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Saturday, October 4, 2025

Shhhh! Digital Media Presents - Grand Tapestry Of Moments 01 - Paskus Maskwa: Rising Bear (Updated October 3, 2025 2:00 PM EST)


For National Truth And Reconciliation Day!




Chapters

  1. Broken Trail (Finished September 29, 2025)
  2. Coffee And Donuts (Finished September 30, 2025)
  3. Into The Rough (Finished October 2, 2025)
  4. The Living Wild (Finished October 3, 2025)
  5. Cattails, Swamp Grass And A Miracle (Finished October 4, 2025)

This content is produced by the artists indicated on the site, including myself, Brian Joseph Johns.



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Also, FYI, I don't reverse or alter the polarity or context of my expression (sometimes referred to as "blove" by some people). I say what I mean and mean what I say, and generally only joke or am sarcastic with people I really know very well.

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Shhhh! Digital Media
Brian Joseph Johns


Introduction

This new series from Shhhh! Digital Media is all about exploring the worlds of Shhhh! Digital Media through a variety of sometimes unconnected stories, each involving characters both unknown and unfamiliar, and those well known through every series, book or short story that has appear in a Shhhh! Digital Media story, novella or book.

You'll read (and listen to via our new audiobook format) a new story as often as I can pound them out, each exploring aspects of the tapestry woven here throughout the existing story lines, and new stories yet to have been written. This includes other series such as We Who Stand On Guard and Night Boat, as well as the more familiar fare of Butterfly Dragon and Tales of the Sanctum.

When I say variety, I mean to the extremes and even beyond, though in any case, I will always provide a warning when the content is explicit in one way or another. Believe me, we'll be exploring a wide variety of existentialism and other edges of the universe I've yet to delve into with this episodic journey.

I hope that the cover art isn't too misleading as this series won't necessarily be focused on what's depicts in it. There will be every extreme and everything in between. Hopefully, you'll be surprised in some way by every new story in this series.

So strap yourselves in and enjoy the ride.

In this first story, the more astute of you might recognize the intro to this one from an unfinished from many years ago and you'd be absolutely correct in your assumption. This is a sub-plot story I've always wanted to continue, but given the demand for other content and the time constraints and pressure upon producing that content, never could. So I've adapted it to a stand alone story, that involves the two protagonists, who embark together upon a unique journey that is a tribute to the Indigenous people of North America and specifically those here in my home country of Canada.

I hope that you enjoy it.


Brian Joseph Johns


Dedicated to the peoples of the First Nations. We as Canadians truly hope that they can find reconciliation in the fact that like Askuwheteau, they are the scouts of our nation's future. A future that includes us all.

I must add however, that this story is also dedicated to the late Graham Greene, who inspired in many ways, the vision of the character Askuwheteau.


Shhhh! Digital Media Presents:


Grand Tapestry Of Moments 01 - Paskus Maskwa: Rising Bear

Broken Trail


Pasky (a nickname given to him by his coworkers) sat behind a large oak desk, an open laptop before him. Behind him the vast Calgary skyline stretched out into the distance, the heights pocked with office towers, each reaching for its piece of the sky like totems in the wind.


As he carefully typed, he looked to a family photograph on his desk. His wife, Felicia stood poignantly by his side, their two children Sandra and Gordon before them.


"...and to let you know how essential you've been in the success of this project..." he spoke aloud as he typed.


He'd met Felicia ten years earlier at a convention in Toronto. The firm for whom he worked now had been presenting a number of lectures in their mutual field. At that time he'd been working in the office, mostly in research and fact gathering for one of the senior consultants. They'd brought him to show him the ropes and to have a gopher at their disposal. He'd been humble about the whole affair, understanding fully well that he had to start from the bottom and work his way up.


Felicia was still a student at that time, working part-time for the convention center while she studied her way to a Bachelor's degree while living in the Roncesvale district of Toronto. They met by a series of  bizarre coincidences that had begun with one of the senior consultants having realized he'd forgotten all of the ID badges for his employees back in Calgary.


Pasky had been sent to clean up the situation and to get them a replacement set of badges so as to prevent there from being any embarrassing moments during the convention. Security was reasonably tight and provided by a third party that was known for its strictness. Also, given the nature of what their firm actually did, security was of great importance for them as well. Their firm was responsible for the geological and environmental impact assessments for the resource extraction projects of their clients. Their activities tended to draw a lot of attention from environmentalists, hence security was of a high priority.


So he first found his way to the security office where they directed him to the clerks of the convention center. From there he was directed up the chain of command until he'd eventually found the office of the person who could most directly help him. When he arrived at the door, he found a written note claiming that the person whose office this was would be away on sick leave until a week in the future.


Felicia just happened to be at her cubicle in the office, on the phone with one of the clients for the convention, handling one of their issues when she sighted Pasky. She was immediately taken by him, and how cute he looked in his shirt and tie, both of which were somewhat crooked on his large First Nations frame. She quickly talked her way through the client's problem and was off the phone before Pasky had a chance to slip away.


"Can I help you?" she yelled to him as he was about to disappear from her life out through the office  front door.


Pasky looked confused for a moment, looking around and then saw Felicia looking over the top of her cubicle. She had long auburn hair and piercing deep brown eyes and though she was barely made up, her lips and features stood out even from across the room. Her lips and eyes contrasting her fair skin.


"...uhhh... hi? I need a full set of security badges for my staff... One of our consultants seems to have forgotten them back home..." he said, looking between her and his paperwork as he approached, perhaps shyly trying to hide behind it.


"Let me see..." she said accepting his paperwork.


She quickly found the letterhead and searched the client database for that company name. A moment later she had their records up on her screen, and his his face was amongst the pictures for their security records.


"Looks like you're good. Unless you're a shape changer?" she asked him playfully.


"Me. No. Something a part of my father's folklore, but certainly not mine..." he winked at her, trying to distance himself from his ancestry.


"You too eh?" Felicia asked him, catching him off guard.


"What do you mean?" he asked her curiously, a smile on his face.


"Well my parents wanted me to go the whole nine yards with religion and everything. They weren't too happy about my seeking an education, or to find out that I was working as a nude model for sculptors, painters and other artists... to pay for my school supplies of course..." she blurted out purposely attempting to make him blush.


"That certainly... would have been something to see... so what happened?" he responded nervously adjusting his tie.


"With my parents or my modeling?" Felicia asked him.


"Both?" he asked her, sincerely interested.


"I got this job, and I still model on occasion," she replied.


"And your parents?" he asked her.


"That one's going to cost you a dinner," she responded as she clicked her mouse, sending the print job for the security badges to the server queue.


