all over again than to read another sentence of that garbage. No children were fooled. These books were not written to improve our reading abilities, indeed far from it. These books had been written by the demons of illiteracy, an ancient secret society who wants to make everyone as poorly educated as Kanye West. When I was done, my dear grandmother, a woman with obviously lower standards than myself, decided I should read a more advanced book.

On her shelf at her home were a complete collection of the greatest works of 19th century literature, designed specifically for gullible old people. I think I was around ten, this time, and she wanted me to read one book off of the shelf, then another, until they'd all been read at least once. This is where I talk about how these great classics inspired an interest in learning that lasted with me until my adulthood, except that this didn't happen. 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, while a great book in its own right, is not a book my ten year old self honestly could understand or comprehend. Thusly, when I explained to my grandmother that I didn't read it all, didn't understand what I did read, and didn't really want to read anymore, she finally gave up.

This is where my story ends, never mind that I'm an English Education major, or that I'm trying to write a book as well. I listen to the silence come back from my ghost reader. Oh, very well, truth is, this is only the midpoint of my story.

Despite my grandmother's failure, I couldn't stay away from the literature bug. A few things in life are more important than one's past aversion to an entire art form, but love is a very powerful emotion, that can twist perspective 180°. My best friend and girl of my dreams at the time was Erin Walker, she loved happiness and sunshine and rainbows and... Harry Potter. I'm not exactly sure why I thought this would do much for me, but I figured, “What the hell. I'll read the book to get in her good graces.”

I found the subject material, frankly, absurd, to be honest, but I couldn't stop. Not because I didn't think my goal worth reading to attain, but because something was happening. When I read, I saw pictures in my mind. I knew the characters' faces, and could see them interacting, and their setting. Keep in mind there was no movie at this time, I was just using my imagination. I realized, whether I admitted it to myself or not, that this was more than an adolescent Get Kissed Quick scheme, this was something much bigger.

That didn't mean I enjoyed reading, not for a while, but the seeds had been sewn. The gardener who nurtured them was Mrs. Garvin. Mrs Garvin had a reputation as being the least fun teacher in the school; but somehow, that didn't stop her from making quite a difference in my life. While I can't point to anything in particular that she did to ease me on, it was at the end of the year, when we read Great Expectations, that I came to truly appreciate what Mrs. Garvin had done. So, when I found out she'd be retiring after that year, at the academic banquet, I approached her after everything was said and done. “Mrs. Garvin,” I said, “You might not be aware, but I can't thank you enough for what you've given me. I actually like reading now.” Mrs. Garvin's eyes lit up, and the crooked teeth of her mouth shown in the stadium lighting of the cafeteria. She thanked me for my words, and told me that was what made her job worthwhile.

While it would be many years before I had a well developed appreciation for literature, that's how I started. In no small part, my experiences in my youth contributed to my becoming a teacher in the first place. If I were worried about literacy, I might recommend Fun with Dick and Jane. Since I'm more concerned of an appreciation for literature, I hope I can emulate Mrs. Garvin as much as possible. Maybe, if I'm lucky, when my time comes to retire or move on and become a famous movie-producing, skydiving, book-writing extraordinaire, one of my students will tell me that I've given them something new, exciting, and life changing.

Earlier this month, all five schools in Union County held a meeting before classes started. I, by way of my mother, came to know that one Erin Walker was a new English teacher for East Union Attendance Center. Of all the people I’ve not talked to in years, Erin is, by and large, the one I should have written to by now the most.

There are, I think, two people I’ve ever been madly in love with, and Erin was one of them. In fairness, I should confess that while I was madly in love with her, I was also a child, and a particularly lonely one. I clearly remember the alienation wrought by my peers from the second grade to the seventh. Every year, I experienced more loneliness than, I hope, many experience in their entire lives. I had no interests, neither intrinsic nor extrinsic, and the grades to prove it. To this end, I also had no friends.

That’s a lie; I did have one friend, and she was Erin Walker. I understand, by some confusing memories that, at one point early on, we were playground romantically involved, but I only really remember the person who was my best friend, and played with me, and shared with me a love of reading, a love I possess to this day. I still have that old tattered copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone on the mantle of my fireplace.

