“Yes mom I heard you. I will be right down.” Every Christmas is the same dinner with the same people discussing the same damn things. My mom and dad fight over who how to cut the turkey properly. Aunt Belinda and Buddy, my dad’s sister and her husband, always bring a fruit cake which only they eat. My mom’s brother, Uncle Carl usually joins us and has had a thing for Belinda which is obvious to everyone except Buddy. And I sit in the middle of all of them and smile politely and try to stay out of the way.

“Max will you come down already. Dinner is ready and we are all waiting for you.”

“In a minute.” I straighten my tie. I never could do a proper double Windsor knot. Christmas dinner in the Anderson household is not normally a dressy affair, but today is going to be different. I will see to that.

I enter the dining room and get the reaction I thought I would.

“Woah, look at my nehews there.  All fancy and shit.” Uncle Carl always had a way with words.

“Oh my son you are truly coming into your own.”

“Easy mom it is just a suit.”

“Had to show up your old man eh? Sit down so we can eat.”

“Now, now Teddy, it’s not every day your son wears his Sunday best. Give him a break.”

“Thanks Mom.”

Aunt Belinda and Buddy could give two shits what I wear, but they will notice soon enough.

“All right, now that we are all here, who would like to say grace? Hmmm. Max, since you’re dress for the occasion why don’t you do it?”

“Why are we prayins for?”

“Carl if you weren’t my wife’s brother, I swear to Christ I would pop you one. We are praying for the fucking food. So that we don’t die when we eat it. Now shut up and let my boy pray!”

“Pray for love and the snow and to the angels above for making this beautiful day. Pray for good fellowship and travelling mercies to all on the road. Pray for …”

“Okay Belinda” Buddy squeaks.

“Pray for all the children of the world tonight that they may be nourished and filled with health and goodness.”

“Okay , that’s enough dear.”

“Pray for the lost souls wandering looking for that bright morning star of David to find their way home to Him.”

“That’s good Belinda, let Max pray now.”

“Thanks Uncle Buddy. I would be honoured to pray, so let’s all bow our heads.” I clear my throat and ask God to give me the courage to change everything. “Dear Lord, life is a journey that doesn’t end in death. But death is a beginning of a new life…”

I feel my dad’s hand slap the back of neck. “Pray right you idiot. Bless the food and let’s get on with it.”

“Oh Teddy, did you have to hit him?”

“Just mind your business Ethel. He’s my son too; I will do what I want.”

“Okay dad. Dear Lor…” My voice falters, I want to say what I need to but I can’t. “Dear Lord, bless us this day… and thank you… for your bounty and travelling mercies. Amen.”

A shout of amens fill the table and my dad is standing up to carve the turkey.

“What’s a travelling mercies?”

“Carl for fuck sakes, it’s when God himself drive your car or something like that. Ethel get me the better carving knife, this one’s too damn dull.”

“Actually Carl, travelling mercies is God’s way of protecting all his children from any harm that may come from the evil one.”

“Aw Belinda yous have a way with words. I’s could listen to yous talk all day”

Aunt Belinda blushes and Buddy plays with his napkin like he didn’t hear anything.

“So Carl I heard you have a job in the city now. You’re really moving up in the world but you were always the ambitious one.” Mom was always encouraging him, but I guess someone had to. I think she envied that Carl had a life outside of the home. She has always been a mom because dad made the money and no wife of his would ever have to work.

“Well I did have a job but I lost it on account of the stupid foreman. Theys got it out for guys like me. Every one now needs a Bee Aye to get a Jay Oh Bee. Yep that’s the way of this new world we’s living in.”

“Oh, that’s so unfair. I will pray to Jesus that you will find your feet again.”

“Aw, yous don’t have to do that. I’m like a cat. I always lands on my feets.” Now it was Carl’s turn to blush and Buddy was now fake smiling at me. I could almost read his mind. Someday.

“Now Teddy let me cut that turkey. You always make the slices too big.”

“Ethel no wife of mine will cut the turkey as long as I buy them.”

“Well cut them smaller then. I don’t need ten pounds of meat on my plate every year. You do this every year.”

“I do not! I cut them like my dad taught me. Meat is God’s way of telling us he loves us. We all know that Jesus handed out more fishes than loaves, so that’s what we will all get, more meat!”

“Ah Theodore, I think you misspoke about the miracle of the loaves and fishes. You never were very good in Sunday School. Why I remember when we were children you thought Moses built the Ark and John the Baptist was Jesus’ big bother.”

“I don’t remember asking you to join the conversation Belinda. I know my bible better than you and what I say goes.”

Belinda glared at my Dad like only a sister can glare.