"Alright. How about seven tonight? You pick where, I'll pick you up," Pasky asked her.


"Let me think about it... Uhhhh, alright. That's a date. There's a little restaurant not far from here just off Airport Road. They have a good mix of different food. Should be a good start. I'm Felicia by the way," she responded to him.


"Felicia? Nice name and nice to meet you. I'm Paskus... actually just call me Pasky," he reached over the office barrier and shook her hand.


"Here's your badges Pasky, don't be late tonight," she smiled at him handing him a stack of freshly printed badges and plastic sleeves.


"No need to worry about that. I'll be very early if anything. Should I bring a paint brush and a canvas...?" he smiled and blushed as she watched his departure.


"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," she responded as he turned to her and waved goodbye.


He'd returned from his past memories and was once again writing his correspondence letter to the office staff when his phone rang. He quickly found his phone beside the laptop and answered it.


"Pasky here," he answered firmly.


"You'd better go down to the front of the building..." his receptionist Nadine advised him.


"Are you kidding me?" Pasky confirmed with her.


"He just got here. If you hurry you might avoid a scene like last time," Nadine urged him to take care of it.


"Alright, I'm on it but this is the absolute last time I deal with this situation. That man can be sooo unreasonable at times!" He stood with the phone still to his face, talking to her as he strode out of his office and by her receptionist station.


He ran out through the front door of their business and to the foyer by elevators. He jumped into the first one on its way down and descended the thirty floors to the main lobby and the street.


He ran as fast as he could, despite his large frame and found his way to the revolving doors. After negotiating them he was outside and running to the bicycle stands where a familiar face stood awaiting him.


"I thought I told you! You can't tie your horse here!" Pasky scolded the older man.


"Why not?" Askuwheteau asked his son.


"Because this isn't for horses! Its for bikes!" Pasky responded, his arms waving wildly as he spoke.


"One rides bikes as they do horses..." Askuwheteau responded with sound logic.


"Yes, but bicycles don't poop!" Pasky shot back at his father.


"What about that one!" Askuwheteau pointed out one of the bikes, a hybrid electric that was leaking oil onto the polished granite flooring surrounding the building.


"That's not poo. That's oil. There's a big difference," Pasky responded.


"I know. We can grow food in poo, but not oil," Askuwheteau reasoned soundly.


"Look, I don't want to get into this with you again. We'll talk right here. What do you want today?" asked Pasky of his estranged father.


"A place to tie and water my horse," Askuwheteau replied.


"...and after that?" Pasky continued, condescending the older man.


"I wanted to talk with my son, Rising Bear," Askuwheteau looked around without looking directly at Pasky.


"I'm right here. So talk!" Pasky stood his ground.


"You're not Rising Bear. You sound like him. You even look like him. But you're not him," Askuwheteau replied to his son.


"You're right! I'm Pasky! Your damned son! You just can't accept that I've gone my own path, dad!" Pasky responded honestly, his voice becoming slightly louder and more pronounced to his father for the first time in a long time.


A smile crossed Askuwheteau's face.


"Now that's my son. Rising Bear," Askuwheteau held up his hands, extending his fingers like the claws of a great bear, a mean grimace stretched across his face.


"Ok, we can talk," Askuwheteau, nudged Otaa Dabun with his elbow as if there were some kind of inside joke between the two.


Otaa Dabun whinnied, rubbing his snout on Askuwheteau's shoulder afterward.


"What do you want?!" Pasky asked his father.


"We need Rising Bear to get us knowledge. Knowledge of the ground and rocks beneath our feet. Knowledge of the weather patterns too. Knowledge of how they relate to one another with recent disasters. Can Rising Bear do this for us?" Askuwheteau asked his son.


"Stop calling me that!" Pasky insisted to his father.


"Why?" asked Askuwheteau.


"That's not my name! I'm Pasku, Pasku Mathews," his son responded.


"That only sounds like your name, but it isn't your name. Your name is Paskus Maskwa: Rising Bear! You are Paskus Maskwa! Seer into the knowledge. Medicine man of the Pikwàkanagàn Algonquins. My son," Askuwheteau plucked at the petals of his son's mind and heart.


"Look dad, the best I can do is tell you that I'm Pasky first, and Rising Bear sometimes. My wife, your daughter-in-law even jokes about that. She tells me I have breath like a Rising Bear first thing in the morning," Pasku admitted to his father.


Otaa Dabun whinnied again, laughing at Pascal's joke, and then became silent when Askuwheteau didn't follow suit.


"We'll start with the knowledge. We need that knowledge. You know as well as do I that something big is happening. You must feel it in your ancestry, for it is a legacy you cannot deny. Your world is calling you, Rising Bear. We need you. I will return in three days time with Otaa Dabun. We will come directly to your office looking for the knowledge," Askuwheteau told him as he mounted Otaa Dabun.


"Don't even attempt to bring the horse inside of the building..." Pascal yelled to his father as he trotted away.


Otaa Dabun then turned around allowing Askuwheteau to face his son from horseback.


"Then meet me here. Three days. Eleven in the morning. Bring coffee and donuts. And water for Otaa Dabun. If wife says Rising Bear has bad breath, remember to brush teeth before bed," Askuwheteau coaxed Otaa Dabun around and rode off onto across the and into an alley, disappearing from sight.


When Pasky went to return to his office, one of the security guards arrived with a shovel and pail before he got to the revolving doors, handing it to him.


"What's that for?" asked Pascal.


"That!" the security guard pointed to a pile of horse poop just beside the bike stands.


"Just like always. The younger generation cleaning up the damned shhhi... er... poop of the older generation..." Pasky set about shoveling the horse manure into the pail.



Coffee and Donuts


In the large bedroom inside of a modest suburban home, the clutter accumulated as it had every week until cleaning day in the household. A day where the occupants spent the better part of the day doing all the cleaning they'd require to stave off the clutter for another week. Despite their home being much more than what many had, the occupants had worked many hours to accumulate enough for the down payment, leaving little time for each other. 


Thankfully however, their invested time had paid off, for the mortgage they'd acquired left them with much smaller monthly installments and consequently, more time for each other. Both were career minded and motivated, and in their early thirties. As professionals in their field, they were on the front doorstep to upper management positions in their respective companies of employ.


Felicia had gone on to get her degree and was now an administrator at GeoStat Global, a subsidiary of GeoEx Global, the company which employed Pasky. She'd managed their massive data center for the last six years and had quickly risen to the position of senior administrator, with only a management position left to achieve in her career path. She, like her husband, was making good income despite the trying economic climate that currently affected the country, but as it was with all challenges, the two had taken on the difficulties directly and had come out on top.


