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Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Is It Illusion Or Reality?

As the main character in a fictional novel called Johnny Oops who is suffering under the delusion that I am real, I know a lot about the difference between illusion and reality. After all, I am the author of this piece.

Some of you may suffer under the illusion that you are real, but I am here to put forth the proposition that it is you that is suffering under an illusion. You are operating in a dream like state. You have deluded yourself into thinking that the space and time you occupy is real, but it really isn’t.

As Buddha would say according to my interpretation of Deepak Chopra’s statements in his new book called, BUDDHA, you have to awaken in order to be real and to find enlightenment.

How do you know that you are awake and not simply dreaming? How can you excite your senses to the point that you can redefine a new reality for yourself? These are not easy questions to answer. These are not easy problems to solve. It will take all your will and effort to awake to the new reality of life. Are you ready?

Are you ready to come out of the dreamlike state you use to pacify your existence? Are you ready to wake up to the harsh realities of life? Are you ready to fine-tune your senses? Can you see past your creature comforts, wants, and desires to achieve awareness of the realities of life?

Can you find it within you to question the true meaning of life? And if you do will you find contentment, acceptance, and enlightenment? Who amongst us really knows the answer? So many questions stand in our way to see past the self imposed illusions of our lives. So many doubts and fears keep us from confronting our own demons. Can we find the courage to begin again? Do we really want to, or would we rather keep dreaming in the illusion of reality rather than discovering the real thing – rather than discovering ourselves.

What is this deep dark secret that makes us cringe from what we know deep down in our hearts is real? Why do we insist on masking our feelings, and deluding our consciousness with a fear of awakening?

Is it the fact that we are mortal and cannot really control our own destinies? Is the truth of our weakness and humanity too difficult too contemplate?

Do we really want to spend the rest of our lives pretending to be real, when what we are is a self-created illusion? When will we find the courage to confront ourselves and wake up to the reality of the moment? Whose reality is it anyway? If not now, if not ours, when will this dream like illusion stop and reality take over?

Wake up; the silent cymbals of reality are banging incessantly in our heads. It is time to get real. It is time to wake up. It is time to take a deep breath and begin again. It is time to live life to the fullest.




Hi, I am Arthur Levine, the author of the novel Johnny Oops. To read more about Johnny and his delusion that he is writing these articles, when in fact it is me, please access: http://johnnyoops.blogspot.com

Monday, October 29, 2007

Mind Meld of The Magic Genies To Save The World

The conflict between the East And The West is coming. What can we do to stop the final bombs from falling? Is the end of times inevitable or can we find a better way?


“Stretched across the vast ineptitude of my soul, I see the ever present temptation of resurrection. I can take no more of new beginnings. Can you not see how vague is our horizon? Doesn’t the glare of mankind’s failure wrench you from your thoughts of a better tomorrow? Glorious, my irascible Magic Genie brother, where are we in the cosmic theme of things? What is there left for us to do? Standing here on a transparent cloud of nature’s quirky design, what can we hope to find in the future? When will God tell us what to do?”

“My old friend Gali, my magical soul mate, my Magic Genie brother, you are as ever the old world philosopher. We can try again. We can search for a better time. We have less than nothing else to do. We can put our minds together and deduce a new beginning, if not at the very beginning, at least not at the end of humanity. Let’s meld our purpose and share the provisions of our hearts and minds to reinstate the possible. God will give us guidance.”

“I see nothing but shadows Glorious. My thoughts are too disheartened for a meeting of our minds to do any good. Woe is me, where has all the magic gone?”

“It has left us at the entranceway of a new beginning my dear friend Gali if we can only find our way. We must try again. It is God’s will.”

“But they are all gone Glorious, all our friends, their culture, their very humanity. We cannot expect to resuscitate the civilization of mankind with our own shaky salvation.”

“ I guess Gali there is nothing left to do but have faith. What else is left to us?”

“Maybe you are right Glorious. What else can we do but have faith. I will try again with you. Come, join your thoughts with mine and we will try to begin again. Together we will resonate as one voice; one thought in our attempt with God’s help to resurrect humanity.”

“That’s the spirit Gali. After all, we are nothing if not free spirits.”

“This mind meld must be working Glorious. You are starting to sound like me.”

