Hear the Siren

She was an American girl. An American mouth. What then is a dog-eared map? What had He told me in the early morning hours? Always with the lyrics and the LISTEN. Why. Why do you call them a mystery? Why do you feel the way you feel? Who calls you in the night? In your dreams? That dog-eared map, that book, not a geophraphic location, but you definitely have to be IN it.

Big pill looming.

You were told of these days. Of when the fig leaf would bloom in Winter. Of when the rivers would turn to blood. You were told to look for signs. Who will remember Him?

And I was led, by the cat. She was scruffy. Beat down. A stray. Yet not lost. Wandering. She weaved in and out of the night, urging I follow. She knew I heard. I was one who listened. Curious. Nose sniffing around the Scent. Following. Always listening. Searching. That was me. And she knew I would follow. Same as I knew I could not resist the Primary Function. I followed. She led me to a house wherein the people danced and sang, drunk on mortality but hearing not the song to which they absentmindedly swayed. She beckoned me to look deeper. To see with her night vision what was to my waking, mortal eyes, concealed. She gave me her sight so I might see. And I looked and beheld the revelers taken, disappearing before me, though no one noticed. I cried out. See? Look what is happening. Right in front of your face. The cat said nothing but urged me to another room. Each room she led me to was the same as the last. They were dragged away and no one noticed. Heavy now with a sickened thought, I followed her to the last room. No revelers here. The room was empty save one soul. Her head laid upon the table at which she sat, arms hanging limply to her side. A single slow drop of blood dripped from her middle finger when I raised the wrist.

I knew her, but I was unafraid. Nor did I weep. I was satisfied with her death. Her mortal blood leached, she was one of the newborn. The cat said nothing. I followed her from death’s house to a clearing. An old rusted punch buggy was the last remnant of that world and though new upon my entry, it now revealed its true face. Like that decrepid house. Both had been sucked back into the darkness, that old car left at its gate as a reminder of a world that slowly lay dying, unable to hear Redemption. And those who could hear were called to guide them. But you must know when to stay and when to go. These places of deafness can trap your light. Do not waste it there, said the cat.

The cat led me from the darkness. A new light filled the place, not the mysterious light of the moon. An inner light that radiated in that place, that light, bathed us. We sat with the trees, those sentries of the awakened, who shelter. We layed on a blanket. She, still no less scruffy but all the more beautiful with her peaceful knowing, she, with her gently purr, eased my mind from their suffering. And we dreamed that others would meet us soon.

Might you remember the truth? Him? Will you have another dispensation? Dare you risk that wager, gambler? I told you there would be massive death. I told you fires would burn, unquenched. Anger would be the language they spoke. Resisitance. How then do you inspire? When love is no longer a common tongue how do you show them they are love?

Might it be her? Does she call you in your dreams, begging you to find her. Come to me. Let me in. Come home. Did you hear her what she was saying to you in your dream, Kyle? Do what she asks. You wanted an answer. Needed interpretation. What does she want from you? She wants you to let her in, and you do that with a dog-eared map or the lyrics of your favorites. That is why favorites are important. It’s a language you are meant to hear.

You’re not meant to stop the spiral, Ricky. It keeps going. You weren’t meant to stop. You were all meant to keep going. Think bigger.

You asked for a leader. But you begged for kings and queens. You would have a ruler. When you need only lead yourself. When the White Man came to this world, they asked for gold. The ancestors, knowing the wisdom of the Great Spirit, the wisdom that said, ask and receive, gave them gold. But like you, they wanted something mortally precious. Something that is beautiful only for a season, like a ruler, like a pretty faced flower that withers and dies.

You sell a gift. You have something greater than mortal treasure.

Have I found you or have I lost you.

I told you of these things. I warned you of the beginning of the end. There would be massive death and suffering. Fires. War. Famine. We now face a time in history, and yes, it was always His story, when we now have more ongoing conflicts (since 1945?). You were warned of this time. But you were also given Hope. That after those days, man would move toward a hive like mind, united, and that would be utopia.

But you didn’t believe. You were fooled. Deceived.

If there is a new dispensation, I am unaware.

Time’s up. Over.

Loose yourself. Loose. Let loose. Leap even. That would be better. Go bigger.

In the music. In a moment. You want this, trust me, you know you do. Better never let it go, WHY.

You get one shot. Better pick the right. The creative. The intuitive. Feed that wolf. I can’t be any plainer. This isn’t hard. Just listen.

Will you keep your chains or trade them for the circle?

Why the circle. Why infinity. Why the 4th dimension of time. Think BIGGER. Then think BIGGER still. Why. What purpose. What drive. What inspiration. Ask the questions of the philospher and writer. Who. Who Am I? Why Am I Here? Why. How. What for and when and where. But you are numb to your inner Pilot. You are tested. You suffer. Why. You know there’s a little more life somewhere else.

Pretend your favorites speak to you, like that song lyricist is your intuituve voice. It is sending you a message. Listen.

I’m running out of songs, lyrics, and pretty faces. You don’t hear in any language, and you dance as your ship sinks not realizing you gave away your inner King for a lie. Steer your own ship.