Their children Sandra and Gordon had recently gradutated from kindergarten, an event that Felicia and Pasky had celebrated with them by holding a mini-graduation party. Come September, they'd be starting grade school, attending a local public school where they'd begin a much different journey than the one their father had taken to achieve his acumen and standing in society.


Pasky's path had been a difficult one, despite society's advances with regard to confronting the ignorance and stigmas often associated with his heritage. A heritage that he'd been running from for his entire life. His mother, while she had been alive was a respected member of the Pikwàkanagàn Algonquins, where she held a position in the tribal council as well as a clerical management position during the era of its modernization.


His father however was a very different story and one that Pasky had done his best from which to distance himself. His father had abandoned him and his mother, for a life of the ongoing party. For a life of alcohol consumption and constant drunkedness. A life of pursuits of immediate gratification. He'd never laid roots in any one place for long, for when people had come to know him, he'd often be sent from the place in flight and never allowed to return. This is the father that Pasky had known despite his only ever having met him few times over the course of his life. It was an ill repute that influenced every decision in Pasky's life and his effort to distance himself from his own ancestry from the moment of his mother's death.


Pasky lay in bed now, a television remote in his hand as he flicked through the channels in search of something to watch, while beside him, Felicia sat reading author Mona Awad on her tablet. A calm night in their community despite it being the same Friday that Askuwheteau had shown up to embarass Pasky at his workplace. Come the upcoming Monday, Pasky would have to meet the man again despite his not having made up his mind as to whether to share the data requested of him.


"How's the book?" asked Pasky of his wife.


"Its good. Very different," she responded, suddenly drawn out of the fantasy world in her consumption of fiction and to the fantasy world of the dream life she'd found with her life partner.


Pasky didn't respond, but instead changed the channel a few more times.


"Something wrong?" Felicia asked him, suddenly aware of her partner's tension.


"No. Just channel surfing..." he lied, another few minutes of silence between them.


"So what was it like?" he continued, very obviously digging at her for something, though at the same time drawing more of her into himself, perhaps to help him with his internal struggle.


"What? What was what like?" she asked him as she continued to read.


"You know. To be naked. In front of everyone. For them to see you as you are?" Pasky asked her thoughtfully.


"Hmmm. Well that's a deep question for a calm Friday night in front of the television," she smiled, turning to face him as she lowered her tablet.


"Seriously. What's it like?" he turned to her, and she could see in his eyes that something was bothering him.


"Well. For one thing, they're artists and most have a very focused and objective attitude towards their subject, but a subjective attitude towards their canvas," she replied to him, and he seemed somewhat puzzled by her response.


"Care to elaborate on that?" he asked her with a beleagered smile on his face.


"Sure, but I think you got that intuitively, but I'll explain it if you'd like?" she responded.


"Could you? I think I need to hear what you're saying, as much as I need to hear your voice," Pasky replied thoughtfully.


"Fair enough. They're not looking at me. They're looking at my form, and this took me a little bit of getting used to, but the two are very different. One is like an outer shell. One percent of me. While the other is the whole, hidden behind the shell. Most artists focus on the posture and especially the eyes, because that's where they get the clues about the ninety-nine percent of the whole, which is what inspires the interpretive nature of subject driven art," Felicia explained to him in the manner of a woman completely comfortable with her nudity and her body.


"So the eyes are the easy way to that ninety-nine percent...?" asked Pasky astutely.


"Absolutely. Its the most obvious way there. But the more courageous? They focus on other cues about that nature, and the real artistic masters can paint the most alluring and daring paintings without the eyes appearing in the painting at all. Van Gogh? Monet? Rembrandt? They did so many times. So, what I'm saying is, that when you're in front of students of art, you're rarely fully exposed even though you're completely naked," Felicia explained to her husband.


There was another minute of silence between them as they lay there in bed together. An unfinished page of her reading on her laptop on the tablet that lay on her lap. The remote between them now as Pasky's hands found their way behind his head as he pondered his wife's words.


"So what's bothering you?" Felicia continued.


"Him," he responded.


"Your dad?" she asked him.


"He showed up at work today. It was embarassing, not to mention it undermined my credibility significantly with my staff," Pasky spoke, looking off in the direction of nothing in particular but his recall of the day.


"I take it he brought his horse?" confirmed Felicia.


"I had to shovel horse poop from the front of the building in front of the entirety of the security staff. I was the laughing stock of the day," Pasky recalled, shuddering at his memory thereof.


"So what did he want?" Felicia asked him, turning over onto the side of her hips as she leaned back against the headboard of their bed.


"Data," Pasky replied.


"Like, data, data? People? Identity data?" she confirmed with him, as that was a constant threat risk in her field.


"No. Survey data. Geological mostly, but a large swatch of data connected to a biome of wild land just east of Bracebridge. A wild park of all things. Bigwind Lake Provincial Park. If I share it with him, that'd be enough grounds to get me fired," Pasky responded to Felicia.


"He's doing this for activists?" she confirmed with him.


"Who knows. He'd do anything to get the money for another bottle, including sell out the environment and his own son. He's the entire reason there is a stigma against the Indigenous peoples. Men like him drink. Other outcast men and women like him are into destructive narcotics. Ĉiᐧpayaᐧpoᐧsw. Evil spirits that infest the body. They're a disgrace. To everyone," Pasky responded.


"Was he drunk when he came to your workplace?" asked Felicia.


"No. I couldn't smell anything on him, but that might be a sign that he's out of money and is looking for a way to get some to pay for it. Booze I mean," Pasky responded.


"So what are you going to do about his request?" asked Felicia of him, trying to diffuse the issue she saw as the most potentially damaging one to his life and future.


"I don't know. What do you think I should do. I'm not asking you because I want to make you responsible for my choices. I'm asking you because I trust you. I trust that instinct and wisdom you seem to possess in droves. I mean, I didn't only marry you because of your curves, which are very tasty I might add," Pasky said to her tactfully.


"I know. We'll get to that. But first, you need to make a choice about this data. Do you share it with him, or do you deny him of it? There is a third choice however," she reminded him, having been actively involved in the security of her company's data since her employ.


"You're a genius. I never thought of that. If he's being so indiscriminant as to use me to pay for his habit, then why shouldn't I use him to get intelligence about the problem?" Pasky suddenly realized the solution to his dilemma thanks to his wife.


"Feed him false data to protect your company's interest, while examining the data he's requesting to learn more about what he's looking for. You're saving everyone and any situation where everyone wins in one form or another, is a good thing," Felicia smiled as she responded.