“And you Gali are starting to think like me. Isn’t it wonderful? Together we shall find the power for humanity’s salvation, and maybe even our own redemption. I can feel it, can’t you? The old magic is coming back. A new future is in the making. May we find a better way to be civilization’s guardians this time under God’s good grace. May we begin again.”

“Can you perceive it Glorious? Can you sense the strength returning to our spirit? Can you not see the vale of despair lifting? Where shall we start my old friend?”

“We must start before the final bombs fall Gali. We must go back in time. We must change the ending to find a new beginning.”

“I see, would that it were ever thus. Can we do this Glorious?”

“Do we have a choice Gali? What is this terrible vision I see before me? What are they waiting for?”

“They are waiting for final instructions Glorious. Here on the frozen Tundra of Siberia they are waiting for the command to let loose the final bombs that will end the world.

“Where will the orders come from Gali? What can we do to stop them? Why are they fighting?”

“They are fighting for different ways of life. They are fighting for religious principals. The orders will come from bunkers buried deep in the earth where men of fanatical endeavor will give the orders. We can only stop them if we can show them that there is no one right way. We must show them that there has got to be a better way than destroying humanity to prove whose way is right. We must reinvigorate them with the possibility of a better tomorrow. We must give them hope Glorious. And we must do so quickly. Time my old friend is not on our side this day. We will have to split up. You must go to the West. I will go to the East. We must get them to stand down. Hurry, we are almost out of time. They are about to destroy the world. There will be nothing again - no humanity, no civilization, no hope for the future. I do not believe this is how God would have it all end – that this is what he has ordained for his creation.”

“How will I know what to say Gali?”

“Remember we are of one mind Glorious. We shall know each other’s thoughts. We shall speak as one mind. Hurry, we must find a better way. God will give us the words.”
*****

Arthur Levine is the author of Johnny Oops, a novel about a young man who can’t decide if he is a prophet or a charlatan. To read more of his stories please access http://johnnyoops.blogspot.com

Sunday, October 28, 2007

GRANDMA’S SECRET POTION OF FAITH

This is a true story about my Grandma. She had a secret way of communicating with God. Johnny Oops and I, Arthur Levine, thought you might enjoy it at this time of the year.


Grandma Jenny slipped shoveling snow off the front steps of our home in the midst of a fearsome snow storm at the age of ninety-six and broke her hip. She was a feisty little woman who weighed only ninety-five pounds and stood four feet-nine inches tall. The shovel was bigger than Grandma. You might wonder why she was out shoveling snow early in the morning at her advanced age, but it was part of her stubborn and cantankerous nature. And it was a part of her tradition. She didn’t want my father going to work and getting his feet wet in the snow. It was a matter of respect for the man of the house. It was a matter of faith in her traditions. It was her way.

Grandma was from the old country – Russia to be specific. She came to the United States as a girl of fourteen traveling for fifteen days on a tramp steamer, and surviving on bread and water. She lost her provisions, her money, and her clothes on the trip over to thieves that hounded naïve, unsuspecting young girls such as her as a normal part of refugee voyages in those days. Most people though it was the work of greedy members of the crew. She arrived in this country penniless and literally with only the clothes on her back. But nothing could stop Grandma from making a new life in the land of her dreams, or bringing with her the rituals and traditions that were an innate part of her heritage, her faith in God, and of her very being.

Until she slipped and broke her hip, Grandma Jenny had always been healthy. None of us in the family could remember her having a cold. She attributed her good health to a secret potion of Elderberry Brandy that she distilled in the attic of our Georgian Colonial House. I have no idea where she got the Elderberries from or how she prepared the brew. We were never allowed up to her special place in the attic to see what she was doing. Everything that Grandma did was a secret.

Grandma had a shot of the special potion when she woke up in the morning and when she went to bed at night, that much she told us. To the best of my knowledge it was the only medicine she ever took. On rare occasions such as holidays and birthdays, we were all invited to join her for a sip of her Elderberry Brandy. I was allowed to participate from the time I was a teenager. Boy did that stuff pack a wallop. It is no wonder that Grandma was never sick. The brandy must have killed the germs. My dad didn’t really like it. He was a scotch man. My mother struggled to swallow it. She didn’t drink. We all participated in the ritual. No one in the family was about to insult Grandma Jenny. She was too tough a cookie to be trifled with. Grandma Jenny always said a prayer to God in her native tongue before taking a sip of her special potion. It was her way of communicating with God.