We gave you the gold, and we are STILL HERE, waiting for you to listen. You need to feed the right wolf. We told you this. Feed the right wolf. Why did I discuss epigenetics with you? And yet, you killed every messenger. Galileo told you to revolve around the Sun, and you killed him. You burned my witches. You hung my prophets.

Time’s up. How do you judge utopia? Of what need does perfection have of justice or judgment?

Have I found you?

Or lost you?

The clock has run out. You are in the age of the Piscean. And you know the secret of life is 42. You know to feed the right wolf. Because WHY. Cognitive brain therapy, REWIRES. Every right decision, a change in your very DNA structure. Following the right path with every right choice, the choice you were intuitively guided to make. Yes. It was there all the time. Right in front of your face. Like magic. All you had to do was listen. And that steering will lead you home. To the North.

There’s your gold. You won’t find that at your job that chains you to a world that is structurely designed for nothing but your demise. Your world and your life is a lie. You were robbed.


I’m out of music and there’s a bandwidth problem now, He said.

You must make a choice.

Will you remember Him?

A Thank-you To My Atheist Friends

Recently, I had a few troubling experiences with locals regarding my atheism. The anger and rage displayed on the faces of those around me in those moments had the stunning effect of a taser. The experience was emotionally jarring, and in Trump’s America, the hostile anger and revulsion at my lack of belief were somewhat frightening. On one of these occasions, out of the blue, one of them demanded, “Do you or do you not believe in God?” Now, not two seconds prior, I observed these fine Christians making repeated racial slurs and jokes while laughing. In an instant, these racist Trump supporters, bathed in the light of the Lord, holy and perfect in their religious conviction, possessing morals superior to my own, became enraged. Had their lunch break been longer, I may have been exorcized on the spot. For me, the thought that at any moment one of these Christians could turn violent left me paralyzed and uncharacteristically silent. The last thing I wanted to do in this situation was to provoke the anger Trump stoked in his evangelical supporters, and these particular people are devout Trump supporters. A witness of the events which transpired over several days said that it likely wasn’t my atheism that had fueled the rage of these locals but rather my Jewish heritage combined with my atheism and liberal leanings. Plus, I’m an outsider, she pointed out. Who knows? Now, my experience in this town is in no way comparable to the threat faced by those living in countries where a lack of belief in a deity or failure to adhere to a specific religion can lead to capital punishment. No, I have not experienced anything like that, and my heart aches for those who must hide their atheism for fear of death. Still, my experience scared me given America’s current political climate.

After becoming an atheist, it always amazed me how a person’s right to a lack of belief wasn’t recognized by the average Christian. In my practicing days, learning that someone didn’t believe in God or that someone wasn’t part of my brand of Christianity didn’t make me angry. I recognized their right to their lack of belief whether I agreed or not. For me, the random encounters I had with atheists left me intrigued. The feeling was a mild reaction of surprise and amusement like one might have toward someone who makes eccentric fashion choices, an admiration at their ability to have no fear of judgment. I didn’t care about the lack of belief part so much. I found their complete lack of fear of being eternally deep-fried tantalizing. I envied their free mindset and wished it was mine.

I think it’s common for many Christians to respond with unrealistic anger when met with challenges to their beliefs. I understand why they respond in this manner. I get the superiority and the privilege. I understand that I’m better than you mentality. I can sympathize with their need for an afterlife. I can empathize with the fearfulness they feel. Religious discussions online between atheists and theists don’t generally result in either party fearing for their personal safety, though I’ve seen many theists make death threats to atheists in online forums and have, on occasion, received threats from theists myself. I’ve not had many personal encounters with theists in real life that ended with me being fearful for my personal safety but lately, I feel uneasy when in the company of far-right Christians.

After my last encounter with hostile locals I felt defeated. Why hadn’t I stood up for myself? Is it prudent to stand up for yourself in shituations like these or, in Trumerica, is de-escalation and hasty departure the best protocol? I felt I did the right thing by not responding to the hostility, but as the days progressed, it became increasingly difficult to remain quiet during harassment from theists. These experiences left me angry and confused. Why had I let them get to me?

It seemed as though many of my friends and followers could feel my descent into despair and fear. I received an outpouring of messages from contacts who had no idea the sort of week I had experienced but felt this was a good time to reach out to me with reminders to stay strong. Their messages were perfectly timed, empowering, and exactly what I needed.

During this time, I spoke with fellow atheist, Ricky Chua, and we began to reminisce the loss of our theism and the emotions following our awakenings. I recalled that initial transitional period of anger and tears, which for me, lasted exactly three days. Ironic, that. The idea that for centuries the oppressive and abusive nature of religion had wreaked violent havoc on innocent people, that I was one of these people, and that the leaders of these religious organizations KNEW what they were doing and didn’t give a fuck so long as they maintained power and profits, angered me. After this period of anger and grief passed, something beautiful happened. My mind opened and the veil of ignorance shattered, and not just for religion but for many ideologies. It was this euphoric spiral of enlightened conscious awakening.

