This is the " sound " only version of my newest video which is available on YouTube here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wN5xKItCG40

There aren’t very many days like this. Where the alarm is so loud it’s like a blunt object to the ear drum. You peel your face off the pillow, it’s only 6 o’clock, and you don’t want to get up, but guess what? There’s a very excited little boy downstairs and a 3 year old cooing in her crib. Before you’ve even removed the crust from your eyes, the boys eyes  are wide open staring at hard labor, at a few thousand dollars’ worth of merchandise that you couldn’t actually afford and you try to remember when you were that happy at the sight of anything. Yes the tree is beautiful, it twinkles with multi colored lights and heir loom ornaments passed from grandmother to mother to you. Your future ex-wife slaps your back lightly for hitting the snooze. “ they’re already up, and you know it. Get the coffee ready I’ll be down in a minute “. There’s a part of me that hates her for being right. No rest for the wicked. In a few moments the tearing and ripping asunder will begin. It’s supposed to be Jesus birthday, right. It feels more like humanities birthday. I mean who gives gifts to Jesus on this day? I think nobody, as put tablespoon after tablespoon of dry tasteless folgers coffee into the coffee machine. The boy gets a Wii and I can’t even have a good cup of Ethiopia Yergacheffee from Red Barn. I hit start and think perhaps the best gift I gave Jesus was my 20’s. Sometimes I want them back. I turn around and there’s my wife with the little one excited. She says, “She want’s you “, and hands her to me. “ Coffee smells good “, the little one says. Yeah, I think, it’s better than nothing and head into the living room. Everything is like fire because Santa Claus came. Electrically lit, battery powered, and ready to be destroyed. What more can I ask for? Just the happiness of others. Yeah, let’s get to the presents. I love you kids. 
	Sipping my coffee I’m reminded of a party. I was about 6 or 7 and at a church Christmas function. The faces of other children alight by a birthday cake with a dozen or so candles on it. They are my friends, and they can’t wait for what? The lady who ran children’s group says with her big eighties hair, “Now, lets everyone sing happy birthday to Jesus “. The smell of chocolate is thick in the air, and the kids say yes, and sing happy birthday to Jesus, in such an impatient way that says, yeah, yeah, bring on the cake. Bring on the cake. Bring on the presents. I know the point of brining the kids in with the promise of cake is sneaky and underhanded, and in a way lame, because in the future they’ll try much harder even going so far as to have a pool table and the cool young pastor lead the festivities. The cake gets cut and I remember the Betty Crocker more than anything else. She tastes so sweet. 
	I’m awoken from my reverie by a thank you daddy and mommy. What more could I ask for than that. The bright wrapping paper is everywhere and there are a thousand toys to assemble. But breakfast first. Later I’m shuffling eggs and bacon around a skillet. It smells so good, bring on the bacon. It does the body good you know. Oh, dad you’re the man cause mom can’t cook bacon like you. She’s making the waffles cause I always burn them. Oh really, I think, I can’t even remember what I got you for Christmas, but I remember it was damn expensive. These were good times, can I only remember the bad. I’ll make it up to you years later when I come out of this illogical coma. I’m on auto pilot. I feel like a time traveler in some Kurt Vonnegut novel. Bring on the bacon, bring on the cake, and bring on the presents. The little girl throws her eggs at me and I smiles. Her hot buttered toast is on the floor with little bite marks in it. She’s so goddamn cute I can’t get mad at her. I remember some of the good and some of the bad. Was my married life a sham? Not really, there was love lots of it. There are scrambled eggs everywhere. Wrapping paper everywhere and all of the money is gone. All of our faces alight with happiness that has nothing to do with Jesus. 
	Years later we don’t split up our Christmases. I go to her place and sleep on the couch. At 6 AM I am ready. She doesn’t have to slap my back. She’s up there with her husband snoozing away. I don’t want to miss one second of this. I bought my daughter frozen everything, and my son he’s getting the newest XBOX and lots more. Is this Jesus’ day? Is it a perpetual corporate holiday? No, they don’t own this day. I do, and so do you, and I’ll be too happy to give a damn anyway. My gifts are for them, the ones I love. Bring on the bacon, bring on the cake, and bring on the presents. 
Merry Christmas. 


Christmas

The Shaman, my longtime friend Al, once said: 
     " There are three people in front of you, the person I am, the person I want you to see, and the person you see. The person that exists is none of these ". 
This is just a bit of my experience with one of my best friends. He always appreciated my writing, and told me I should write a book. I never though I would have to recant some of his story, but here it is, for better or worse.

The Shaman Eulogy

You didn't really think I had run out of stories, did you? 

Evolution Part One- Tribulation

This is the theme I wrote for my deconversion series. I don't know why I never shared it here. You are free to use it so long as you credit me. Atticus Blake.