On one of the rare occasions when Grandma Jenny bothered to talk to me, communication was a problem since she spoke only Russian; I asked her what was so special about the secret potion? She sort of half smiled at me indicating that when I was more mature I would understand, pointing at my head. Grandma was great at the universal language of hand signals. I do understand a little Russian, but I don’t speak the language. Fortunately for me Grandma did understand English except when she chose to pretend that she didn’t. Even the dog understood Russian because Grandma fed him and he didn’t speak at all. When she called him to come and get it in Russian, he came running. No one disobeyed Grandma. The dog was a huge Boxer named Slugger. It was amazing to see him cower in front of my Grandmother, and wait for her command allowing him to eat. He sure didn’t act like that with my father or me. He once jumped up on my Dad and pushed him so hard that he fell down and dislocated his shoulder. Slugger wouldn’t dare jump up on my Grandma. The dog knew better.

After Grandma passed away, I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what was so special about her secret potion and how to make it. Grandma wasn’t big on measurements or recipes. She insisted that you just add a little bit of this and a little bit of that. This was the way she talked when someone wanted to know how to make her yeast coffee cake or her saffron laced ginger-carrot candy. Unfortunately the secrets died with her.

I think I finally have the answer when it comes to her secret potion. It wasn’t the herbs that she added. It wasn’t how high the alcohol content was. It was the love with which she made it and dispensed it to the whole family. It represented to her a melding of old traditions and new rituals. It symbolized her faith in God, and the respect she had for our family and our Country. It was a way for her to celebrate her freedom. It was her way of communicating her faith to God in a language of kindness and caring that we could all understand.

Sometimes when I sip a little brandy late at night to help calm me from the stress of the day and the threat of terrorism or natural disasters, I wonder, couldn’t we all use a little of Grandma’s secret potion to help us through these troubled times? The commercial stuff doesn’t seem to be doing the trick anymore. It lacks the tradition of caring, kindness, and love necessary to make it a special brew. It lacks that personal faith-filled touch of Grandma Jenny. It doesn’t have her tenacious character or her will to survive. It lacks respect.

There are some things that you can’t put in a bottle, smack a label on, and expect to work miracles. Sometimes you have to find the right ingredients in your own heart. Sometimes you have to distill them yourself. Sometimes the secret potion of faith is within you. Sometimes it will show you how to communicate with God.
*****

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Thanksgiving: All Alone At Home

You might well ask what’s so special about having a turkey sandwich on Thanksgiving, but it is who it came from and how it was made that’s special. In fact it was the best turkey sandwich that I Johnny Oops the prophet, and a fictional character in a novel by the same name ever had, if you can believe that. You see I was all alone at home and feeling sad and lonely.

I was resigned to spending Thanksgiving alone in Rancho Santa Fe, California. Sarhara, my wife, was visiting her father, The Kabalistic Rabbi Frenbren, in France to introduce him to our twin baby prophets – Darling and Delicious. Yes we just had baby girls; did I forget to tell you? It happened so fast. Anyway I was lonely. I don’t like feeling lonely on the holidays, what about you?

The truth is I felt lost shuffling around this huge house of mine all by myself. I had given the staff off for the holidays, and the silence was deafening. Then I heard the doorbell ring. I ran to the door my heart pulsing fast, hoping it was Sarhara back from France with my children to surprise me for the holidays, but I knew in the back of my mind that wasn’t going to happen.

I opened the door and there was Jonathan my chauffer, administrative assistant and all around good guy. I asked him why he was here in the middle of his holiday celebration.

He said, “Well Sir, you know I don’t live too far away, and the Misses thought since we had more turkey than we could possibly eat that you might like a turkey sandwich since you were home alone as it were.”

I told Jonathan that was very thoughtful of him and his wife, and asked if he would like to come in for a drink of eggnog or something. He thanked me, but said he wanted to get back to his family. I understood and wished him well and thanked him again for the sandwich.

A few hours later I felt hungry and went down to the kitchen to open the basket with the turkey sandwich. Inside a red and white checkered napkin that lined the basket was a note from his wife thanking me for all the kindness I had shown her husband over the past year. I really don’t know what she was talking about; I just try to adhere to God’s admonition to care for other people. I guess I must have done something right for a change.