"You know, I've got a brilliant wife," Pasky rolled over with his large frame and peered at his wife, who batted her eye lashes at him most flirtatiously.


"What are nude model wives for other than solving their family's challenges?" Felicia asked of him, shimmying closer to him as she remained on her side, the two of them focused upon each other.


"So tell me. Was there ever an artist when you were a nude model that truly found that real ninety-nine percent of you?" he asked her.


"I hate to admit it, but yes... there was," she responded, looking despondently off into the distance.


"Who?" Pasky asked her,  a slight hint of uncertainty in his eyes.


"A rather charismatic and cute pick-up artist," she replied, returning her gaze to his.


"Who?!!!" Pasky pressed her.


"You," she smiled at him as she moved towards him.


The two of them moved closer and their lips met in a kiss they'd not experienced since they'd first met.


...


The weekend had passed quickly, especially given Pasky's newly found resolve. For him it was a family weekend and one that they'd spent together, even visiting a nearby mini-putt and a Sunday dinner at a nearby restaurant and that was just their Saturday.


Later that same Saturday they as a family cleaned their home from top to bottom before Sandra and Gordon retired for the night, tired from their adventurous day with their family.


On Sunday, Pasky logged into the GeoEx Global intranet and began compiling the data that his father had requested, studying it very carefully as he did. When he was finished this process, he created a fake dataset, based upon what he'd read and then stored it upon a flash drive which he intended to give to his father.


However, his pursuit of this situation did not stop there. He now had a chance to earn credibility within his company of employ, for with his knowledge of this plot, he could pro-actively act as an outside operative for the company and gain valuable intelligence against whatever activist group was attempting to compromise his company's infrastructure. He could use his own father as a weapon against the enemy, as much so as they'd obviously been using his dependency upon alcohol against him for their purposes.


When Monday morning came around, he arrived at his work place and immediately set about gathering and analyzing the data his father had requested, even using the company AI to help him digest it all though even that did little to help him understand its significance. He wasn't a geologist or biologist for that matter, as he'd focused on developing his business management skills earlier in life, always having had his sights set on a corner office in the corporate division.


The data itself consisted of focused geological and environmental maps concentrated on the Bigwind Lake region just east of the town of Bracebridge. There was also data that included a breakdown of mineral deposits in the area and their corresponding percentages and densities. Most of this data was used by the company for analysis of potential extraction sites, based upon the value of such minerals. 


He himself knew that the company had no future plans for the region, though that might change if a potentially valuable source of minerals were located by prospectors. They too would heavily rely upon this kind of data in order to know where to look for such minerals, such as nickel, copper, silver and gold.


He exported the data and put it on his phone. Afterwards, he had the AI synthesize artificial data of the region, which he then exported to a company tablet, which he'd purchase himself from the accounting department and have it removed from fixed assets. That tablet would be what he'd give his father, and with it they could track his location via GPS if it came to that. Pasky wanted to know what his father wanted with this data and so his plan was to accompany the man to its point of delivery. He told his secretary that he'd be out of the office for the day on important company business.


He'd packed a bag with a change of casual clothes and a pair of designer boots he assumed he might need if they were venturing into the out back. Perhaps, by the day's end, he'd get to the bottom of this mystery and be a company hero to boot.


At eleven o'clock, he was waiting outside of the building. There he stood with a tray of two Timmy's coffees and a box of Timbits in one hand, and his utility bag in the other.


Into The Rough


Pasky had been standing out front of the office tower off of Bay Street and Grosvenor Street, watching and listening for any tell tale signs of his father's approach. He'd long since put the bag down on the polished granite walkway and checked his watch many times since his father's tardiness has surpassed the half-hour mark.


Just when he was ready to give up and return to his office, he heard the man's familiar voice from behind him.


"What took you so long Rising Bear? If I'd have had to wait another minute, I might have left on my own. Left it to the great spirits of the sky to find a way," Askuwheteau spoke from behind Pasky, who then turned to face his father who was now seated at one of the benches that lined the pillars just out front of the tower.


"I've been here since ten forty-five, and I did not see you anywhere. You can't live your life like that, dad. Being late for everything?" Pasky spoke firmly, walking over to where Askuwheteau was seated, offering him one of the coffees, which was now slightly warm at best.


"Timmy's? Mmmm. Timbits too. Good city food, but we're going deep into the rough," Askuwheteau replied, accepting the coffee, taking the tab from its top and sipping it back in much the same way that one might have done so with a can of beer.


Pasky sat beside his father, passing him the bag of Timbits.


"So. Did you bring it?" asked Askuwheteau.


"The data? Yep. Its all right here," Pasky handed him a tablet computer.


"Is it written on this place mat? I don't seem to see any writing on it," Askuwheteau examined the thin tablet, looking for any sign of writing on it. When he came up empty, he casually placed it on the bench beside him.


"Not good to me without the data," he responded to his son.


"Are you kidding me? That's a computer. A tablet dad! Not a place mat. It has all of the data inside of it. Open the lid like this..." Pasky grabbed the tablet and showed his father, opening the tablet lid and scrolling the display with his fingers through a set of maps and the corresponding data he'd synthesized.


"Like toilet paper. That's a long roll hidden inside of there to keep all of that tatanka caca there like that," Askuwheteau responded, almost as if he was calling Pasky's bluff.


"Its not toilet paper dad. Its your data!" Pasky pushed the bluff, backing it entirely until his father apparently bought it.


"The sign of a good son. A timid bear, good at getting lots of writing into small places. A good skill to have. We'll need it there. The data you managed to fit in this thing with your tiny writing," Askuwheteau calmly closed the lid on the tablet and slid the device into one of the various pouches that lined his outfit.


"Where? Where are you taking this data?" Pasky asked his father, taking the final sip of his coffee.


"Into the rough," Askuwheteau replied, sipping the last of his coffee too, then standing from the bench with the bag of Timbits.


"Do you mind?" Askuwheteau gestured to the last Timbit in the bag.


"Its yours dad," Pasky responded.


"Good. I'll need it. Good sweet energy," Askuwheteau responded, taking their refuse over to the nearby recycling area and sorting it out and putting it in its corresponding bin.


"So when are we leaving?" asked Pasky, now anxious to leave and have done with this job, already feeling repugnant of spending so much time with the man.


"Soon. We're just waiting for some people," Askuwheteau explained to Pasky as he sorted the recycling.


"Who? Your environmentalist friends?" asked Pasky.


Their conversation was interrupted by a long and horrendous skidding sound as two large utility vehicles screeched around the corner and just out front the building. A group of men clad in designer suits and brandishing submachine guns poured out of the vehicles, both charging in the direction of Askuwheteau and his son.