“You’s better apologize  Theo. She’s smarter than yous in the bible. Why last Saturday night she taught me the ten commandments and they’s stuck in my head like never before.”

“Last Saturday night?” Buddy finally spoke up.

“Yes. Yes, you remember I said that I would be teaching Carl the Bible every Saturday night. He wants so desperately to be a good Christian.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that. This is the first I have heard of it.”

“Oh, don’t get your shorts in a bunch. So they are having a bible study without you. It’s not like they are doing anything. Carl is too stupid to sin and my sister is too ugly to fuck.”

“Teddy! How can you say such a thing? Oh, I never. Not in front of Max.”

“You take that back Theodore, that was too far!”

“Yeah, yous better apologize for real or you will get a knuckle sandwich in that ugly mug of yours!”

“My wife is not ugly.” I think Buddy said it, but I couldn’t be sure over all the noise.

“Shut up! Shut up all of you!” The room got quiet as I stood up and pounded a fist on the table. “I have had enough.”

“No son of mine will ever stand up to me in my house.”

“Can it dad, it’s over.”

“That’s no way to talk to your father.”

“Mom please. Just listen. I put up with all of you over the last 4 Christmases because I felt guilty for what happened. I wanted to tell people but I couldn’t. I could barely make small talk. No one could know the grief I was dealing with. But I knew it. It built up like dust bunnies under a bed. I refused to acknowledge how badly it had gotten until now.”

“What are you trying to say son?”

“You all died 5 years ago.” Their faces looked like the blinking Christmas lights. “There was a leak in the furnace and you were all poisoned. The coroner said that you felt the natural tiredness of eating turkey and slept.  The gas filled the house and you all just went peacefully.

I was supposed to come home for Christmas but I was tired of all of you fighting. So I lied and said I was invited to my girlfriend’s house for dinner. I knew you were hurt mom.  First that I didn’t tell you I had a girlfriend and then that I wasn’t coming home. The truth is I didn’t have a girlfriend. I just stayed at my place and celebrated alone.

“How could we be dead and be here?”

“Well, I came home the next year and performed a séance by myself. I had seen it a million times on TV. I sat in circle of salt and chanted your names. I cried when I heard Dad’s voice yelling from the kitchen. Mom and Carl just appeared at the table. The door bell rang and Belinda and Buddy came in. I watched as you all prepared dinner like always. I got up and joined in. I was so happy to be home with my family.

I began to come every day but the séance didn’t work. I took some time off work and chanted day and night but nothing worked. I bought spell books and sought out psychics to help and still you were all gone. The next Christmas it worked again and only at Christmas.”

“This is blasphemy!”

“How can something that brought me peace be blasphemy Aunt Belinda? And that doesn’t even matter now, I am stopping it. It’s not healthy for me to be grieving over you for this long. I need to move on with my life. I have nothing but this secret life. I have no close friends. No other hobbies. I just wait for Christmas and this dinner but I’m tired of it. I just wanted to say good bye one last time.”

“Bull shit son, you brought me back from the dead and you are going to keep me alive god dammit.”

“Communing with the dead and witchcraft, I refuse to be a part of it.  Leave me up in Heaven thank you very much.”

“Ha! Heaven? How could you be in Heaven? You were cheating on me with Carl! I for one am glad I am dead.”

“Max do me a favour.”

“Anything mom.”

“Let me go now. If I am dead, then don’t let me burden you anymore. I will always be with you.”

I watched her disappear and the rest of the table filled with gasps.

“Son don’t be rash now. I don’t want to fucking die.”

“Sorry Dad, I love you and I hope you are in a better place.”

He got up to attack me and dissipated just as he put his hands on my neck.

“Well, I want to go next.” I could see Uncle Buddy’s face. He looked like a man who was relieved but sad.

“Good bye Uncle Buddy.” And with that his chair was empty.

“Belinda, I still love yous. I know I will see yous in heaven.”

“Carl, I have always wished life could have been different for us.”

The shared a hug and I let them go also. I don’t know where we go when we die, but I hope those two ended up together.

The house was silent and dark around me. It was sound that I was too getting to use to and I decided to change that too. I picked up the phone and called Dianne from accounting. Maybe next Christmas I would be at her house celebrating and if not I can always come home.

I have seen the buffalo’s dream and in it we all die. Not in a psychological sense or cultural sense, no, a very corporeal death. The buffaloes have a secret dream that tells their story and I came upon it unexpectantly. It all started when you gave me that buffalo skull for my birthday. It was half painted blue on the right side and red on the other. A single swastika was painted on the forehead in black. Its horns were bleached white and it had a single eagle feather hanging from its right socket.