Then I unwrapped what was in the basket. It contained a large sandwich made on homemade dark rye bread, cut in large diagonal slices, and stuffed with huge slabs of white meat turkey with the crispy outer skin still attached. It was slathered with the most delicious Russian dressing mixed with finely chopped sweat gherkins. It smelled great. On the side Jonathan’s wife had added plastic containers of Cranberry sauce, the most delicious sausage stuffing, marshmallow topped candied sweet potatoes, and a huge slice of homemade apple pie carefully wrapped in aluminum foil. I devoured it all not bothering to heat anything up. Frankly I am not to good around the kitchen. There is no question in my mind that this was the best Thanksgiving turkey sandwich I ever had. I only wish that Sarhara was here to share it with me.

Just as I was finishing, Sarhara called from France. She was worried that I was home alone and lonely. I told her not any more because Jonathan had just brought me a special turkey sandwich with all the trimmings, and her call was the most special holiday treat of them all. I took advantage of the holiday spirit to tell her once again how much I love her and our beautiful twin girls. She told me that she felt the same way and promised never to be away from me on the holidays again.

Sometimes it’s the little things that make a difference. Sometimes it is the kindness and caring of other people that really touch our hearts. Sometimes a simple gesture can reassure us on the holidays that our loved ones care for us, and we don’t have to feel alone. After all, God is always with us. Isn’t that the only reality that really matters?


This holiday season might be an especially good time to thank God for all the blessings He has bestowed upon us: the family and friends He surrounds us with so that we are not all alone, and the people we know who really care about us no matter how far away they are from us on the holidays.

These are the ‘words’ of your new friend Johnny Oops the prophet, and my message is that, “I care for you and wish you and yours well. You don’t have to feel alone any more. In spite of the natural disasters and acts of terrorism that afflict us, we all have a lot to be thankful for: so many new friends and loved ones to cherish, so many we haven’t even met yet, and so many acts of kindness to cherish. The best is yet to come. Isn’t life wonderful? Have a very happy and healthy Thanksgiving”
*****

MLMF (More Later My Friend)

Hi, I am Arthur Levine, the author of the novel Johnny Oops. To read more about Johnny and his fictional escapades please access: http://johnnyoops.blogspot.com

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Dealing with Fires And Other Natural Disasters

HAVE YOU FOUND YOUR FAITH?

Do you have enough faith in God to help you cope with the troubles of our time?

Are you a good and worthwhile person who is entitled to find God’s grace?

When was the last time you prayed to God for the peace of mind to make you feel secure?

Today we are bombarded by natural disasters such as fire storms, and acts of terrorism. How can we hope to cope with the insecurity of our time if we don’t have faith in God and in His goodness and mercy?

I’m not talking about the faith that we salve ourselves with by going to a Church or Mosque or Temple. I am talking about the true feelings of your heart and mind.

Are you really a person of faith?

Do you practice what is preached to you?

Are you kind and caring to other people?

Do you truly love your fellow man?

Are you willing to accept your neighbors right to believe in God in his or her own way?

It is only by answering these questions positively that we can hope to become people of faith.

It is only by trusting in God and trying to be kind and caring that we can hope to find and nourish our faith.

When we begin to have faith in God we will start to find the peace of mind we strive for. We will begin to feel the state of bliss that a true Person of Faith has. We will begin to learn how to cope with the troubles of the time we live in. We will begin to feel secure.

Are you ready to find your faith and feel wonderful?

Are you ready to have faith in God?

Hurry, God may be waiting to hear from you.
*****
MLMF (More later my friends)


These are the 'words' of Johnny Oops the prophet. They can be your 'words' too. For more articles by Johnny you can always come to http://johnnyoops.blogspot.com

Monday, October 22, 2007

Too Old To Fail Again

I know this is going to sound crazy to you, but genius prophets like me, Johnny Oops, age much more rapidly than normal folks. It’s something in our genius genes I think. They are much too aggressive. The result is that as youngsters we grow up both physically and mentally much sooner than others, and then as we hit our prime we start to age much quicker than normal people. It isn’t obvious to you in my physical appearance, but the truth is that I am actually 199 years old in purely human terms. Don’t let it worry you. I will probably be around forever, but there is always a chance that my almost infinite lifespan will be cut short by you know Who if I do something that really displeases Him.