 One of them leveled his firearm at Pasky, pulling the trigger and releasing a spray of bullets in the younger man's direction.


Askuwheteau immediately pushed Pasky's head aside, as the rounds plunged into the granite tile lining the pillars behind them. He quickly pulled the tablet from his belt pouch and used it to shield his son's head from the debris flying from the shattered tiles.


"Here they are. I think they're a little upset seeing as I stood them up," Askuwheteau informed Pasky.


"How the heck are we getting out of this?" asked Pasky, now panicked and on his feet, looking for a direction in which to flee.


"Like this," Askuwheteau said calmly, whistling with his index finger and thumb thrice in high- pitched succession.


A large horse came speeding from around the corner, its brilliant white mane flowing in the morning sun as it came sliding to a stop before Pasky and his father.


In one swift motion, Askuwheteau was upon the beast's back and with reigns in hand. Just as another of the suited men opened fire on his son, he offered his weathered hand, and the two grasped as he pulled his son upon the rear of his steed Otaa Dabun, another blanket of rounds plunging themselves into the wall in front of which Pasky had just been standing.


"Sorry about the damage to your company's totem," Askwheteau gestured to the pillar, as he coaxed Otaa Dabun westward, before forcing his heels into the horse's side and spurring him to leap forward out onto Wellesley Avenue and into the early mid-day traffic.


The men in suits quickly poured into their heavy utility vehicles and sped after Askuwheteau, Pasky and their mount, Otaa Dabun.


"You can't do this dad!" Pasky yelled at his father.


"Son. I hate to tell you this, but I already am," Askuwheteau responded, the horse's hooves digging deep into the asphalt as it ploughed forward through the centerline of the road along Grosvenor and towards the upcoming intersection at Queen's Park Crescent East.


Behind them the utility vans sped in their direction, swurving and avoiding oncoming traffick as they struggled to catch up with their quarry.






"Take 'em down! Quick! Before they get away!" ordered a man in the front passenger seat of the lead utility van.


Three of the men with submachine guns immediately leaned out of their windows, seated on the ledge of their doors, aiming their weapons in broad daylight as they opened fire on the rider, passenger and horse alike.


At that exact moment, Askuwheteau coaxed the horse into a hard right hand turn, Otaa Dabun digging his horse shoes deep into the asphalt and forcing them all into a sharp lean to their right. The rounds from the gunfire plunged into a tree on the opposite side of the intersection, just around the corner from Queen's Park, in which direction the horse fled.


The utility vans sped, skidding across the intersection and unwilling to make the same turn into oncoming traffick that Askuwheteau, Pasky and Otaa Dabun had just made, instead continued with the flow of traffick in a clockwise direction to where they'd attempt to catch Askuwheteau on the other side of Queen's Park.


"Where the heck are you going?!!!" Pasky demanded to know of his father.


"Away from the fire sticks of those men! You like that plan?" Askuwheteau responded, then confirming with his son just as a slew of rounds barely missed his head.


"Great plan! I'm with ya on that! Totally!" Pasky responded, looking over to the utility vans which disappeared on the far side of Queen's Park Crescent as Askuwheteau guided Otaa Dabun head on into the direction of oncoming traffick.


The horse suddenly leapt upward, and over an oncoming vehicle. A convertible sports car whose driver watched as Otaa Dabun flew overhead, landing just behind it and then dodging sharply to the left as the trio made their way onto the grounds of Queen's Park and into the brush.


Several people walking the paved path into Queen's Park along which they rode dove out of the way. Students and a jogger or two, all of them off to the side and into the grass to avoid a collision with the agile Indigenous draft horse whose muscles flexed as it ran them all to safety.


They came to a central focal point in the path, where Askuwheteau coaxed Otaa Dabun to a sliding stop right before a large statue of a man similarly riding a horse.


"Aaniin!" Askuwheteau declared in respect to the statue rider and his mount, Pasky immediately noticing the King Edward Plaque before the monument. 


"Isn't he the enemy?" asked Pasky from behind Askuwheteau.


"Any man who is a horse friend, and has not been thrown from the beast, is probably a good man. As a horse, you learn a lot about the men whose weight you carry on your back. Good horse. Good judge of character," Askuwheteau responded. 


"What about them?!!!" Pasky pointed to the men in the utility vans, who'd just pulled up into the park grounds and were now speeding towards them regardless of what lay in their way.


 "They were thrown from horse's back a long time ago. That's why they drive horseless carriages. We need to flee. Here. Sniff this. It will help you to know the lies from hidden truth," Askuwheteau handed him a pouch of what appeared to be snuff.


Pasky took the pouch, opening it and having no hand free to grab a pinch, he shoved the opening to his face and sniffed deeply until...


The Living Wild




Pasky's perception was a haze of fog and a crowd of memories all fighting for the front lines of his awareness. He could not be certain as to whether he was dreaming or on the brink of awakening, the sharp pungent scent of the snuff his father had given him still fresh in his nasal cavities and sinuses. Enough so that water pooled in the corners of his eyes as he leaned up to peer at his surroundings.


As he leaned up, the sharp end of an old dried branch fallen from the trees surrounding him, poked into his side and for the first time since his waking, he realized that he was naked upon the forest floor.


"Dad?" Pasky cried aloud, cupping his hands over his member and family jewels as he struggled to get to his feet.


When there was no answer, he smirked and spat at the ground.


"That's just great! He stripped me of everything just to pay for another bottle, leaving me to die of exposure out here. Why didn't I see this coming!" he cursed aloud, as he walked cautiously around the side of the nearest tree, keeping his backside to the trunk as he did.


"Hey! Watch it!" a tiny gruff voice emerged from behind him.


Pasky quickly spun around to see a tiny black bear cub, leaning against the tree, a branch held precariously in one of its paws.


Pasky looked at the animal for a second, which returned his glance innocently enough, flaring its nostrils once or twice as it did.


"Couldn't have been..." Pasky shook his head, and then leaned from side to side, trying to see if someone was hiding on the other side of the tree. 


Someone who would of course had been the source of the voice he'd just heard. When he was satisfied that there was nobody around, he stopped and fell backwards onto his rump once again, looking at the bear cub, a bewildered look on his face.


"Want some?" asked the bear cub, offering a sampling of the blue berries still hanging on to the branch from which he was plucking them in bundles of two and three.


"Come on... You've got to be joking," Pasky said aloud, still looking for another source for the little bear's voice.


"Alright. They're good you know. Season's end. When they're the freshest and most plump. Very sweet too," the little bear cub nibbled a few more from the same branch, then once again extending the branch in offer to Pasky.