After some time, I fell in love with her, but when I moved and confessed to my feelings, she told me she did not reciprocate them. This would be the start of a long period of isolation with no best friend, but newly developed interests that I can tie directly to my friend Erin.

When I met her again many years later, I was too shy to say anything, even though we shared many classes. I never told her the impact she had made on my life, both in the past and long after my personal feelings had withered at died. Although I was aware of my silence, I had not the gumption to change my actions. I still severely regret this terrible inaction.
Today, I have a friend much like Erin in Megan Milton. I shan’t repeat the mistakes of the past with her. Although I know not what the future holds, nor where I’ll go nor what happens to us, I shall assuredly write her letters, or some other, more convenient form of communication, instead of allowing our prosperous friendship to wilt and die.

I decided, for reasons that shall become apparent, to postpone what I had intended to write for this assignment to discuss Miss Myrtle Mae. I hadn’t heard from Miss Myrtle Mae since graduation. I can easily explain this silence; Miss Myrtle Mae was my childhood babysitter.

I first learned of her death Sunday morning. The news slowly trickled in, bit by bit, painting a picture of the whole story of her death. Her house caught fire, I learned first. Next, my family found out that the fire had been intentionally set. As the rumors coalesced, a more complete understanding of the events of the previous night came to light. The crowning gem of information sickened me as I heard it, and I wish it were not true. Miss Myrtle Mae was killed by a volunteer firefighter.

Twenty-two year old William Cody Lambert set fire to two houses that night. One was not inhabited, the other was. His actions took a human life, despite the nature of his occupation. I’m left to wonder why he would commit such terrible actions, and I like none of the imagined scenarios.

Perhaps he wanted to play Superman, and rescue someone from a burning house. Lambert did alert the neighbors immediately after he committed the crime. Although the biggest difference in this fantasy is that Superman would never put another human life at risk to look the hero. Perhaps Lambert was drunk, and set the fire in a fit of passionate stupidity. Maybe Lambert was not the hero his title suggested, which is almost certainly true regardless, and he joined the fire departments to satisfy some deep seeded lust for fire.

I regret not having seen Miss Myrtle Mae since my high school graduation. In her now ruined house, I had some of my happiest childhood memories. On her front porch I played Popeye with my brother Aaron and friend Kelly. I watched Super Mario Brothers: Super Show every day after my nap. Miss Myrtle Mae weaned me onto black-eyed peas using a dollop of mayonnaise. In her house, I experienced dream paralysis for the first time, trapping me at a softball game.
Like the lights on that stadium dimming as the dream ended, so too do the lights dim on that part of my childhood. Though some good may come from this tragedy. I’d never have known what I once had, if I didn’t know it was irreplaceably lost.

The best things in life aren't free;
they aren't easy, and often disagree
with preconceived notions of reality.

Growing up a Christian Boy
in a Christian Town with Christian ploys,
I found that Christians would regularly employ
the antithesis of their mission and destroy
a naïve little child's spirit, once filled with joy,
leaving the child with Science his only toy.

How do they use the symbol of a dove,
while leaving me bereft of "Christian" love,
and waiting for יהוה up above
to point me in the right direction with a push or a shove
instead of hitting me with a boxing glove

It became abundantly clear
that I shouldn't fear
our god so near
as to be everywhere,
but no where at all.
With science, suffering suddenly made sense
become more than needless pennance.
"How could I have been so dense,
to live with the pretense
that a god in shining armor
would suddenly rush to my defense?"

Yet I must confess,
I was not out of this godly mess,
As I continued to divest
A lot of energy, to supress
my belief at family's request
and avoid a formal inquest.

I wouldn't know. I'd need to have that experience first.

There isn't a valid question, to tell the truth. What is us is constantly changing. For a very literal interpretation, that person we became rots in the ground, turns into a skeleton, and gets fossilized or turned into dust.

The person of a person, the WE they seem to be talking about in this question? It's the body. When it dies, it dies. There's nothing more that can be done.

Maybe Death does show up and usher you into the next world. I'd like to be wrong; I'm just pretty certain I'm not. It's the difference between wanting to win the lottery, and the grim realization that it will never happen.

So, to all of you, take care of your body. It's the only one you're likely to ever get. Barring robots. Which would be awesome.

All would fall before OZbot!