That is why, I CANNOT AFFORD TO FAIL. Did you hear me? At my age failing again simply isn’t an option. I might not get another chance. It was okay when I was a youngster to screw up once in a while. It showed my human side, but now that I am more prophet than human, it isn’t so cute any more when I mess up. I repeat; I cannot afford to fail. The consequences are too frightful to contemplate. I could end up going to the other place instead of Heaven. I don’t want that. I have made too big a contribution to society to deserve that fate.

I tried adding up all the good things I have done the other day in case I am called upon to meet my Maker in what would hopefully be the first of many interactions. Of course I have always been God’s messenger, but this time I am afraid it might be me who is given the ‘word’. Sadly, the list of good deeds wasn’t as long as I had imagined?

What has me worried is that I am about to embark on a new project to get Hollywood to stop their sinning ways. You know my predilection for beautiful women. I am afraid I might be tempted and be unfaithful to my darling wife Sarhara. Oh, the scandal. I couldn’t take the public shame. And what would happen if my beautiful twin girl baby prophets read about my indiscretions in the newspapers. It would be too much for me to bear to see how unhappy I had made my beautiful little Darling and Delicious. It would probably ruin their political futures if they are ever to have them. But what can I do? I can’t control myself. I am a weak and craven sinner. Oh woe is me, is there no hope for me? Where is my salvation?

I went on like this for what seemed like an eternity - maybe it was, until I got the bright idea to tell my wife Sarhara of my problem. Believe it or not she decided to come with me to Hollywood and never leave my side. I don’t know if I really like this solution or not, but what choice do I have?

After thinking about it I decided that I really had no choice. I was seeking redemption, and I needed my wife’s help to find it. What about you? Are you seeking redemption? Are you getting too old to fail again? Be of good cheer. The road to salvation may very well lie in opening up to and trusting your loved ones. Don’t be afraid if your list of good deeds isn’t as long as you imagined it was. Good things come to those who believe and have faith. I don’t know how long any of us has, but let’s make the most of it. Maybe if we try really hard, the best is yet to come. Let’s find out before we get too old to enjoy
It.


Hi, I am Arthur Levine, the author of the novel Johnny Oops. To read more about Johnny and his fictional wild escapades please access: http://johnnyoops.blogspot.com

Saturday, October 20, 2007

Talking Politics With Twin Baby Prophets

Darling and Delicious, the twin baby prophets of Sarhara and her husband the prophet Johnny Oops, had a secret that they shared. Although they were only three months old, because they had genius genes, they had the minds of grown up women, and they regularly argued over politics telepathically. The trouble is that Darling was a republican, and Delicious was a democrat. They argued incessantly over conservative verses liberal points of view. Please keep in mind that their views were not those of normally mature women, but these young ladies were determined to solve the major political problems of the United States.

Darling: “We have got to do something about our long term deficit. We have got to balance the budget. Spending is going wild.

Delicious: That’s your fault. You republicans are supposed to be the ones who control the budget and are tough on spending.

Darling: We can’t help it. This war is costing a fortune

Delicious: Who started the war to begin with? I told you it’s your fault.

Darling: Protecting our people from terrorism is more important than balancing the budget.

Delicious: Now your talking like a democrat. We have to spend to protect our people. They are entitled. That’s what’s important.

Darling: It’s your damn entitlements that got us in trouble in the first place. Now see what you’ve done.

Delicious: We are going to have to cut back on foreign spending and the war to save the dollar and protect our economy.

Darling: Now look at who is talking about protectionism. I thought you are supposed to protect us against other countries, not ourselves.

Delicious: That’s not the kind of free market thinking we need. The whole world wants to be our trading partner.

Darling: Then why don’t they trade with us fairly?

Delicious: What do you want – a perfect world?

Darling: This whole discussion strikes me as a classic case of role reversal. What ever are we going to do?

Delicious: We may have to form a third party.

Darling: That would be impossible. We don’t agree on anything.

Delicious. That’s perfect, then we will fit right into the political landscape of the United States.

Darling: I guess when our forefathers fought for individual freedom they did mean it literally.

Delicious: That’s what so precious about our democracy, Darling. Let’s never forget it.

Darling: For once I agree with you, Delicious, but don’t let anyone know. They will start to think we republicans are becoming too liberal, too democratic.

Darling: As long as we both agree that it’s America first, I am happy to keep your secret.

Delicious: That’s okay, that’s a secret you can tell everyone about.