"He drugged me..." Pasky responded.


"Who?" asked the bear cub.


"My father. He drugged me, left me here hallucinating while he sped off on his horse to get himself a bottle," Pasky responded to the bear cub.


"That doesn't sound like a very fatherly thing to do. So the question is, why would he do that, and on the other side of the river from that question, why would you believe he'd do that?" asked the bear cub as it continued to nibble at the last of the berries.


"Are you some kind of psychoactive figment of my imagination? Maybe like a therapist or some other illusion of persona I'm projecting onto you?" asked Pasky, shaking his head a couple of times to be sure.


"Avoiding the questions altogether. So this is something you'd rather not face, because no matter the answer, you'll never be happy with the result. The solution therefore, is to answer both questions honestly, and then find the real true answers and face them with a heart full of courage," the bear cub stripped the last of the berries from the branch and discarded it.


"Huh. Therapy from a bear cub while naked in the middle of a forest... I'm definitely due for a visit to do some couch surfing with my counselor..." Pasky pondered as he felt a tap on his shoulder from behind him.


He turned to face the source of the interruption, and was greeted with the face of a large black bear, its eyes dark and fierce as its exposed canine teeth joined in the snarl directed at him.


...


Pasky woke up a second time, stifling a scream as he did. He was fully clothed in his same work blazer and tie and slacks, though his shoes were removed and drying near a camp fire. As far as he could tell, they were in the middle of a darkened forest, the smell of a nearby bog leaving its pungent mark upon his senses.


As he leaned upward, a sharp pain worked its way through his side and then up to his throbbing head.


"You're awake? Good to see. I thought you might be dead. In a coma. I was readying my tools to bury you," Askuwheteau turned to face his son, a half assembled hand trowel still in his grip as he sat by the fire.


"Thanks... I think? What happened?" asked Pasky.


"You snuffed too much, and as we vacated the vicinity of Queen's Park, you fell from the horse and hit your head on a trunk," Askuwheteau told his son.


"Where are we?" asked Pasky.


"We're deep into the rough just east of Bracebridge," Askuwheteau repied, as he began unscrewing the trowel head from its arm.


"That's at least two hundred clicks from where we were. I was out for that long?" confirmed Pasky.


"Longer. Come, there is still much to do before we camp for the night. We must check the water of a nearby bog, and then we must secure our camp site. Be certain it remains hidden. We'll be leaving tomorrow before the Sun arrives, where we will meet with our friends," Askuwheteau told Pasky as he stood up and returned his trowel kit to Otaa Dabun's saddle bags.


Pasky spied the bag of snuff his father had given him. While Askuwheteau was distracted by Otaa Dabun and tending to his saddle bags, Pasky grabbed a sample of the snuff and threw it into a baggie he found in his coat pocket. He figured that he'd have it tested when they got back to see if his father had drugged him or not.


"So who were those men chasing us? Are you in trouble?" asked Pasky.


"No. Not at all. Isn't everyone shot at by men in three piece suits? Its like black flies attracted to the camp fire. When you sit too close to the fire, they find you better. Easier. I guess I got too close," Askuwheteau responded blandly.


"So they aren't Police?" confirmed Pasky.


"No. I paid all of Otaa Dabun's parking tickets last month," Askuewheteau replied.


"They're not government agents, are they?" Pasky continued with his line of questioning.


"No. They have nothing to do with the government," Askuwheteau responded, returning from Otaa Dabun and taking a seat in front of the fire.


"Are you in trouble with any gangs?" asked Pasky.


"No. They aren't from gangs. Not the kind you're thinking," Askuwheteau pulled a tuft of something from his vest pocket, and tossed it into the fire.


The fire momentarily sparkled and fizzled in multiple colours and then returned to its regular colour and texture. This time, far less smoke emerged from it and the smoke that did, had barely any scent at all.


"You need to get your shoes, we're going to take a look for something in a bog," Askuwheteau looked deep into the fire and then to his son Paskus Maskwa.


"Alright. I'll try out those new boots I brought," Pasky replied.


"They're in your pack near the horse's ass," Askuwheteau directed him.


"Are we taking Otaa Dabun...?" asked Pasky.


"No. We'll go on foot. Quickly, before the Sun falls. I'll wait while you put your boots on," Askuwheteau said as he took another pinch from his pocket, and threw it into the fire.


The flames fizzled and shrunk until there was only tiny pieces of glowing embers.


Pasky struggled to get his boots on, even using Otaa Dabun to balance himself as he stood on one foot, but every time he leaned on the horse, it stepped away from him and then watched him fall over, even whinnying as if laughing at him.


"There goes my suit. Its going to cost me a fortune to get this cleaned," Pasky griped as he stood from the mud.


"You think that suit makes you something, do you?" asked Askuwheteau of his son.


"Yes. Where I work, back in civilization, two hundred clicks from out-house country here, when I wear this suit, I'm a real somebody. See this? Its my power tie!" Pasky fumbled with his tie as he put his foot to the ground after using a nearby tree to put his second boot on.


Askuwheteau nodded affirmatively, a slight look of calm skepticism on his face as he walked over to his son.


He reached out and grabbed the tie by its end, and began pulling his son, leading him forward like a dog on a leash.


"Yes. There is lots of power in this tie. The power to lead you where ever I want. Its not a power tie. Its a leash. A harness," Askuwheteau said to Pasky calmly, then letting go of his tie.


Otaa Dabun at that moment scoffed at Askuwheteau, blowing air from his nostrils in disgust at Askuwheteau. Otaa Dabun then glared at him, perhaps looking right through him.


"You see? When two or more of you figure that out at the same time, then we'll have labour problems," Askuwheteau responded wisely to them.


Askuwheteau walked over to Otaa Dabun and pulled an small shiny red apple from one of the saddle bags. He then fed it to his friend, who happily consumed it core and all, barely chewing it. Askuwheteau patted Otaa Dabun's neck gently, as if to let his friend know that he meant no ill by his words, and the horse immediately understood him.


"When you both realize that its you who wield the harness, then balance will be returned to the nature of things," Askuwheteau paused.


"Until then, I'll hold your harnesses," Askuwheteau turned and led Pasky on their journey into the bog.


Cattails, Swamp Grass And A Miracle


Askuwheteau walked ahead of his son, his foot always falling in exactly the right place and as such, he neither sank into the muck nor found himself in the tangle of stinging nettles or poison ivy. His step was confident, without pause and yet barely attended by him. As if he and nature both were managing his safe progression.