At first I was in awe of its obvious symbolism. The feather was a tear drop crying for its breed’s soon extinction, if not crying over its own death. The swastika a symbol of victory. It was a good day to die. The red representing the First Nation’s people and the blue narrowing down that the artist was of the Sky People. The white horns seemed to mean nothing so I paid them no attention. I was so wrong and I paid dearly for it.

I hung it over my fire place as I wanted it to be a conversation starter. I spoke so convincingly of its aesthetic virtues and symbolism. Being that I am of the Anishnabae people, no one dared question me or call my bluff. People are so nice that way. They let us believe in our own delusions until we are put in a psych ward and then their supposed truths come out. “I heard he was abused as a child so it’s no wonder he ended up going mental.” “No, he drank too much. It was only a matter of time before he lost it.” And my favourite, “He was grieving too much over the loss of his parents that he lost touch with reality, poor dear.”

If only any of those were true, it would explain away everything neatly and I could live with myself. The truth is darker and harder to believe and was revealed to me in a vision.

I do not believe in ghosts or gods or supernatural explanations. I know what you are thinking, “Who ever heard of an Indian atheist?” Well let me be the first to break the stereotype you had of us. I participated in the dances and sweats but only as a cultural practise to honour our traditions. To keep them alive in a world that is hell bent on assimilating all cultures into one. I would dance and think about what needed to be done on the house before the winter. I would go to sweats and feel rejuvenated afterwards like a good sweat bath does. I am telling you this because I want you to know, that I wasn’t looking for some type of experience. I was in my right mind when I found out about the buffalo’s dream.

I went to sweat that morning like I always do. The sweet smell of sage and steam were wafting out of the lodge. I stripped naked and crawled in humbly, asking for justice and peace for all my relations. The door closed behind me and I sat silently waiting for the chants and prayers to begin.

A drum, unlike any I had heard before started to be pounded across from me. Water drums have a deep sounding gong. The tightly stretched canvas of a buffalo or deer hide will be higher and sharper. This sound was quick and deep like a fist punching into a slab of meat. This rhythmic beating continued and I tried to look across the rocks to see who was playing. The steam was intense and I felt like I was going to pass out. I took a deep breath to calm myself and get acclimatized to the heat. When I was calm enough, the rocks glowed enough so I could see a naked woman wearing my buffalo skull tapping a bloody heart with her fist.

She began to sing and I didn’t understand all the words but I was able to make out some of it. The gist of story was that the buffalo have always been here. They helped the Creator flatten the land with their dance. They stretched out the east from the west and the north from the south. They gorged out rivers and lakes and made way for new friends to live with them. But their new friends were always hungry and cold. Always wanted more and more from them. They stopped speaking to us and held their dance in private. But we hunted them down. They made a truce to give up their bodies in exchange for peace. Everyone agreed and we lived this way for years but now they were being murdered again with influx of newer friends. This was the end of the truce. They would no longer gorge the earth to create but to kill everything. The blood would run from their horns and fill half the earth and fill half the oceans. The eagle feather represented the pact they made with all the near dead animals to take back what was rightfully theirs. They would not negotiate. They would not lose.

My heart beat faster than the drum and I crawled looking for the opening. I asked mercy from the Creator. The buffalo woman laughed and sang faster. They would not lose. They were eternal and we were the corn husks. Tough but we would burn.

The steam began to boil my skin and I felt it begin to blister and puss.  I curled into a ball and yelled for mercy and forgiveness. What forgiveness had I shown? What mercy had I given? I screamed as my flesh burst open all over and I felt the horn of the buffalo pierce my heart.

I opened my eyes and I was in my living room with the buffalo head staring down at me. I was still in the foetus position and my skin was red and sensitive all over. I cried with every movement to get to the bathroom. I ran the coldest water I could take and nursed myself back to some semblance of health.

The moment I could move I grabbed the skull and threw it in the car. I drove out to the woods and was about to bury it when I heard the hooting of an owl. I saw the glowing eyes of a bobcat. And there shining unnaturally were the horns of a buffalo. I threw the skull at it and made it back inside my car before the bobcat jumped on the hood. It snarled and jumped away when the buffalo rammed the car two feet sideways. I started it and raced home to warn people of their impending doom.

I stopped in front of my house and triple checked that no animals were around. I dashed to the door and fumbled my keys into the lock, barely making it inside after seeing a bear charging at me. It thudded against the door and I pushed against it to make sure it didn’t get in.

I grabbed the phone from the kitchen mount and called you at work. I left an incoherent voicemail because out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a white glistening horn.

You came home and I was hiding in the closet of our bedroom. I was crying and holding the buffalo skull tight to my chest, singing a song. “We shall overcome. We will not fade away. We will live again.”

