A Golden Age of Reading.

Kaiapos people, Matto Grosso, Valter Campanato, Agencia Brasilia.

by Louis Shalako

We are entering a Golden Age of reading. Yet the industry has suffered some disruption, and some have said it will ultimately fail, in its present form, possibly within twenty years.

None of this implies a Golden Age for authors in general. Some authors might be doing insanely well, and others might scrabble along on fifty dollars a month in sales.

Some say the printed work will never die, and in some sense that might be true. Collectors will still love the printed edition. But the vast majority of books will eventually be in electronic format.

The rationale is simple: paper and ink cost money. An ebook costs nothing in terms of paper, ink, set-up time, labour, transport, and shelter, (in a brick and mortar bookstore, which must also be lit and heated) and of course all that must be supervised, and insured, creating a huge tooth-to-tail ratio for the printed book

I know some will rant and rave and foam at the mouth as they disparage all the unedited books on Amazon. 

It is purely reactionary.

The funny thing is that they never mention a title or author’s name. They don’t seem to know that Amazon has spell-check on the English publishing page, (and you’d have to be a real fool to ignore it) and that iTunes is now screening foreign translations for spelling and grammar.

(I find that interesting, because these are the same guys who aren’t accepting that a machine-assisted translation can be well-done. I would like to know what program they are using.)

But the fact that at least a million books a year are now being published, the fact that the price of traditionally-published ebooks* is coming down, and the fact that there are thousands of new authors entering the market every day is extremely positive.

Traditionally published authors by the thousand are now uploading the books they own as rights revert, and sort of forget it was some enthusiastic newcomer on Facebook or Twitter who sparked their interest in the first place.

People who began as self-published authors have been picked up by big traditional publishers, they have made the big best-seller lists, and some have amassed fortunes.

The readers benefit from having more choices and lower prices. They can buy and read more books.

The world benefits from a staggering increase, not just in the overall literacy rates, but also in the quality of that literacy. Some are predicting ‘universal authorship’ in the future.

That must scare the hell out of people who hold some pretty conservative view-points. That's because people who can read, can also understand issues and express an opinion effectively. They get a lot better representation for their cause, which often involves land, resources, human rights, social conditions and ultimately, human dignity. That's just what the bad guys don't want, isn't it?

***

How many times have I read it?

Some well-meaning person person says on their blog that we are not in competition.

I disagree, but rather than get into that, I would like to point out that we are definitely in competition with television, radio, movies, games, social networking sites, and many other forms of entertainment. We are in competition for eye-balls on the page, and for people’s free time.

Time just seems to get a little more precious every day. Everyone is just so busy these days.

At one time, reading was practically the only form of entertainment that even came close to accessibility for the common man. Cheap, mass-produced books helped to create the middle class that so many claim is the cornerstone of democracy. They created the world we know today.

Gutenberg probably had no idea that his invention would spawn the Thirty Years War and the Reformation. 

There will be a downside to every great new thing. The world as we know it would not exist without those cultural paroxysms.

We’re a little more sophisticated these days, with the benefit of a little hindsight and a lot of affordable history books that have been produced over the years. So we can see that there might be some disruption.

There is no doubt that some are just plain frightened of any change.

***

I saw a book on Amazon that I had read as a boy. The author is still alive. He has a website.

His book was somewhere down in the twelve million range in the rankings. My independently published books have never been down in that range. Yet I’ve only been around for four years, and have never had a traditional publishing contract.

And it’s both daunting and a bit of a mystery to the authors when that happens.

Some say the product presentation algorithms are based on velocity, and it is entirely possible that the author in question sold one book a few years ago, and none since.

That’s not much velocity, in relation to other titles that might have only sold one copy this month, and so what is a pretty good book plummets straight to the bottom.

Publishers are loading up back titles and keeping them ‘in print’ (in the purely electronic sense) which means rights do not revert to an author because the contract might state that a new edition renews the license on the author’s copyright for a further period of several years, or until some stated time after the book goes out of print.