There are, it has been said, two types of people in the world. There are those who, when presented with a glass that is exactly half full, say: this glass is half full. And then there are those who say: this glass is half empty. The world belongs, however, to those who can look at the glass and say: What's up with this glass? Excuse me? Excuse me? This is my glass? I don't think so. My glass was full! And it was a bigger glass!
--Terry Pratchett, The Truth

It’s interesting how people use the possessive pronouns so liberally. “My dog”, “their house”, “our children”. It’s helpful certainly, but not necessarily true. For, usually, many similar reasons, this has lead to various conflicts throughout human history. Ownership warps perspective, and consumes one’s self and environment, as both Henry David Thoreau and Frederick Douglass can attest to.

“Most men, even in this comparatively free country, through mere ignorance and mistake, are so occupied with the factitious cares and superfluously coarse labors of life that its finer fruits cannot be plucked by them (Walden 3).”

Somewhere out in the universe, there is a black hole accumulating stolen material from its sibling star. The more it takes in, the bigger, more bloated, more sessile, and destructive it becomes. Thoreau didn’t know what a black hole was, but perhaps he could have seen his way to a good metaphor for the immobility that the accretion of material possessions brings to an individual. At the heart of a black hole is a singularity, where it consumes itself to an infinitely dense point. So too does possession consume the individual. Like the black hole, there’s an entire world outside of one’s accumulation of possessions that cannot be enjoyed. The plain difference, of course, is that one may free his or herself from accumulation, as Thoreau did.

“But, alas! This kind heart had but a short time to remain such. The fatal poison of irresponsible power was already in her hands, and soon commenced its infernal work. That cheerful eye, under the influence of slavery, soon became red with rage; that voice, made all of sweet accord, changed to one of harsh and horrid discord; and that angelic face gave place to that of a demon.” (Chapter 6)

Not all possessions were inanimate as Frederick Douglass was intimately aware. Possession can be extended to other individuals as well. In some ways, it still does, especially when used for relations to one another. Douglass’ reference to his own enslavement by his mistress, Sophia Auld, works on a couple of levels. While an otherwise stable and kind person, she feels that she does not merely own his body. Instead, she believes, she has a claim to Frederick Douglass’, for want of a better word, soul. It seems Sophia believed she was entitled to control Frederick Douglass, in the same way a person might program a TiVo. The scariest part of people in positions of dominance, like Sophia is that, while slavery is illegal, in some circumstances, people still believe they can control others.

“My new mistress proved to be all she appeared when I first met her at the door,—a woman of the kindest heart and finest feelings. . .I was utterly astonished at her goodness. I scarcely knew how to behave towards her.

The second important part of the person of Sophia is that, otherwise, she was a quite good person. Ownership changes an individual, rarely for the better. Slavery isn’t exactly a runaway problem in America today, but marriage is a pretty good approximation, if not twice as worse. Two people vie for control of a relationship, changing that person they were at the beginning. Although it’s fair to say people are always changing, dominance and control tend to bring out an individual’s worse qualities, even if he or she were otherwise quite good. In some ways, an owner, whom is simply evil and detached, is less destructive than the individual who is basically good, but domineering. Ownership, once again, is the black hole that consumes sibling stars whole.

“I left the woods for a good a reason as I went there. Perhaps it seemed to me that I had several more lives to live, and could not spare any more time for that one (Walden 255).”
Even for Thoreau, the pull of ownership was too strong. Perhaps it’s a biological factor; if it were merely social, certainly Thoreau could have overcome it. Sadly, ownership and territorialism are far too deeply ingrained in the genetic legacy of human evolution to be overcome by will power alone. Certainly possession need not be a negative aspect of humanity. While Jesus of Nazareth, arguably the world’s first humanitarian, preached to rid one of his or her worldly possessions, owning, in itself, is so much of a part of what it means to be human, that even the strongest among us are magnetically attracted to the concept.
Consumption consumes everything; that’s why it’s called consumption. Possession pulls everything into a destructive death-filled black hole. Nevertheless, although consumption may be a bad influence to some degree, as Thoreau and Douglass can demonstrate, it is ultimately a necessary evil, and a vital part of human nature.


Quotations from Signet Edition of Walden and digital copy of Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass and Terry Pratchett’s The Truth.

Yeah! Normally, I just like to wade out into the beach, but when that damn tide comes in, I have to alter my behavior!