Ricky described this awakening as an unexplainable rhapsody of chains being severed. He said, “That feeling cannot be anticipated. It just happens. The relief is overwhelming. Damn. I have goosebumps talking about it. It’s like a surge of power. No one to cringe to. No reason for guilt. Like pieces of a puzzle falling into place.”

That newfound freedom is so delicious. I told Ricky then that I needed this reminder after my encounter with hostile Christians. To be clear, I could never go back to religion. You can’t reverse enlightenment. Those chains for me are forever severed. However, there is, at times, a heaviness that comes with atheism, intellectualism, and awareness, a weariness that settles around you like fog as you navigate life surrounded by ignorance and oppression.

Fellow atheists, don’t let people like this get to you. Don’t let those people make you cry. (Thanks, Professor). I don’t have to fear capital punishment due to my lack of belief as atheists in some countries do (and those of you who live under such threat have my utmost respect) but, for many of us, no matter our location, atheism is, at times, emotionally taxing. Fear of being ostracized, disowned, loss of employment, and occasional threats to our safety, are some ways we may feel defeated and discouraged, not to mention the stress that comes from having to constantly defend and explain our lack of belief. Still, we must always be prepared to defend our unbelief, our freedom. We must stand our ground. Ricky reminded me of how important our memes and online communities are to this end. It’s not just memes we’re liking and stealing on Facebook, it’s not who has the best pages, or who has the highest number of followers. Atheist communities, profiles, and pages shouldn’t be popularity contests and atheist activism’s primary goal shouldn’t be financial gain (I’m not saying it’s wrong to make a living from it). These online communities are a kinship we’ve all built together, a bond, a family, a supportive network we can access for those times when we’re at our lowest and feeling discouraged. We should seek out those who are like-minded for support and not just for a higher like/share count on social media content or for a higher social media friend/follower count. Those of us who are able to do so should proclaim our atheism for those who cannot for whatever reason. Be supportive of fellow atheists struggling with the wearying heaviness that accompanies intellectualism amidst ignorance, the hostile intolerance of others, and the isolation that comes from being the only atheist among your peers or from ostracization.

I’m so grateful to have an incredible network of atheists and freethinkers on whom I can rely for support. So many of you are like family to me. I take my connections with atheists for granted at times. I’m grateful for all my atheist friends. You mean so much to me. It’s difficult to express that day-to-day as there are so many of you. Thank you, for sharing your experiences with me, for broadening my mind, and for being so uplifting. To those of you running online communities, websites, Facebook pages, podcasts, and activist groups, thank you! You are all so awesome and amazing and important and I hope you realize that. I truly love you guys.




The Dangers Of Female Masturbation

Masturbation is a fairly common pastime for most people, likely since the first fish crawled on land and discovered that the friction of sun-baked earth on genitals made for an unexpectedly groovy feeling. As evolution progressed, others in the animal kingdom from rodents and primates to dolphins and whales and walruses and penguins, found they too enjoyed a hearty bout of self-fulfillment on occasion, and I think if T-Rex had not been dealt such an unkind hand (I’m sorry), then this theropod may not have been such a tyrant. Eventually, humans discovered masturbation, and our ancestors would be horrified to know that modern women have taken the experience to entirely new dimensions.

Modern humans have done away with those ancient playthings of stone (OUCH AF) and camel dung (NASTY AF), and now we have a wide array of tools with which to pleasure ourselves. But the power of these tools pales in comparison to that of the vagina, and sadly, all that masturbatory awesomeness was too good to be true.

Unbeknownst to ancient man, the vagina is, in actuality, a portal to another dimension that for centuries went unnoticed. Unfortunately, that dimension is hell. Modern women have been strongly discouraged from engaging in any form of genital stimulation not provided by a man lest Satan emerge from their quivering vaginas to fulfill his mission of world domination.

The problem is, when women begin to rub one off, demonic spirits emerge from the vagina’s hellish portal, which I’m certain is located somewhere near the G-spot (short for Gehenna. Fact!). The purpose of these vagina demons is to help the woman orgasm because despite what science would have us believe, the clit, pelvic floor, uterine wall, and anus do fuck all for climax. When a woman begins to experience arousal from self-pleasuring, blood rushes to her vagina. This blood sacrifice is necessary or the demons won’t come. Science has yet to explain how the modern woman’s reproductive organs evolved into a conduit for supernatural entities, but I blame Kegel exercises (SHADY AF).

If a woman wants to prevent the escape of demons from her nefarious magic muffin, she must only engage in heterosexual sex. This perfect union protects the human race from cunt demons. You see, when a man thrusts inside a hopefully willing female participant, his dick repeatedly pushes the door of the vaginal hell portal shut thus preventing the apocalypse.

Women love to masturbate because they’re evil and why stop at one apple when you can have them all? It’s difficult to only be aroused when an available, willing man is present. Still, it’s up to us to not endanger humanity by summoning Satan and his demons for our own pleasure when we could do something equally rewarding. Like baking. To date, the best method for shutting down these urges is to summon the mental image of Senator Ted Cruz.

If you know a woman who is playing with herself and bringing destructive demons into the world, please, fuck her for humanity’s sake.