That’s a nice little clause for the publisher, for if the book is selling in reasonable numbers in English, the publisher paying someone $100.00 to translate it into Swahili might actually pay off. The book might never sell a single copy in Swahili. But the English version might still be selling, just for example, about $600.00 worth of books a year. All the publisher had to do was to email the book to the translator, and when it came back, upload it to the service provider’s website, say Amazon or iTunes. The publisher has done a few minutes work, the translator is a contractor.

The author’s work has just been sewed up for another few years; and if there are problems, the translator would be expected to fix it for free.

For an advance and some small royalty payments, an author might never regain control over their work. Yet to many authors, a few books bringing in $600.00 a year might make a real difference in their retirement plans. The royalties on the English version, the only one that is selling, are of course much less that that figure.

The danger there is that the publisher is not promoting or pushing those books at all, only relying on ‘passive discoverability,’ and playing a volume/numbers game which will last as long as they have any stock of unpublished titles.

***

I still read printed books. I read more books than the average person in a year, I’ve always been a reader and of course it’s part of my job. But the bulk of my reading over the last four or five years has been online.

I’ve never read an entire book online, but then I don’t have an iPhone or a laptop and reading books at a picnic table in a park, or sitting in my car in the parking lot, was never my thing.

Online reading is often much shorter. It’s often news or industry related, sometimes it’s short bits on Wikipedia, or websites that involve subjects in my area of interest, all sorts of things really.

It also involves a lot of stuff I wouldn't have had access to otherwise, which tends to boost my own educational level.

I read a lot of blogs, and posts on Facebook, etc.

I have gone from zero hours of electronic reading to several hours a day of electronic reading in a very short time. There is no doubt my own reading habits have changed. 

For those who like to read, this really is a new Golden Age. And so much of it is free for all to read.

What’s really interesting is the probability that New Guinea hill tribesmen will go from reading very little, even in print form, to reading quite a bit, hours a day even, without ever going through a protracted period of reading print books, unlike in our own culture.

The whole cultural fabric of our time is being altered, re-woven, even as we speak.

What the consequences of all this will be remains to be seen, but the temporary disruption of an industry is only one small part of it.

One thing for sure, the changes will be vast, and the world will hardly know itself in a few short years.

END

*traditionally-published ebook is a bit of a non-sequitur.

Strong style, strong voice.

At least they put spaces between the words. Christopher Columbus' annotated Marco Polo. 

(Wiki.)

by Louis Shalako

I have a unique writing style.

I have a strong voice.

My writing style, and that voice, dictates the way the page is laid out to some extent.

In modern fiction, you will note that every chapter and every new scene begins with a block paragraph, even though every other paragraph in the book has an indent from the margin.

Indents help the reader’s eye to find the next paragraph. A book without indents would look very old fashioned, in fact the old Gothic manuscripts didn’t even have spaces between words.

The typeface or even hand lettering in those old books is practically unreadable by modern standards.

This is the only industry I know that has been in the experimental stage for several thousand years.

In the light of new knowledge, new challenges and new opportunities, we learn to do things just a bit differently.

***

A single sentence should have one idea, one action.

“John ran down the street.”

Here’s a ‘bad line’:

“John ran down the street and the kettle boiled.”

Taken all on its own, and with nothing else to support it, the second line makes a lot less sense.

A paragraph should have sentences that convey a fuller picture of the idea or action. Ah, but the first line of this particular story—my blog post, stands all on its own, full, complete, and needing nothing else. It’s not a bad hook, either, assuming the reader made it this far.

When you go on to the next idea or action, you go on to the next paragraph.

If you look at Anne R Allen’s blog post, you will see she’s talking about synopses, but she’s also talking about hooks, loglines, and pitches.

I like to have one good line at the beginning of a chapter or scene. I like to end on one was well.

The trouble is, what happens when I try to make it a block paragraph? It’s too short. The problem is worse when the chapter or scene begins with a short line of dialogue.

Conventional or traditional formatting has its limitations.

Not to indent the first line, in the case of dialogue, would simply look wrong when the line is a short one.

To indent that first line would be a ‘mistake,’ because it’s not a block paragraph. Their own rules hang them up to such an extent that a ‘good’ editor, i.e., one steeped in tradition, would ask the writer to rewrite that text so that it more properly conforms to the needs of the formatters.