The gods gathered around the table, as was their custom. To a god, being a god isn't special. You hear prayers, smell burnt offerings, which most religions had eventually decided smelled pretty rank to the gods, and themselves, all-powerful or not, and generally anything that came with being omnipotent.

Outside time, the gods sat. In the middle of the table sat a ringed star, glowing yellow on the inside, and red out to one blue, green and gray ring. These were the gods of Earth, and this will, was, and had been that world.

The gods fidgeted anxiously in their seats, and a deafening silence broke out in the room, because that's just how gods roll. Soon every eye was fixed on Yahweh. He, so far as gender counted for anything, stroked his beard, white as stars. Sweat beaded off his skin, pockmarked with a cosmos. No one spoke, not even Jesus, who usually had a lot to say, though no one really listened.

"So... this is the end of it, is it?"

The other gods looked down on their world, and shuffled their feet.

"I thought it was a good run," remarked once Odin, now Santa Claus.

"From your end, perhaps," Jesus began, "But we were to determine if humans could become both kind and intelligent."

"Clearly they were, they escaped in time!" Ba'al's voice had a demanding tone about it.

Yahweh spoke again, his voice rumbling from his hollow vast insides. "But not in every reality. Do you remember how often we had to interfere to get them on the right track? Odin, you had to visit every year to keep the CHILDREN good. What does that say for the rest of the damned human race?"

No one spoke. Of all the gods and godlings there, none had a good answer for Yahweh.

"Perhaps, father, they just needed someone to show them the way." Jesus said. He was ignored. Humans were good at ignoring Jesus, the gods had made it an art.

"All things are as one." began Vishnu quietly, "Perhaps it is us who is to blame."

"Perhaps," pondered Buddha, "we wanted too much of them."

"We wanted nothing they could not do!" Yahweh thundered.

"Not too bloody likely. If it weren't for us, brother, the apes would never have left the trees!" Ba'al remarked. There was silence. Yahweh hated his brother and really hated it when Ba'al hated a point.

Finally, Odin broke the uncomfortable, itchy, sweaty, silence. "And what were we then? Not but forces of nature. Not even ideas yet. Just whispers on the wind. They progressed on their own in spite of us."

Well, what do you want to do about it, Yahweh? Ride down on a cloud of glory and yell, "Stop screwing up!"? Well, you can't, cause they're all dead now, so shut up. Said Death I should know. Only Death could get away with talking back to Yahweh. After all, even Death with come for the gods.

Liberty cleared her throat. "Perhaps we should let the humans make their case for us. Then we can determine if this creation was a success or a failure."

This was a novel idea. No god had ever brought a human to their world, despite many promises. After much debate, it was decided. Their people would stand trial, each according to his or her own actions.

From my school's paper. 450 Papers were stolen that day, I guess I may have had something to do with it, or I'm just unfortunate.

To the editor,

A colleague of mine recently informed me that the Secular Student Association had failed to form because potential members didn’t believe it needed to be formed or were afraid to be identified as being atheist, agnostic, humanist or secularist. I’m very enraged at this. Ole Miss needs an “Atheist Out” campaign; what’s to be afraid of?

Fellow atheists, your friends will still be your friends. Those who are no longer your friends were never really your friends anyway. As for your family, honestly, how much about your college adventures do you tell your family?

Wouldn’t it be nice to stop being an atheist and conform to the people around you? It might, but you’d stop being who you are. And you shouldn’t go around pretending to be someone you’re not. You can hide it, but all the same, it’s part of your identity. Further, you should stand up for yourself if you’re oppressed or distrusted.

When people know what you are, they’ll better understand you and those like you. High school now regularly features those with disabilities to normalize them to the rest of the student body. When this is done, people are less apt to discriminate, hate, distrust or make fun of those with disabilities.

Similarly, everyone needs to normalize their friends and the general public to the kinds of people they themselves are.

Theists, I ask you to support your atheist brethren. We’re as human as you are, and we only wish to be open and honest about who we are. Certainly, we don’t agree about the existence of gods, but everyone has differences of opinions on political, economic and social issues. Why should our religion be any different? We’ll still be the same people you always knew, and we’re nothing to be feared.

“This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.”