Darling: I think we both should tell everyone it’s America first as soon as we find our voices, and learn how to speak. This growing up thing can be hell. Thank goodness that in our case it is happening quicker than for most.
*****

CHAPTER 1 -- I’M A GENIUS

You can’t stop the future from happening. You can only alter the reality of it. That’s where I come in. I’m a philosopher genius. I can effect change.

My real name is Jonathan Wilbert, but everyone calls me Johnny Oops because I’m a clumsy twelve-years-old who is always knocking things over and saying, “Oops.” I may have the gangly body of a 5 foot 2 inch tall 95-pound awkward boy, but I have the mind of a genius. My I. Q. is off the wall. I’m not one of those nerdy mathematical geniuses or a piano impresario. I’m a philosopher genius on the style of Nietze or perhaps Freud. He hated mothers too, didn’t he? My father is a political science professor at Yale University. He holds some kind of Chair or something. I say why bother. My mother has a PHD from Radcliff College in Behavioral Science. She hates me because I interrupted her career; fat chance of that being the truth. She thinks I’m strange. I guess she thinks she learned something from all those liberal arts courses she took in college. I’m not strange; I’m just different. I try and act like a normal twelve-year-old boy, but it isn’t working. I hate soccer. Playing the trumpet in the band makes my lips swell up, and the idea of watching cartoons with the other kids on the block really turns me off. I’m a philosopher genius. When I grow up I’m going to be one of the leading intellects of my time. For now I have more important things to do with myself than watch Bugs Bunny say, “What’s Up Doc?” What does that mean? It’s a stupid passé children’s colloquialism that will do nothing to change the chaotic state of the world we live in and the one I have to grow up in. I can’t be expected to diddle away my precious time on such trivial pursuits. I have deep serious thinking to do. I have a contribution to make to the welfare of our society and it’s not going to be as some stupid observer of an imbecilic animation even if it’s in color and sonic vision. Deep down inside me I know I have promise. I am going to be someone special. I’m going to be a Guru of great renown. I’m a genius.

Speaking of dideling and changing things, I just had my first experience with sex. It was great. The best part is I can do it alone. I don’t need any girl to help out. I certainly don’t want to make any girl a mother. I read about how that works. The baby might turn out like my mother. I don’t want that kind of guilt on my hands. That would be awful.

“No Mom nothings wrong, I’m OK, just a little diarrhea. I’ll be out of the bathroom in a minute, I’m coming.”

Anyway, this is what happened. I woke up early because I had to pee - too much root beer before I went to sleep I guess. I passed my parents room on the way to the bathroom. The door was open and I heard sounds so I looked in. It was grotesque. They were both naked. My father was on top of my mother and he was shoving his penis into her. It must have hurt her a lot because she was moaning. My Dad looked happy. He didn’t seem to care about her pain. That’s what’s wrong with the world. Nobody seems to care about anything any more, not even when they are causing someone else pain. I noticed his penis was really swollen. I couldn’t observe for too long. The scene was making me sick and I had to pee, so I went on to the bathroom. By the time I got there something was happening to my penis. It was getting swollen like my Dad’s and I didn’t have to pee anymore so I started rubbing it. That felt good. The more I rubbed the bigger it got, and then Oops, all of a sudden it exploded. White goo flew all over the toilet seat and the wall. It was the best feeling I ever had. It was my nirvana. It showed me how terrific life could be. It gave me hope for the future. I don’t know how I knew to do that. It must be the subconscious mind of a philosopher genius asserting itself, but wow was it great. Now I finally know I have a purpose. I wanted to do it again right away, but my penis started shrinking. We geniuses have to learn to live with minor setbacks. After a while I discovered I could do it again. I just had to give it a rest. If I had my way I would spend all day in the bathroom, but the philosopher genius in me took over.

“Johnny you can’t waste all your time having sex with yourself,” I said to myself. “You have more important things to do than to spend all your time jerking off. You’ll sap your strength, and won’t be able to invent the great philosophies you have stashed away in your head. You are something special. You have a contribution to make to society. You have promise.”
So I decided to ration myself to three times a day and no more than a half an hour at a time. We all have to make sacrifices for the greater good. Otherwise the world is going to stay in the crapper forever. It’s not my fault that I’m precocious and started to masturbate early. Philosopher geniuses are physically more mature then other kids their age.