To do that would be to lose something unique from that author, this ‘voice’ we keep hearing so much about.

The basic problem is pretty simple. I can’t use an indent where it’s clearly not called for, and then go ahead and use one when the first bit of a new chapter or scene has a bigger block of text and a block paragraph would actually work.

For that reason, I have developed a house style, that is a style of formatting that I use consistently from one book to the next.

The fact that they are all initially published as e-books does have some bearing on the history of this, for if a block of text is cut in half on a page-turn, it looks like a block paragraph anyway, although the letter in the upper left corner of the e-reader is not a capital letter because it occurs in the middle of a sentence.

A traditional book does that too, and readers are used to seeing it, so no one says anything.

It seems that the new technology spurred some new developments in formatting, or at least forced me to think about what I was doing and why I was doing it.

Should other writers now begin imitate my formatting style?

***

Just as a mental exercise, I’ve laid this out completely differently, please bear in mind this is a blog post and I never use indents on a blog post although I have experimented with them on another blog.

I have a unique writing style. I have a strong voice. My writing style, and that voice, dictates the way the page is laid out to some degree. In modern fiction, you will note that every chapter and every new scene begins with a block paragraph, even though every other paragraph in the book has an indent from the margin. Indents help the reader’s eye to find the next paragraph. A book without indents would look very old fashioned, in fact the old Gothic manuscripts didn’t even have spaces between words. The typeface or even hand lettering in those old books is practically unreadable by modern standards. A single sentence should have one idea, one action. “John ran down the street.” Here’s a ‘bad line’: “John ran down the street and the kettle boiled.” Taken all on its own, and with nothing else to support it, the second line makes a lot less sense. A paragraph should have sentences that convey a fuller picture of the idea or action. Ah, but the first line of this particular story—my blog post, stands all on its own, full, complete, and needing nothing else. It’s not a bad hook, either, assuming the reader made it this far. When you go on to the next idea or action, you go on to the next paragraph. If you look at Anne R Allen’s blog post, you will see she’s talking about synopses, but she’s also talking about hooks, log-lines, and pitches. I like to have one good line at the beginning of a chapter or scene. I like to end on one was well. The trouble is, what happens when I try to make it a block paragraph? It’s too short. The problem is worse when the chapter or scene begins with a short line of dialogue.Conventional or traditional formatting has its limitations. Not to indent the first line, in the case of dialogue, would simply look wrong when the line is a short one. To indent that first line would be a ‘mistake,’ because it’s not a block paragraph. Their own rules hang them up to such an extent that a ‘good’ editor, i.e., one steeped in tradition, would ask the writer to rewrite that text so that it more properly conforms to the needs of the formatters. To do that would be to lose something unique from that author, this ‘voice’ we keep hearing so much about. The basic problem is pretty simple. I can’t use an indent where it’s clearly not called for, and then go ahead and use one when the first bit of a new chapter or scene has a bigger block of text and a block paragraph would actually work. This is the only industry I know that has been in the experimental stage for several thousand years.

In the light of new knowledge, new challenges and new opportunities, we learn to do things just a bit differently.

For that reason, I have developed a house style, which is a style of formatting that I use consistently from one book to the next.

The fact that they are all initially published as e-books does have some bearing on the history of this, for if a block of text is cut in half on a page-turn, it looks like a block paragraph anyway, although the letter in the upper left corner of the e-reader is not a capital letter because it occurs in the middle of a sentence.

A traditional paperback might do that too, and readers are used to seeing it so no one says anything.

It seems that the new technology spurred some new developments in formatting, or at least forced me to think about what I was doing and why I was doing it.

Should other writers now begin imitate my formatting style?

***

I don’t know, ladies and gentlemen, but the first block paragraph in this second example sure is hard to follow, isn’t it?

That’s because I’m trying to jam too many ideas into the same paragraph. It is true that the example is also a bit exaggerated.

If I do something in one of my books, whether in the writing, the formatting, or whatever—the first weak term I have used in the entire story, it’s because I have a reason.

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen: I have a reason.

The funny thing is, no one ever asks the question.