Alan White

Addendum,
I thought about signing as Orson Zedd, but then I realized that might be a tad hypocritical, all things considered.

It occurs to me that I should write a follow up essay to deal with conflicting belief. After all, there are quite a number of beliefs out there, and few see eye to eye. How to settle conflicts in these instances can be tricky, because no one likes their feelings hurt.

Determining a default belief is difficult. Which belief has seniority? Saying no belief has seniority pisses off some individuals, because it's seen as atheism and, to them, a belief. This is just silly. As an atheist, let me set the record strait. Atheism isn't a belief, but a lack of belief. It's no more a belief than not believing in leprechauns is a belief. It's the opposite of a belief, because it requires the atheist to do nothing. While beliefs and leprechauns have equal standing, their importance is to the believer. Not being officially supported by the state doesn't make them less important.

As for the argument the US was founded on Christianity, more attention should be payed to the Constitution. Article I contains the establishment clause, that clearly states no religious institutions will be given power over others. To do this requires them being equal, hence none having any power. Balancing religious influence can be tricky, and secularism might be the best way to go about it. Thomas Jefferson was the first to call this the separation of church and state, so, yes, our founding fathers did have this in mind.
Elsewhere in the world, beliefs and religion have other standing. One event overseas that disturbs me is the enacting of Sharia Law in Britain. Now, a British Citizen can opt to be tried in a special religious court, and judged on religious laws. Frankly, this is dangerous, having a double standard. It provides a foothold for other religions to have their religious courts.

Now, why should beliefs not be given special rights? Mostly, because it can be very dangerous. One may choose to believe in the Hogfather or whatever, but belief is more than the affirmation of existence. Everyone takes on an ideology. These ideologies, however, should not dictate the world, but ourselves. What is at stake? The foundation of modern society.
Global warming has been a contentious issue for over a few decades now. There are good arguments on both sides, except for one fringe side. That is the idea that we can piss on the earth, because God will come back in our lifetime and make stewardship of the planet unnecessary. This is shortsighted in many many ways. Firstly, twenty percent of the country is non-Christian. No group is an island, aside from Nogroup Island off the coast of Maine. What one group does affects the other, and doing a disservice to society can be short sighted in the long term, especially in this case, if one turns out to be wrong in either time frame, or the return of God, everyone's descendants suffer.

Now this is where belief really takes a toll, because science as it is today, has no room for belief and the supernatural. Science requires everything to be objective. So, for individuals who come in with an agenda of creationism, their belief threatens to destroy exactly what science is. An individual may believe that the world was created six thousand years ago, and one man carried two of all the worlds animals on a boat for forty days. All the same, an individual should not expect their belief to be given special privilege by the scientific community. Further, teaching creation “science” does a disservice to school children, stagnating rational thinking and promoting an atmosphere of intellectual dishonesty.

Belief isn't bad, it can be used for great things. But it has a place, separate from state and science. There's no reason to have to choose between the two, some secular individuals have beliefs in gods, as well, but can maintain a separation of belief and reason. Even we atheists believe.

[23:03:13] SeanKing64: Obama praised McCain to a crowd infinitely bigger than McCain's crowd. Not a single person booed.
[23:03:16] SeanKing64: THAT is what it's all about.
[23:03:43] nintfjr: McCain reaped what he sewed
[23:04:03] SeanKing64: Yes he did.
[23:04:12] nintfjr: That's what happens when you allow your campaign to appeal to the baseness of human nature
[23:04:22] nintfjr: The fact that Obama won has me deeply encouraged
[23:04:30] nintfjr: You know what it means?
[23:04:37] nintfjr: It means that those kind of people are a minority
[23:04:42] nintfjr: maybe a large minority
[23:04:44] nintfjr: but a minority
[23:05:13] nintfjr: Maybe a Roddenberry type future won't be too far away
[23:05:59] SeanKing64: A Roddenberry type future can happen.
[23:06:13] nintfjr: I've wanted to believe it for years
[23:06:16] nintfjr: this is proof it can happen
[23:06:31] nintfjr: People AREN'T cynical and bitter by nature!
[23:07:49] nintfjr: Sure, there's a healthy level of cynicism in me, but, I think tonight, there's considerably less, because what human nature seemed to be, what I believed it shouldn't be, turned out to not be the default nature of humanity
[23:07:59] SeanKing64: It's like the ending of Dark Knight!
[23:08:14] nintfjr: Yeah, it really is!
[23:15:16] nintfjr: You know, I think that this might be the beginning of the future.
[23:16:05] nintfjr: in the end of the day
[23:16:31] nintfjr: the kinds of people who are blindly prejudiced and ignorant didn't prevail
[23:16:43] xlifeinscrubsx: a dim one maybe >>
[23:17:25] nintfjr: Dim, perhaps
[23:17:50] nintfjr: But it can be nourished, and if we keep at it, the small dim ember can become a raging wildfire
[23:18:03] xlifeinscrubsx: that is true