It is precious to me. Not because it’s a one of a kind. Not because it represents my First Nations heritage. Not because it’s dark and reflects the inner mood of my guts.

It is the fact that you gave me a painting. You gave me art. You see art in me. You see a creative machine behind my organic mirrors.

The painting stares at me like a ghost looking for answers. Put me to rest. Bury me where I was free.

The buffalo is hidden in the murky ink background. It’s head emerges and it’s dark eye stares at me. Its bone white horn catches the only light and threatens me. It will haunt me until I can find it’s un-maker. Un-creator.

Half the canvas is complete utter darkness except for the artist’s name which is the only light in the buffalo’s future. What hunting grounds did the buffalo finally rest at? Did it find a lonely valley, full of the bones of it’s ancestors? Will I go there too?

They say the human body is a composition of dirt and sky and that’s how I survived the nuclear holocaust. I was on my way to see my mom in Billings, Montana and enjoying the local country music station. The broadcast was interrupted by the woot of a siren and then the robotic warning that “The Bomb” was on its way to the United ‘fucking’ States of America. I pulled over to the side of the road, got out of the car and buried myself in the dirt. Why did I do it? Maybe it was because I knew I was already dead and I wanted a proper burial. Maybe some primal instinct to bury my head in the sand so as not to believe my ears. Whatever the reason, I buried myself and in an instant I felt the ground get warm. It got too hot breathe but soon there was a taste of copper with every breathe. Hardly refreshing but at least I was breathing.

The wind blew the dust across my face and by and by it uncovered me completely. I couldn’t see an inch above me. It was just more and more dust. I stood up and let the wind push me in its direction. I trudged for what felt like miles and eventually fell down dead tired. Unfortunately I wasn’t.

When I woke up, it was dark and the wind had all but stopped. In every direction I couldn’t see anything. No cars, no trees, no crops, no nothing. Nothing but ashes and me. I called out for anyone and realized immediately that I was nowhere near a town. I was at least 10 miles away from Billings before, but now, who knows. I started to walk in what I thought was east.

Every step I felt for the ground to be solid. If I could find the I-90, I could find my way to people. If I had survived, some else had to also; but for now I was a nuclear Adam, the first man to walk in the new world.

Each step that crunched the ground reminded me of how alone I was. The only other sound was my growling stomach. I pushed aside my hunger and tried to focus on finding the road but the pangs were eating my insides raw. I had pockets of lint. I knew nothing was in the car if I ever found it. I didn’t hear a howl or anything like an animal but there was the chirping of what I thought were crickets.

I reached down into the feathery ash to grab the insects. I had seen enough of Survivor and the nature channel to know I could eat almost anything organic and I would be nourished. I felt a fluttering in my hand. I put the bug in my mouth before I lost my nerve. I found a few more and chewed them to a coarse paste and swallowed. It slid like a rock down my throat. Not the best meal I have ever had, but it was better than nothing.

I passed a few more rocks into my stomach before moving on. I tripped over the I-90 after an hour or two. Time is relative in a world without electronics. I checked my cellphone but it was obvious its circuits were fried during the blast. I threw it away; who could I call now anyway?

I continued towards the city and a grey dawn greeted me with little warmth.

Battered vehicles and bodies in various states of decay frighten me anew with each find. All the faces though were staring up to the sky and video reels of mushroom clouds played in my mind. My hopes of finding another human alive festered into grief. Would I find my mother alive? I needed to find her, she could make it better. If not, I just needed to find her and give her the respect she had shown me all my life.

The hunger came back and I listened for the chirps. They were quiet now. Did crickets only make noise at night? No, crickets were noisy little shits. What did I hear last night? What could have survived a nuclear war with me? I didn’t answer that question. I didn’t want to know.

I began looking into cars for water and drank anything that resembled nourishment. Who cares if I got sick now? I survived didn’t I? I was invincible now. I would never die.

Thoughts and spoken words when you are alone have the same noise level.

My feet hurt with blisters. I could feel the sweat between my toes but I felt cool under the full day sun.  Should I continue? Was this a fool’s errand? Of course my mom was dead; everyone was dead. Except for people in bomb shelters but they wouldn’t be out by now. Radiation lasted 25 years? Hell maybe longer but at least I knew that I would find someone and that seed of faith kept me walking.

I babbled along until I came upon a grey sign that probably used to say Billings, The Magic City, home of Calamity Jane and the 11^th leg of The Amazing Race 9. I cried when I saw the empty sign.  I knew I would find a giant graveyard. Hollow gravestone buildings that marked the end of life as I knew it.