Pasky on the other hand, was struggling to keep up, his foot constantly sinking into the soft clay and water permeated mud, a horrible sucking sound echoing forth as he lifted his feet at every step. His boots too were being put to the test, though nature was winning that battle for his boots were designed to give the impression of one who delved into the wild, but in truth had never been there. To Pasky, his boots were merely an extension of his denial of his heritage. He wore it when it could potentially get him ahead, giving him an edge against others competitively, but the moment after, discarding it in the shame of his ignorance of it and his father.


He was so caught up in the immense effort of walking in the bog that he'd barely noticed his father's ease and grace of step, and therefore had neither the example nor inclination to learn from it.


Askuwheteau suddenly lowered himself to a squatting position, his rump just barely above the mud and his eyes just above the line of swamp grass that surrounded them. He put his finger to his lips and shushed his son:

"Shhhh!" the sound came from his lips, perhaps like leaking swamp gas.


"What?" Pasky spoke so quietly he could barely be heard.


Askuwheteau pointed to a outcropping of land, a small island in the depth of the water to where a tiny tree had somehow managed to grow from this small patch of land.


Pasky watched it, wondering if his father wasn't hallucinating from his snuff mixture and the withdrawal of alcohol Pasky had imagined to be an issue of his father's life.


They sat there quietly, watching this tree in the middle of the bog, and then something miraculous happened. It moved.


A pointed oriface suddenly emerged from its trunk, like a protractor opening and it quickly became apparent that this was not a tree at all, but a significally large bird. The patients and grace of its motion was almost unimaginable, and yet the remainder of its body perfectly still. As if a tree and bird had somehow merged.


The motion of its head suddenly stopped, its long beak and the soft skin of its chin and neck very much apparent, and then without equal of effort, it moved so fast that to both Askuwheteau and his son, it could be said that it didn't move at all.


The fish it had caught, just appeared there, struggling to free itself from the vice grip of its beak. The rest of the bird's body remained perfectly still as the fish fought with all of its strength for its life. The bird stood motionless as the fish flailed, and then like a master chef flipping a pan full of delicately cooked eel, the bird flipped the fish in the air, catching it perfected elongated in the exact direction it needed to in order to consume it nearly in one gulp. And that was it.


The bird then took to the air just as quickly and in those short few moments, Pasky had felt like he'd witnessed a miracle.


"She's feeding her young. She'll cough up bits of the fish for her chicks, and soon there will be more of them doing the same when they're big enough. The chewed parts from the fish, the bird guano, and the fallen feathers, all of it will fall to the bog, and become part of the great cycle," Askuwheteau explained to his son.


"The forest and jungles of the world are the lungs of nature, breathing in the air harmful to us, and exhaling good air for us to breath. The bog, is nature's organs and guts. Cleaning the water and the soil. The fish, the Large Mouth Bass, and the bird, the Great Heron, they both play their part," Askuwheteau explained to his son.


"You'd never see that in the city!" Pasky responded, quietly in awe.


"No my son. That's where you're wrong. Different place. Concrete forest. Horseless carriages that cough soot. Its all around you, everywhere. You just choose not to see it. The pidgeons. The squirrels and chipmunks. The raccoons. The swallows. The warblers. They too are a part of their biome in the city, and every day this happens right in front you, in plain sight. But you refuse to see it, and because of this, we might someday lose it all," Askuwheteau replied to his son.


"Why do you always find something to criticize about me dad?!!! Something about me that pushes me down!" Pasky challenged his father.


"You look down upon me, and ask why I'm trying my best to push you up? You think that its the people who tell you what you want to hear that are helping you? You are Rising Bear. You are not give no thoughts, words, or efforts for the future, nor are you not give two cares about the world around you Mediocre Bear. I will not be here soon forever, and I want you my son, to know. To live, the best of what you mean to your wife. Yourself. Your tribe. This world. If I cannot help you find this, then I have failed as a father," Askuwheteau said to Pasky most poingnantly and yet without condescension or despair.


"Look. Why don't we just get this over with! Lets get this done, whatever damned reason you dragged me out here into Ontario's natural toilet, so I can get home and continue my life of forgetting you altogether like the shame I always knew you were," Pasky responded.


"Your words don't hurt, for they're not truth. You paid nothing for the gift of your life, and to waste it is to spit in the face of Gitchi Manitou. You're just working to avoid the weight of your own ignorance, dumping your shame upon others who'd shoulder it as part of a farcical economy of illusion and scam. Lets go where we need to, take a reading of the water, and be returned back to camp so that I may return you to your life of false purpose. Where suits are status and ties are symbols of power, which are really just another piece of a grand lie," Askuwheteau responded standing up and resuming his steps further into the bog until they'd arrived at a point someone had marked earlier with a green ribbon wrapped around an outcropping of cattails.


"Who marked this place?" asked Pasky.


"I did. Three weeks ago," Askuwheteau responded, pulling a tiny empty jar from his pouch and dipping it into the water until it was full.


He then found another bottle from a pocket on his vest, and pulled forth a capsule from within, and dropped one of them into the water he'd just sampled from the swamp. He shook the bottle and then pocketed it, taking another empty bottle and filling it with more of the bog water, after which he dropped a piece of litmus paper into it, measuring the water for its alkilinity.


As Askuwheteau went through the tasks at hand, Pasky noticed a canteen dangling from his father's side. He grabbed it, and asked his father a question.


"What's in this?!!!" Pasky asked accusingly.


"Alcohol," Askuwheteau responded dryly.


"So you are drinking, aren't you?" Pasky accused him.


"Every day," Askuwheteau replied honestly.


"I knew it! How long as this been a problem?!!!" Pasky demanded to know of his father.


"My entire life," Askuwheteau responded.


"Damn! You're exactly what I thought! You give such a bad name to our people!" Pasky came back at his father, perhaps resenting what his father had revealed about his own life.


"What? You think water is bad?" asked Askuwheteau.


"This is alcohol!" Pasky ripped the canteen from his father's shoulder.


"It is. For wounds and disinfection. Not for drinking. I drink. Water. Lots of it too. It is the nectar of life. Sometimes as much so as a good cold beer, but I never put beer ahead of water or food," Askuwheteau responded.


"So let me get this straight. You mean that the drinking problem you've had for your whole life is water? And yet you openly admit to drinking beer?" asked Pasky of him skeptically.


"You said drinking water for my whole life was a problem. Not me. As far as beer or liquor, I drink very seldom. Not as a need, but as a treat," Askuwheteau admitted to his son.


"So you do admit it!" Pasky accused him once again.


"And you don't?" asked  Askuwheteau.


"...this isn't about me!" Pasky suddenly found himself on the defensive.