My favorite book in the world is Hogfather by Terry Pratchett. The story is set on the Discworld, a place where perception is reality, and million-to-one odds occur 9 times out of 10. This book deals with the belief of humans, and its ability to create things like gods and the like. Towards the end of the book, the main character, Death, reveals to his granddaughter that it's not only gods that people create with belief, but their entire perspective of reality. Indeed, despite what my father thinks, one can have belief and still not believe in gods.

It was two years ago last month when I first realized I didn't believe, and probably hadn't for a while. My belief until that point had involved a large assumption of God's existence and not much else. My father didn't like the idea of atheists. “They don't believe in anything, so they'll believe anything.” However, this wasn't true, because I didn't believe most things without at least some degree of evidence. What did belief mean? This became my goal in life. To understand why people believe, and what, if anything, I believed in.

Of course, the search was far from active. At first, I decided questions about gods were meaningless, since gods clearly didn't exist, and if they did, they sure did a good job of covering their tracks. But there was one thing that bothered me, as far as this point was concerned. People's beliefs had value to them. I became friends with psychologists, and began to slowly understand how the mind worked. I learned many amazing things, and I still kick myself for not going into psychology.

A lot of the question of conscience was answered in psychology. It explained the brain as a natural process, and left little room for belief, it seemed. Yet, what I learned never really addressed belief. It made a solid case for materialism, certainly, but I had come no closer to understanding belief.

Then there were the philosophers. When I was with them, I began to understand how people saw the world and I learned many different ideas on the way the world worked. Still, most positions, it seemed, conflicted with reality on some level or another. Those that didn't proved to be incredibly useless for dealing with real world problems, say, Solipsism and it's illusory view. No philosophy I encountered could reconcile the apparent difference between how people behaved, and how the world was.

Usually, the best inspiration comes from sheer randomness. That November, my Mom found a TV Christmas special called “The Hogfather”. It sounded incredibly strange, which essentially meant it was must watch. The book version was even better; however, I didn't expect to find a book that would reshape my entire view of reality.

Hogfather is set on the Discworld, a parallel universe “in a second hand set of dimensions on a astral plane that was never meant to fly”, supported on the backs of four elephants riding on the shell of the Great A'Tuin, a space turtle. This universe has a basic principle of physics called narrativium, that causes the things people believe will happen to happen. This has created an entire pantheon of gods and goddesses on the Discworld.

The children of the world are influenced to stop believing in the Hogfather, the
Discworld's Christmas type deity. The heroine, Susan, eventually fed up with the entire situation asks her grandfather, “Okay, I'm not stupid. You're saying humans need fantasies to make life bearable?”

Death responded in all capital letters, REALLY? AS IF IT WAS SOME KIND OF PINK PILL? NO, HUMANS NEED FANTASY TO BE HUMAN! Death went on to say that AS PRACTICE, YOU HAVE TO START OUT LEARNING TO BELIEVE THE LITTLE LIES, SO YOU CAN BELIEVE THE BIG ONES: JUSTICE, MERCY, DUTY, THAT SORT OF THING.

It was then I realized what belief, effectively was. It was the acceptance as true, things that cannot be proven, and have no reality outside of one's on perception of reality. But how are they real? I read some more, and finally decided that the way belief is real, is by how people behave. The difference between something that exists, and something that is believed is all to do with whether one can ignore it, or whether one accepts it. The two can overlap, sure, but while reality is set in stone, belief can change.

But is Death saying that Justice is a lie? Well yes. Justice doesn't exist in nature. Stars collide, atoms spin, and the universe goes on. Justice was created by people, and for the most part, something we can't imagine a world without. My own father would object to this with saying, “That's still a lie!”