END

“Hey, Andre.” De Garmeaux nodded at the floater. “Anything special?”

“Nah.” Sergeant Andre Levain shrugged. “It’s just another poor and anonymous soul who couldn’t take it anymore.”

A small group of onlookers on the street above stood in contrast to the pedestrians with umbrellas open and faces to the wind, refusing to even acknowledge their presence as they scurried past to their workplace. A line of buildings, windows impenetrable due to glare and grime, ignored the disruption and reflected and amplified shouts, bicycle bells and car horns. A few bleary-eyed faces were visible in a brightly lit café on the far side of the street as they read the papers and sipped scalding coffees.

***

This is from ‘The Art of Murder’ and it’s pretty obvious why I don’t want to use a ‘block paragraph,’ or more properly, no indent, for the first line. This is just one example. Yet whatever I do for formatting, I have to do it consistently over the full text.

Having evolved the strong style, and the strong voice, I might as well stick with it.

***

Presence.

by Louis Shalako

I was about twelve years old, the first time I ever felt the presence. My friend Billy Jones and I had ridden out to the local airport on our bicycles, those little kid’s banana bikes, with the long seats, high handlebars, and a great big sissy bar sticking up almost higher than our heads. Mine was red, and Bill’s was a beat-up old blue one. It was a good fifteen kilometers from our homes, quite a long distance for small boys to roam. Our moms would have had a fainting spell if they knew where we were.

We used to watch the planes land, pester the security guards and counter staff, and just have a good time in general. So exhaustion may have played a role in the fact that I was laying on my bed after supper, quite early on a dull, and rather chilly, spring evening.

It was in that weird half-world between true sleep and actual consciousness. I was aware of my mother, and my five-year old sister in the kitchen. At first there was no hint of anything there, nothing unusual. Something grabbed me from behind, but there was nothing there. Facing the wall, with my blanket drawn up close under my chin, on my left side, with knees bent and my arms curled up in front of my chin. Rolling my eyes in stark terror, I could plainly see that there was nothing there, although I couldn’t move at all. I wasn’t paralyzed—I wriggled within its grasp, but to no avail. I couldn’t speak or call out. After all these years, I couldn’t really tell you if I tried that—I just don’t remember.

I probably did try to scream—who wouldn’t, right? The room was deathly silent—I remember that much. I couldn’t move, and there was no sound. Something that I could not see, only feel, had wrapped big arms or tentacles, or something around my entire body, and it was shaking me as a terrier would shake a rat. There was one short, sharp intake of breath, just enough to sustain me, and then the whole spell passed, leaving me wide-eyed, thoroughly awake, and doubting my very senses. I doubt if I slept a wink at night for about the next three weeks.

I don’t know if I believe in ghosts, or spirits, or demons, or anything like that. But I am convinced something happened in my bedroom that night. Now, I’m not epileptic, and I’m not known for spasms, hysteria, or even nightmares. But that event really shook me up. All young people go through dark times when they find themselves truly alone, and when they spend a lot of time wondering, “Is there something different about me? Is there something wrong with me?” I remember thinking, “Why me?” Forty years later, I still wonder, “What was all that about?” And it still shakes me up, to think on the sheer mystery of it. Once I got the idea of ghosts in my head, I really did begin to think that there might be something different inside of me. Whenever I tried to tell anyone about it, they always looked at me differently afterwards. That’s for sure.

I’ve always believed that most ghosts were pretty decent people, once, and why the heck would they ever want to pick on me? I’ve never done a ghost any harm. But it really makes you think. As for whatever it was, the thing that shook me, I really couldn’t say if it was inherently evil or not. How am I supposed to know? But the effect it had, was to frighten the living daylights out of me. And I was just a little kid, after all. That wasn’t very nice.

It was in my late twenties when I became aware of the presence again. It came to me in a dream, one I could not forget, not for the life of me. It was a sleek black cat, very big.