"Answer the question. You don't?" asked Askuwheteau, once again pressing the issue.


"Felicia and I enjoy a bottle of wine together with every Sunday meal, and I have a few beers on Saturday. I mean I've worked hard throughout the week. I deserve it, and you..." Pasky was about to accuse his father of something he'd only recently realized would be a lie if the words left his lips.


"And you believe that I don't work hard. That I'm just a wandering drunk, doing nothing but looking for a way to pay for another bottle. Correct?" confirmed Askuwheteau.


Before Pasky could respond, Askuwheteau continued.


"When you do it, it isn't wrong. When others do it, its wrong. On this day, I only know you as Disgraceful, Disrespectful and Dishonest Bear. You judge before you know. I'm done here. We will return to camp, and stay the night. After tomorrow's meeting with my trusted friends, you are free to go and to never return. I will bother you no more," Askuwheteau pocketed the two samples of water he'd collected, and stepped past Pasky without making a sound.


As his father's steps were slight and gracefully forward, Pasky's boots for the entire return trip to the camp, were a constant source of restraint and suction, holding him in place, almost as much so as his attitude had for his entire life.


To be continued...

Credits and attribution:

I am a man of the water and a man of the see

Thank you to the Proto-Algonquin online dictionary, a great source of reference and education to many of the aspects of creating this adventure.

Thank you to the Pikwàkanagàn Algonquins for their incredible web site, which was a grand reference into the history of their culture and its importance throughout Canada.

Thank you both the Deepai.org and Photopea.com, without whom the title art would not have been possible.

I collaborated with Google Gemini, Grok and DeepSeek AI to come up with the title to this brand new episodic content, and all three contributed to the process, yet DeepSeek somehow managed to do it ever so poetically and with the mind of an artist and writer. We need more poetic thinkers in AI. Think Jodie Foster's enigmatic scene in the movie adaption of Carl Sagan's and Anne Druyan's Contact and you'll know exactly what I mean. In fact, watch the entire movie! The world needs that right now!

Special Thanks To Rocket Fuel Lakeshore Blvd West, perhaps the best place in history to get a coffee, circa 2001-2004. Miss you all very much.

Artwork: Amy Wong, Wendy Pusey, Ghastly, Birdman, Brian Joseph Johns, Daz3D, Unreal Engine...

Tools: Daz3D, Corel Painter, Adobe Photoshop, Lightwave 3D, Blender, Stable Diffusion (Easy Diffusion distribution), InstantID, Sadtalker, Google Colaboratory, Microsoft Copilot (Windows 11), Hitfilm, PhotoPea (a great web based Photoshop stand-in if you're on a low budget or in a pinch), Deepai.org, Google AI Studio, Borderline Obsession...

DeepSeek AI for suggestions on exercises to improve aspects of describing scene and settings with a more sensory focused grammar.

InstantID by: Wang, Qixun and Bai, Xu and Wang, Haofan and Qin, Zekui and Chen, Anthony. Research Paper Title: InstantID - Zero-shot Identity-Preserving Generation in Seconds.

Sadtalker by: Zhang, Wenxuan and Cun, Xiaodong and Wang, Xuan and Zhang, Yong and Shen, Xi and Guo, Yu and Shan, Ying and Wang, Fei.
Research Paper Title: SadTalker: Learning Realistic 3D Motion Coefficients for Stylized Audio-Driven Single Image Talking Face Animation.

Gratitude: Our Mentors, Senseis, Sifus, Sebomnims, lifetime inspirations, family, friends, the Nomads (ask Stanton about that one), the Music, the Movies, the Theatre, the Arts, ASMR, (both YouTube and Bilibili and the many other creators on those platforms), the Gaming and Developer communities and of course, the audience.

Martial Arts (in the words of real experts and at least one comedian): https://brucelee.com (home of the real Dragon and an entire family of inspirations), http://iwco.online International Wing Chun Organization (International presence of a very scalable intensity martial art, protected and developed by Shaolin Nun Ng Mui) and the alma mater of Jinn Hua's own specialized variation thereof, https://iogkf.com International Okinawan Goju-Ryu Karatedo Federation (even Hanshi had his teachers), https://itftkd.sport International Taekwondo Federation (Here there be Taegers), https://tangsoodoworld.com Tang Soo Do World (the path of Grandmaster Chuck Norris), https://www.aikido-international.org International Aikido Federation (how else would Navy Chef Steven Seagal liberate a Nimitz Class Aircraft Carrier from a team of hijackers?), https://www.stqitoronto.com Shaolin Temple Quanfa Institute (The City Of Toronto's own Shaolin Temple), https://www.enterthedojoshow.com Master Ken's Ameri-Te-Do presence (If we can't laugh at ourselves, then we can at least laugh the loudest at others, and other Zen)

Magic (performance, illusion and perhaps the real thing): Magic Week Archive (I'm currently growing this section so stay tuned)

Special thanks to Aitrepreneur, Mickmumpitz, Hugging Face and the YouTube educational content producers, including those catering to the AI content production pipeline and of course AlphaSignal.

Shi Heng Yi Shaolin Training For Self Mastery 
A reknowned Sifu under whose tutelage you can study the theory and practical applications of the Shaolin Arts for health, physical and mental wellbeing in every day life

Shi Heng Yi Shaolin Training For Self Mastery 
A reknowned Sifu under whose tutelage you can study the theory and practical applications of the Shaolin Arts for health, physical and mental wellbeing in every day life

Jesse Enkamp: Karate Nerd
Jesse, a reknowned Sensei who runs his own dojo, explores the world of Martial Arts, traveling to many exotic locations to meet practitioners of a variety of different arts

Sensei Rokas: Martial Arts Journey
A reknowned Sensei of Aikido who in seeking to understand the roots of Aikido and its applications, seeks to stress test its effectiveness in a number of real world situations while studying its history

Seamus O'Dowd
An extensive growing archive Katas, Techniques and Waza (mostly Shotokan)

Iaido: Train For Katana Mastery Like Samurai 
The original weapons focused curriculum under which Samurai became masters of their art

Tapp Brothers Exercise For Better Motion 
Extensive courses for calisthenics and body strength, stamina and flexibility

Special thanks to Canva for inspiring other creators and giving them the tools

Special thanks to Captain Crunch and his wonderful sister!

Special thanks to Bandcamp for giving indie music artists a home under one roof

Something to give you perspective: The very first teacher had no formal education, didn't graduate and was self taught, but only because they had no other choice. We do.

This content is entirely produced in Toronto, Ontario, Canada at 200 Sherbourne Street Suite 701 under the Shhhh! Digital Media banner.







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