My stride had slowed to a saunter. The sun silently slipped behind my head and set. The ground began to chirp up at me again. My stomach was afraid to growl in fear of getting another stony dinner. I knew the streets well enough and walked them in the dark to my mom’s house. The house sounded like a dysfunctional jug band. The windows were shattered and whistling. The door swung freely on the hinge and beat itself back and forth. A rattle from inside the house completed the trio.

I sat on the stoop and sang about how my father left us. My mother fed us and I was the pearl of the world’s ocean. Now everything was ashes and dust and go on I must and find a way to repopulate this broken down Eden.

I just finished reading Indian Killer by Sherman Alexie. It is basically a who-done-it murder mystery. Let me spoil it for you, we never find out. We have some strong leads but you never really find out who did it. People begin to die, are scalped and left with feathers on them. People begin to believe that the murderer is a First Nation’s person. The story concept is great, however the rest of it is not.

My first problem with the book is the writing. The style does not flow for me. I found the paragraphs structures hard to read for me. Short Sentences. That tell us the plot. That stop the narrative. Very abruptly.

My second problem is the characters. I am First Nations and I do not believe these characters are First Nations. Every First Nation’s person in the book hates (not just dislikes a little or is uncomfortable with, but they literally hate) every non-First Nation’s person in the book. For starters, there is John who is adopted by a non-First Nation’s couple who treat him with love and respect for his culture. When John goes up, he despises them. There was a chance for some real character development here, some internal struggles to understand what it means to be First Nations and living in a white community, but no. John is a single dimensional character who hates “white people”. Maybe as I read the book, a reason would become apparent but  no. Like all the rest of the First Nations characters we meet, they all despise “white people”. No reasons are given, it is just in the blood I guess.

Now I am not saying that some First Nations people do not feel this way and this hatred would be good fodder for a book, but the way it is presented is too simplistic.

Thirdly, I get that the author is First Nations, but he makes claims about First Nations people that do not feel real to me. One, when First Nations people of differing tribes meet they remember past tribal disputes and wars. Real “Indians” know these things. Secondly, in his story he tries to write in as many cultural tribes he can, (Spokane, Navajo, Utes, etc…). It feels like he is trying to list as many as he can in the book to give it authenticity. Lastly, that any non-First Nations person who shows interest in First Nations culture is a fraud and is to be distrusted. A sympathetic person to First Nations person is too be treated with hostility. The only characters I liked in the book were the sympathetic “white people” because they were the only people who didn’t have a chip on their shoulder. Lastly, that educated or urban “Indians” are less “Indian”. Again, he could have dealt with this issue and made his characters richer but doesn’t. They become cardboard characters that I hated to read about.

I am glad that Sherman Alexie is a First Nations author and that gives me hope as a writer to dream big. I am sure he cares passionately and deeply about First Nation issues and is not as racist as the “Indians” he writes about. I just wish he wrote a better book.

I would not recommend this book to anyone as I feel it is just a long racist rant, and what the world needs now is understanding and friendship between all cultures to make this world a better place.

Yes, because I do not like being preached at. You would be surprised at the number of people who like to be preached at. They fill churches and synagogues weekly asking for it, and in some cases even requesting that the preacher preach harder, louder and more.

I used to be one of those people. For 10 years I was one of those people. Shouting “Amen” and “Hallelujah” from the pew. Then I became a song leader and I begged people to sing along, shout out to God and give it all. I went to Bible School and studied the scriptures inside out. Lastly, I ran a church. I was the preacher. I extolled the virtues of the bible. I told others to believe on Joshua the Christ and be like him. Give up the flesh and concentrate on the spiritual things.

So yes, I am bitter when I hear X-ian rhetoric. I have heard my fair share of nonsense and I do not want to hear it anymore. When you come to my door asking me about Josh the Christ, I like to politely and kindly say “Fuck off.” I have heard it enough. You want me to be tolerant, then start by being tolerant and keeping your idiotic faith to yourself.

Secondly, no, I am not bitter. I do not dislike X-ians. Some of my friends still are X-ians and I do not care if they have faith. And  I treat people in my life with respect, who treat me with respect. They understand where I am coming from and don’t come to my house to preach to me. Well, we get into spirited debates sometimes but that’s entirely different.