It was like a jaguar without the spots, a jungle cat, with huge yellow orbs for eyes, slit-like when it regarded me. I found that dream very disturbing, for over the next few months, it seemed like that dream was always there, watching me—always lurking there in a corner of my mind. Reminding me of something, but what? But what? When a dream comes back two or three times, it must be an important one. There must be some kind of a message, and an urgent one, coming up from our subconscious minds, or from somewhere else. For some reason that big black cat was watching me, stalking me, never letting go. One prepares to sleep with a certain note of defiance, after a time.

“Come and get me, you mangy varmint.” A few drinks helped, a little, and one wonders, how one could wake up so tired in the morning, all covered in sweat? Was I wrestling with demons, all through the night?

Now that animal never caught up to me, and I know that for sure: one, I’m still here, and two; there was none of that shaking. So it never got hold of me, and it eventually tired of me, and the thing went away.

Let me compose my thoughts here for a moment…there was this other time. I don’t know, it kind of blanks out when I try to think about it. I had it just a minute ago…let it come. It’s right there on the tip of my subconscious mind. Yeah, I remember now. I was alone in my place in Grand Bend, Ontario. It’s in Canada. I lived a few kilometers outside of this little tourist village. It gets very dark and quiet out there in the off-season.

And something was there. It never touched me. Somehow I knew it was there. You could just sense it. I had every light in the house turned off. It must have been three thirty a.m. I remember whipping open the door to my closet, and throwing punches into the clothing hanging there, mostly to see if something might come out…then I grabbed up my long-bow, and strung it. I stood in the dark, and listened with all my might. My dad made that bow for me when I was about six, maybe seven years old. I was wearing gym shorts and nothing else. Goose bumps rolled across my ribs in wave after wave; the hairs stood up on my neck. It was hard to breathe. I had to focus in on my diaphragm a little, gulping air. The real problem is trying to gasp in great gobs of air quietly.

I got an arrow strung on the bow, and holding it almost fully drawn, I carefully searched every nook and cranny of that house. I used the tip of the arrow to push open sliding, mirrored closet doors—if you think that isn’t scary, with the shock of seeing yourself coming around the corner, reflecting back at you in the brief glare of car headlights coming in through a crack in the curtains. I had to go into both bathrooms, search every closet, the laundry room, it was unbelievable. But I was absolutely convinced it was there, as I poked and prodded, and felt my way around in pitch blackness, with my horrible, hyper-awareness; almost feeling the walls in my blindness, with some other sense—although miniscule background noises probably helped. And at every second, paralyzing in intensity, expecting to feel something—something horrid.

Something cold and evil; something other-worldly.

I don’t know, man. At some point the thing must have left, at some point you just know it’s gone—it’s like you just can’t feel that presence anymore.

Sometimes I throw my awareness straight up into the sky, and look out into the night.

I float over the lights of the city. And I figure it’s still out there somewhere. Sooner or later the presence will be back. I don’t know if there is anything a person can do to prepare for that presence. But I feel that I’m a lot stronger now.

"Let's be children again."

My grandmother says that there are people out there who can read her thoughts.

She says they’re very powerful, and that they know everything. She says they’re building a whole new world order. She said that they put dead people upstairs and make them do all the work. When I visit, I have to explain who I am and how I’m her grandson.

My grandmother is ninety-seven years old. When I think of those tired old eyes, and all that they’ve seen. It makes me weep. She is such an intensely good person…

“Let’s be children again,” she said one day, right out of the blue.

I think she’s dreaming now, gone back to that state of child-like grace as she stares out the window. It’s like she’s waiting for something, or someone.

I’m sure she’s trying to tell me something very, very, important.

The Vulcan Logic.

"It's simple logic, Captain."

by Louis Shalako

If you have somewhere to go, start walking

If you have nothing to say, stop talking

If you see an accident, start gawking

If your boat leaks, start caulking

If you want to eat a pigeon, loose falcon

If you want to get a move on, stop balking

If you are a teacher, start chalking

If you have two hearts, pointed ears, and green blood,

You’re a Vulcan.

If you have an urgent need to communicate, start talking

If you want to hurt someone, start socking

If you just want to get stoned, start rocking

If you would like to come ashore, start docking

If you just want to be happy, (and who doesn’t?)