But, of course, this position is defended from that argument. Death ends with a line that says, PEOPLE NEED TO BELIEVE IN THINGS THAT AREN'T TRUE. HOW ELSE SHALL THEY BECOME? Essentially, just because something is a lie, doesn't make it untrue.

There it was, all summed up nice and neat. Before humans, before life, there was no good or evil, no justice or injustice. We've created those things, because it's part of who we are. And though they don't exist, we make them true, by believing they do. Often times, one's perception of reality is superior to what really is.

As for what I believed, I never admitted to losing my faith in Yahweh, though I still had faith in other things. However, I didn't need to argue, except on one key point.

“See, dad, my problem is that by saying a belief in Jesus Christ is the only prerequisite for salvation essentially turns your faith into a Jesus Fan Club. I honestly don't think any god worth his salt is like that.”

My father tried explaining, “Still, the Bible says that people need salvation, because they're basically evil.”

I sobered up a little, and shot back, “I don't believe that. I believe people are basically good, and will believe it in the face of all evidence that I'm wrong about it. Bible be damned. I don't need a book to tell me I'm right; I just have to believe I am, and it'll work out.” No, I didn't agree with him, but finally, I understood that it was part of him to believe things. While I didn't share his beliefs, they were as true for him as mine were for me. I wasn't angry at him anymore, and I hoped that the reverse was also true. At least now, I could move on.

I dreampt I was at my brother's religious college, and somehow it came out that I was an atheist. This didn't sit well with one guy, not one bit. He didn't see how people could live outside his paradigm, and set to prove his God was real.

He goes on a rampage, and a mob corners him on a fence. He takes his gun and shoots at us. No one is injured, fortunately. He proclaims, "See! My God spared you all!"

"No he bloody well didn't! You're a horrible shot, and we all dropped to the ground!" I told him this, he wasn't pleased to hear it.

Fortunately, a couple of cops bum rush him. I approach.

"You see, I'm not saying your God isn't real. I'm sure he's very real to you. What I am saying is that I don't believe in him, and you shouldn't expect the world to go around believing the same things you do. That's just stupid. Your beliefs are exclusively yours. To treat them as universals demeans them, and makes you a danger to the world, as you can plainly see."

Humanity has many challenges to overcome, in the past present and future; join them in Event Horizons.

Whether I actually complete it this year is another thing.

Thank God I'm an Atheist

Once, as a child, my father said:
"Other religions have stuff that the lord hath not fed:
The world has Maoists, and Taoists, and Buddhist--
All sin. There are Adventists and relentless Scientologists--"
To him I said, "Screw this bullshit fest,
I shall choose the iest I like best."

Thank God I'm an Atheist, instead of a Jew
I'd hate to forsake my foreskin, I know you would, too.
And frankly I don't mind not understanding all the fuss
Of the little nagging laws written in Leviticus.

Now Jesus was a Maverick, centuries ahead of his time.
Unconditional love and equality, Never asked his followers for a dime.
But, admittedly, here is where some maverick points were lost:
Calling yourself the son of God makes people rather Cross.

Thank God I'm an Atheist, instead of Muslim
Labeled by my fellow citizens as "One of them".
Aside my ideal woman wears the inverse of what is asked:
Lots of beautiful skin and a itty bitty mask.

Do you have thetans clustering on your soul?
Then toss thousands of dollars in their bank's black hole.
And if this little song fails to successfully piss them off, then
L. Ron Hubbard fucked Xenu, time and time again.

Thank God I'm an Atheist, instead of in a cult;
Cutting my nuts off would really freaking hurt.
The leader would be found dead, drowned in flavor aid,
If you mess with that down there, your own grave you have made

For years, Buddha was said to have sat under a tree.
Makes me wonder how the bastard ever got a chance to pee.
His meditation offered us a path to enlightenment,
Just stop wanting things and the problem is now circumvent.

Thank God I'm an Atheist, now I have this to say,
Every hour's an athehour, and every day and atheday.
No rules, tradition, religious laws; beliefs are not needed.
Wisely believe and irrationality shall quickly be defeated.

Thank God.

I have just one thing to say, to all my future enemies.

"Good Luck, I'm behind seven proxies."

Your.... enemy?

Orson Zedd