I am a free thinker. I do not just think that the notion of a god is a bad idea, I think a lot of things are. I don’t believe in Sasquatch, but I am not an A-Sasquatch-ian. I do not believe in alien abductions, and there is not term for someone who doesn’t believe in that. I don’t believe in unicorns or fairies. What does that make me? I choose. There is no label for me.

~~~

“You got one option. A burger. What would you like?”

“You talk to everyone this way? Sheesh. Give me a minute.” Kent Nelson, the near omnipotent Dr. Fate to his peers, contemplated the drive-thru menu. The kid wasn’t lying. You either got a hamburger and a bun, a fish patty and a bun or a piece of chicken and a bun.  Nothing looked appetizing.

“I will have the quarter pounder with cheese meal.” He knew he didn’t have to use the drive-thru or eat for that matter, but he missed the simple things about humanity. The bump and grind of the everyday. Flying through interstellar space and battling demons from various hells got mundane after awhile. Today he wanted a burger and fries.

“Alright your order is up. That will five bucks at the window.”

Well that was fast. He drove up and the kid looked pale, but he had multiple piercing so Kent chalked it up to the modern Goth look. He gave the kid a fiver and took his lunch. Driving away the kid’s face kept coming back to him. His eyes were trying to tell him something. He pulled around front and parked in the lot. He opened the bag and found out that he had no fries. Looks like I will need to go in.

The place was as abandoned like the outer realm of Muthropeanal.

“Hey kid.” He yelled at the gaudy and cheap plastic looking counter, “Hey you forgot my fries.”

“One, uh, one second.”

“Hey are you alright back there?”

“Um, yeah. Just have a seat and I will be right with you.”

Kent heard whispering. Maybe the kid was being chewed out by his manager. Well he shouldn’t get fired for forgetting his fries. It was an honest mistake.

After a few minutes the kid came out, “Sorry we are closed.”

“Ok, can I just have my fries and I will be on my way.”

“I said we are closed.” The kid made a head motion for Kent to look behind him. The server mouthed the words “Help. Being robbed.”

“Oh, you’re closed. Right. Okay. I will see you later.” Flashes bright as lightening filled the room. Kent’s body, limp and under the control of a spirit, lifted in the air and spun. Fluorescent lights overhead popped like carnival ducks. The boy fell to the ground and covered his face in awe. Kent, decked out in a golden helmet, cape, amulet and blue tights, stood before the counter. The Dr. Fate transformation was complete. “What’s going on?”

The boy silent, lay on the ground. Fate prodded his thoughts, “Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. I want my mommy.” Great. This kids is useless to me. Time to do this the old fashioned way. He walked through the counter and to the back room. A bearded man stood with a pistol aimed at him.

“Who tha fuck are yous?” The man screamed before pulling the trigger. Bullets ricocheted off Fate’s body into walls, fryers and burgers. The last one strayed into a fire extinguisher and blew up. Fate was pushed forward. What the hell. It’s been so long since I fought a normal person. I need to keep my wits about me.

“Stop! I am Dr. Fate. I put the justice in the Justice society. I have felled the demons of hell and crushed the fifth dimension rebellion. I have…”

“I have never heard of yous. Do ya have like a comic or something?”

“Well I used to. The writers could never capture my near omnipotent power. They could never find a story line that fit me. I was usually relegated to meditating and seeking the real culprits behind evil. It was always Darkseid.”

“Oh. So what are ya doing here? I mean, com’n dude. I am just a common thief. I just needed some money ta feed my kids.”

“Listen I am near omnipotent. You have no family. You were stealing it for a drug habit. Any maybe to get some action. Unfortunately you ran into Dr. Fate!”

“Okay. Ya caught me. Now what?”

“I don’t know. I usually banish people to the seventh level of hell.”

“Bit extreme don’t ya think?”

“Well not usually. I fight demons and monsters so they kind of deserve it.”

“Ya could let me go. I promise ta be good.”

“No. It has to be jail I think. Do you know where one is?”

“I thought ya were all powerful. Shouldn’t ya know something like this?”

“All powerful, yes. All knowing, no. I am not a god or anything.”

“Sheesh. No wonder the writers had a hard time with ya. Ya kind of a mystical battering ram.”

“I never thought of it that way. Your right. Anyway, back to the jail thing. Since I don’t know where one is and I just want a burger. Let’s make a deal. Here is five hundred dollars. Go have a good time. But you have to clean this place up.”

“Deal. Wait. Why don’t you just use ya magic to clean this place up?”

“Because I said so. Plus it will build character.”

“Ya suck.”

“Just doing my duty citizen. Just doing my duty.”

“Hello, is there anybody there?” Sam Roberts yelled into the screen of the Burger Fresh drive-thru intercom. Burger Fresh was usually extremely fast at handling his orders. Not because they thrived on customer service. Far from it. It was because most people went to Burger King or Macdonald’s. Sam was usually the only person in the drive-thru and today was no exception. He waited about 5 minutes before realizing that no one had taken his order. Where the hell were they? He yelled again, “Hello.”

“Hello…” The intercom crackled to life. It was man’s voice. Sam was expecting some kid, but any port in a storm.

“It’s about time. What the hell took you so long? I know. I know. You probably had to put on a hairnet and gloves to answer the damn intercom. The government and their safety regulations. Anyway…”