Stop sulking

If you’re not coming in, stop knocking

If you have a logical mind, and only get laid about once every seven years,

You’re a Vulcan.

(Thee above photo is public domain.)

Atheism and the Human Heart.

The Birth of Venus, Sandro Botticelli. (Wiki.)

by Louis Shalako

People find atheism threatening. If there is no God, then all their past assumptions must be disposed of, also there are practical considerations.

We live and die by our assumptions.

What about Christmas? What about the Easter Bunny and New Year’s, what about the Constitution? What about Halloween, eh?

What about Halloween…

What about a nice big church wedding and a proper christening for our children? What about those conspicuous displays of social status?

And who would we have not just the right, but the duty to hate?

I guess the retailers would find other reasons and other ways to market their goods. And those who are so inclined will find reason to hate somebody, or something.

But these are all superficialities of religion.

What about morality?

This is a much better question.

Essentially, nothing changes. That’s right—nothing. We could still be hypocrites if we so choose. That part is easily transferable.

We could even clothe ourselves in the colours of atheism and use it as a platform to indulge our bigotry, our prejudice, and our ignorance, if that is indeed who we really are, deep down inside, where it counts most.

***

What atheism has taught me about Christianity, and perhaps some other religions, is that the universal values, the Golden Rule, the ‘do unto others as you would have them do to you,’ must have come from somewhere.

Once you accept the possibility that God does not exist, you must also accept that he never did exist.

Hard on the Old Testament scholars (some of whom are making a pretty good buck off of it) and believers, I admit.

But what if that is indeed the truth?

In which case what was Jesus saying? What was Moses saying when he came down off the mountain with a list of ten commandments?

Where did he get ‘em?

The only possibility is that the words they spoke and wrote came from somewhere inside of them.

They made it up on the spot, ladies and gentlemen, and so, once we accept that, how are we to account for their popularity? I mean, besides the fact that they represented an alternative to the political and social realities of the day?

Back then, everyone who wasn’t a king or at least filthy stinking rich was all covered in shit.

That’s still true, isn’t it?

But how are we to account for the fact that the injunction, ‘thou shalt not kill’ somehow resonates inside of each and every one of us? That is to say, those of us who aren’t true psychopaths?

Never mind that some will find exceptions, which in their minds somehow proves the truth of the assertion.

Why does it resonate within the human heart? It’s not just our education—surely we have forgotten or rejected much of that.

The world is all new, every day, and the world has changed much since we were born, in my case decades ago.

Much of our knowledge is obsolete. Much of it is out of date. So much of it we never use.

Atheism showed me the truth about the human heart.

Most human beings are worthy and rational individuals, most of whom need little encouragement or direction to do the right thing. Virtually all of us began that way, surely. Most of us really don’t get bent out of shape until some injustice comes along, and we see something that is not right.

What bothers most of us is a hypocrite—someone who has plenty of life-instructions for everyone else, not bothering to live by them themselves.

Religion at one time might have served the world well. It was an illiterate age, and the average person was ill-equipped for any great philosophical notions. They also had the annoying habit of asking why.

The funny thing is, if you took a grade one class of students, and made them memorize the ten commandments, and made no reference to God, religion, faith, the Bible, or anything other than those commandments, those kids—those children would take them to heart, memorize them, and remember and refer to them for the rest of their lives. You could not get the same results with adults. I grant you that much.

Honour thy mother and father. Do you honestly think a seven year-old kid is going to contradict that?

This is why atheism is such a threat, not so much to the state as to some individuals—it represents an unwelcome and unwholesome questioning of established values, notions, and power structures. It attacks prejudice, ignorance and bigotry right at the root.

What happens to the Constitution if there is no God to create everyone equal? Ah, but you never agreed that was true in the first place—you only ever claimed  to ‘love the Constitution’—and you are prepared to kill to defend that viciousness, that ignorance that lies deep inside of you.

I have saved you from your hypocrisy. Don’t all rush to congratulate me. I’m being facetious, ladies and gentlemen, for surely this must be the most unwelcome news…

What if there is no God to witness the oath of office, or the oath that kings take when they are crowned?

People actually like kings. They sit above us and hand down their laws. We have no minds of our own.

It seems that we can’t trust each other. That’s because we have been divided up and conquered, but it’s really our minds that have been conquered.

We have become lazy in our thinking and so we honestly believe that certain notions of brotherhood, equality, liberty and freedom must have a divine sanction or they are no longer valid. We at least make a stab at obeying them, not because they have any real utility, not of our own free will, but because some imaginary being, unknowable, untouchable, unreachable, said so—in writing, all those long centuries ago.

But under atheism, they are still valid—in fact these notions are the only thing that can save us from a worse fate, a world, a nation, a people at war with themselves, and for no good reason except that it gives some very hypocritical and very small group somewhere justification to rule, exploit, enslave, and ever so obviously, despise. Our kings fear and despise us—surely that must give one pause to think.

We are all brainwashed in this society. It begins at birth, and it goes on all through school, university if you are ‘lucky,’ and into the home, the workplace and the streets. They try to create citizens that above all, fit into the established social order. Let’s face it, what else is there?

It is a simple rule of delusional thinking, also brainwashing, in that it is inconceivable to the individual. We trust our own selves, right? We trust our own brains.

Everyone else has been brainwashed—but not us. We are too smart to let that happen. We’d see right through it.

There is no place on the globe that is not owned, claimed or ruled by someone. We have no place else to go.

The first step in breaking that mind-lock has been taken.

It is up to the individual as to how far you want to go with it.

***

I can’t help thinking that for the average believer, they get something out of religion. They keep going back for a reason.

They go back for answers—and atheism just seems to keep asking questions and making statements that no one can deal with. Religion per se is not all bad. It has merely been abused. There are no simple, easy answers under atheism.

Atheism challenges a person to think--to think, ladies and gentlemen.

Having a God up above really hasn’t cured the ills of this world, it has not prevented war, injustice, corruption, or man’s inhumanity to man. It has not enlightened our leaders, nor exalted the common man. If the benefits outweigh the costs in some measurable way, perhaps it is not entirely useless. However, people could just substitute something else, some trendy new belief system that makes even less sense than the religion that they are rejecting.

Some would say ‘if it ain’t broke don’t fix it,’ but we have deluded ourselves into thinking it does work—and if there is no God and there is no religion, then there is essentially nothing there to fix anyway. Atheism proves that God isn’t even a necessary fiction to govern ourselves, it’s merely a convenience that comes at a very high price: an unwillingness to accept that others have a right to their culture and their place in the world. 

But see, they’re different from us, and that is all the justification the human race has ever needed.

Atheism is just a little bit different, ladies and gentlemen.

Religion is just delusional thinking that has been formalized and codified, all the way along the line. The fact that a good percentage of the people believe in it, or pay some minimal and passing homage to it, really doesn’t change the facts.

No one knew what gravity was until some brilliant mind came along and explained it. Until then, you stayed on the Earth’s surface because that was what God had willed.

I would like to think that now we know differently—but just listen to the rhetoric of those who would attempt to explain it in ‘scientific’ terms.

“God decreed that there would be gravity so that we wouldn’t all fly away into space, according to the laws of momentum...God created the universe in all of its elegance, and so the laws of God and science hold true from one end of the universe to the other.”

They want to have their cake and eat it too.

If there really is a God, we don’t need any laws of science at all. Neither does he.

***

What is the worst job in the world?

I would have to say judge.

Yet there are those who would willingly, gladly set themselves above us as our judges.

And if they had us in their courtroom, why, heads would roll, wouldn’t they? For they hate people like us with a very fine passion. That’s because we’re not as good as them—their God has decreed it. According to them, we must goose-step along in perfect synchronization or we are damned to eternal hell-fire. But if we do go along, we are doomed to fallacy, hypocrisy, and living a deluded lie which justifies every kind of injustice!

I’ve often wondered where that came from, but I can assure you of this much: it did not come from God.

That ignorance comes from somewhere deep inside of us. That hatefulness runs very strong and deep in some individuals.

It stems from fear, ladies and gentlemen.

If you conquer your fear, you will find that you get along a lot better with people who are a little bit different from yourselves.

And all the world is people.

END