“Hey ya. Listen buddy we are experiencing uh, technical difficulties. The deep fryer is busted. Come back tomorrow.”

“Alright. Then just give me a Freshie Burger and Coke. I can skip the fries today.”

“Yeah, no. We can’t make a burger with the fryer out.”

Sam didn’t know how they made their burgers, but he was sure that they didn’t deep fry them. Most likely some sort of microwave. Whoever was inside wasn’t making much sense. A new guy? Or maybe it was the guys from work playing a joke on him. Yeah it was a joke. It had to be. They knew he ate here all the time. They must have come early and were trying to get a rise out him. He would play the game.

“Really. Well then I will get a salad. Give me the Freshie Salad with a raw burger and stale bun on the side. HA! I know what’s going on in there. You can tell Stan to go to hell.” He laughed. Got ya.

“What did you say?”

“I know it’s you guys. Whose all in there? Has to be Stan. Everett. Jesse. Now put the punk kid on and let me order.”

The intercom went silent, an unknown man lean out the drive-thru window with a gun. Bullets clanged into Sam’s hood. The windshield spiderwebbed and he knew that the joke was on him. He stepped on the gas and the car revved but stayed still. Damn it I left it in park. He slammed the car in reverse and screeched his car along the raised boulevard. His escape was halted by a crash with a new car in the drive-thru. Sam fell out of his car door.

The woman stepped out of her car and stared down Sam, “Hey your gonna pay for that.”

“Get out of here. They’re shooting at me.” The woman looked at Sam like he was crazy but he could see the recognition come to life on her face as she caught a glimpse of his windshield.

“Stay calm sir and stay down.”

Fuck this. Sam got up and zig zagged across the parking lot. He looked back at the Burger Fresh and a gun wielding man was getting ready to aim. The last things Sam saw were kaleidoscopic colours burst like paint over a black canvas and the world went silent.

—

            Sam could hear a woman calling out to him. “Hey are you alright?”

Sam had never felt worse. His face hurt like he went ten rounds with Mike Tyson.

“You ran into the burger fresh sign pretty hard.” The concerned voice belonged to the owner of the car he had hit.

“It’s alright. The Burger Fresh was being held up. Your little stunt gave me enough time to get the gun out of my car. I took down the lone perp.”

Sam tried to focus but the colors came back and he fell in and out dreams. “All I wanted was a burger.”

“I know sir. I just wanted a salad.”

“Would you marry me?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Today is just not my day.”

The point is, I am amazed at how much I am not missing. I get all the news online. I get free documentaries online! I subscribe to netflix. I watch youtube for comedy. Some people out there are pretty funny.

The only thing I am missing is new TV series and live sports.  But I don’t think I am missing out on that much. There are few sports I watch anyway, and a lot of new shows seem uncreative and formulaic.

So what do I do with my spare time? I read. I write. I read some more. I help in the garden. I go for walks. I read. I spend time with my wife and son.  I clean. I cook. I golf. I visit friends (and watch their tv, kidding.)  Not that people who watch TV do not do these things. I just find I have more time to do them. And my life is good.

One thing I do think about TV is that it sucks out creativity from a person. You watching other people use their talents. You watching other people be creative. Unless of course you want to be a TV writer. Then more power to you!

But I mention my childhood as background to my beliefs. We had a bible and I questioned god’s existence. I used to pray. I read the whole book cover to cover. Nothing changed. I remember crying and saying there was no god. I felt so bad. I immediately tried to take it back, but I knew he heard me. It’s funny now, but I was serious little boy back then.

I grew up and de-converted from my atheism to christianity. I was a zealous convert. I re-read the bible. I prayed and fasted.  I lead song service. I went to bible school. I became a pastor. I held bible studies and prayer meetings. I actively tried to witness to others about the goodness of Joshua the Christ.

It all fell apart when I went to bible school. I learned that the bible wasn’t the perfectly intact book I was lead to believe. First the gospels were written 30 years after the events described. Not by first hand witnesses and all by hearsay. Then it was put together 300 years later. Many books were thrown out and considered heretical. I wondered by whom?  Also I started to learn how to properly examine the scriptures and that Hebrew and Greek were its primary languages.  Then I learned about the politics involved in the translations to keep church doctrine pure, and not to properly translate scripture. For example, words like “church” and “bishop” had to be in there to keep the church in power.

I  am also First Nations and  wanted more cultural influence in the church to win converts. I went to pow wows and sweats. I was considered to be backsliding. I argued that the church had already appropriated various cultural elements, even in Biblical times (read the book of Acts, Paul advocates for non Jews that they do not have to be circumcised and only had to live be 3 laws. Meaning that the non Jews were allowed to keep their culture and follow Joshua). The church would then later appropriate Christmas (a pagan holiday given a christian theme), Easter (The Jewish Passover), All Saints Day (Samhain) and it goes on. The church also used Jewish and later Roman designs for the christian service (mass) and church culture (First a prayer, then songs, then one person standing in a pulpit preaching to a silent congregation, more songs, end prayer.).  Joshua the Christ advocates for none of these things.

(Obviously you noticed that I say Joshua the Christ. The name Jesus is a made up name. Someone decided that the only son of god should not have a common name like Joshua. God obviously meant for his name to be more special, holy, reverential and better than our names. So they invented Jesus. ‘Fuck Jesus’ is not blasphemy as there is no Jesus to blaspheme. ‘Fuck Joshua’ is not only blasphemous but hurtful to people named Joshua. Sorry to all the Joshuas out there.)

When I took away church dogma and doctrine, I got an entirely different message from the bible. I stopped going to church and read other books. The best being ’1984′ by George Orwell. This book on totalitarianism really captured my experience of god, pastors and the congregation. God was always watching you; waiting to catch you in sin. If you did sin and didn’t repent, you went straight to hell. Even if you were a believer for 50 years and sinned once. God was not merciful. The pastors enforced the thought crimes through regular sermons on a variety of sins. They preached to see people come up to altar call, to confess and be forgiven. Those who sat back were considered hard hearted and god would get them next time. The congregation were the sheep who were regularly whipped and fleeced to keep everything going.

I also went to a very pentecostal church. We were told if we did not speak in tongues, we were not saved. If we were not baptized in he correct name (Lord Jesus Christ), we were not saved. If we were not fully immersed, we were not saved. If we fraternized to closely with non-believers, we were in danger of losing our salvation. If we visited other churches, we were in danger of losing our salvation. If we played cards, went to movies, watched too much TV, listened to secular music, we were sinners. We could be racist, severely overweight, dishonest, hateful to non religious people, and god would allow that.

Lastly, we were taught that god would heal all manner of sickness. I never saw one healing in my 10 years as a believer. I saw a lot of emotional excitement, dancing, crying, speaking out loud in tongues, people being slain in god’s spirit, yelling, honest people being told they had a demon (I mean sweet ladies who were deeply religious and followers of christ to the letter without fault, being possessed by apparent demons, what kind of a god allows this?). I saw people rebuked for no good reason. People who conned the church and were instantly forgiven and given back high positions of leadership. But not one healing. I sincerely prayed for healing. Everyone who was ever healed of a diseases either didn’t have it and lied to make for a great testimony or was actively seeking medical help.

The last straw came for me when I went to a personal development retreat called ‘Choices’. All the anger, mistrust, social anxiety and shame I felt from growing up in a dysfunctional home, I finally dealt with. I learned some simple tools that changed my life. In 5 days, I learned more about inner peace than I ever did in 10 years in church. It proved to me that god didn’t heal the emotionally wounded, in fact I never heard any one say in my 10 years that god did. God only did the big things like cancers, aids, deafness, blindness and the things that got good press.

I converted back to atheism. There never was a god. It was a psychological construct made to get people to gather and support one another. There is nothing wrong with that, you just don’t need a god to do it. After my conversion back to atheism, I learned a lot about how our culture is duped into believing in a god. We say “god bless you” like that does something for a sneeze. We pray before meals, parliament, and other various get togethers. We give religions tax breaks on education and churches. We celebrate only Christian holidays, even though there are so many other religions and non-religious people not of that faith. People of faith are allowed to drop of their literature in every household. Try this as an atheist and you are considered intolerant. Many churches are allowed to be racist (Why do we need First Nations, Chinese, Ukrainian, Greek, etc churches if god accepts all?). Religions are allowed to be homophobic. Religions are allowed to propagate their favorite myths as being more truthful than science and we are all supposed to just accept it as fact.

No one in the church is speaking out against their leaders apparent faults. (You can preach against all other sins of the congregation but not god’s anointed). I would have more respect for religions if they held their leaders more accountable. They do not. If you speak against a church leader, you are considered not on board with god’s plan. You are the problem, not the minister. If you speak out against a televangelist, you are told to not touch god’s anointed.” These televangelists are shysters and con men.  If you say a healing didn’t happen then you are not only questioning the honesty of the healer and the healed, but god’s holy spirit. And this is a sin which cannot be forgiven. Fuck gods holy spirit, it is not worth a damn if it is used to cover up lies in the church. And don’t even get me started on catholic priests and their years of residential school abuses against innocent First Nation’s children.

So I am proud atheist. I am tired of all this bogus talk of religion and our need to be tolerant. I will be tolerant when they begin to be honest. I think that is fair.