“Mother I said I was coming. I just have to wipe off the wall. I threw up. I’m sick. I don’t think I can go to school today.”

“No Mom I don’t need any help. I can clean up by myself. I’m a big boy now.”



1

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Excerpt From The Novel Johnny Oops

The following is an excerpt from my novel – Johnny Oops. From time to time I will post a little excerpt to tantalize you and create a desire on your part to read more. I’m not only a prophet, I’m a marketing genius, don’t you agree? The reason I am not giving you the rest of the first chapter right now is that it has a fairly high sexual content. If that's okay with you, look for part 2 in a few days.

CHAPTER 1 -- I’M A GENIUS

You can’t stop the future from happening. You can only alter the reality of it. That’s where I come in. I’m a philosopher genius. I can effect change.

My real name is Jonathan Wilbert, but everyone calls me Johnny Oops because I’m a clumsy twelve-years-old who is always knocking things over and saying, “Oops.” I may have the gangly body of a 5 foot 2 inch tall 95-pound awkward boy, but I have the mind of a genius. My I. Q. is off the wall. I’m not one of those nerdy mathematical geniuses or a piano impresario. I’m a philosopher genius on the style of Nietze or perhaps Freud. He hated mothers too, didn’t he? My father is a political science professor at Yale University. He holds some kind of Chair or something. I say why bother. My mother has a PHD from Radcliff College in Behavioral Science. She hates me because I interrupted her career; fat chance of that being the truth. She thinks I’m strange. I guess she thinks she learned something from all those liberal arts courses she took in college. I’m not strange; I’m just different. I try and act like a normal twelve-year-old boy, but it isn’t working. I hate soccer. Playing the trumpet in the band makes my lips swell up, and the idea of watching cartoons with the other kids on the block really turns me off.

I’m a philosopher genius. When I grow up I’m going to be one of the leading intellects of my time. For now I have more important things to do with myself than watch Bugs Bunny say, “What’s Up Doc?” What does that mean? It’s a stupid passé children’s colloquialism that will do nothing to change the chaotic state of the world we live in, and the one I have to grow up in. I can’t be expected to diddle away my precious time on such trivial pursuits. I have deep serious thinking to do. I have a contribution to make to the welfare of our society and it’s not going to be as some stupid observer of an imbecilic animation even if it’s in color and sonic vision. Deep down inside me I know I have promise. I am going to be someone special. I’m going to be a Guru of great renown. I’m a genius.

Speaking of didleing and changing things, I just had my first experience with sex. It was great. The best part is I can do it alone. I don’t need any girl to help out. I certainly don’t want to make any girl a mother. I read about how that works. The baby might turn out like my mother. I don’t want that kind of guilt on my hands. That would be awful.

“No Mom nothings wrong, I’m OK, just a little diarrhea. I’ll be out of the bathroom in a minute, I’m coming.”

Anyway, this is what happened.

Monday, October 15, 2007

Johnny And Sarhara Have Baby Prophets

One day Johnny noticed that Sarhara had gotten big as a house. He asked her what happened to her. She said she was going to tell him anyway, but wanted to see if he noticed.

“Noticed what?” he said.

“That I am pregnant you idiot. That’s what you didn’t notice. What kind of prophet are you anyway if you don’t even know when your wife is pregnant? We are going to have little twin prophets running around this house, God help me. I knew I shouldn’t have fooled around with you any more after that Dixie Kup escapade, but I just can’t help myself. Now see what you’ve done.”

Johnny responded. “It’s a miracle. This was to be expected. You should be very happy.”

“I’ll be happy when you are changing their diapers, not me.”

“Never happen my dear, I am a prophet. Such things are beneath me.”

With this last statement Sarhara gave Johnny a swift kick in his shins and proceeded to throw up on the breakfast room table. Johnny said such things were to be expected again and retreated to the privacy of his office/den to contemplate having children. The thought had never crossed his mind before.

Sarhara came home from a trip to the doctors to inform Johnny that the twins were going to be fully mature in about a week and that it was time to pick names. Johnny was surprised at first that this whole procedure had taken only 3 months, but then things always got speeded up when you are talking about prophets and their off spring. He told Sarhara to pick the babies names herself. She told him she had already decided on the names Darling and Delicious, as the twins were both girls.

Johnny was shocked. He was expecting boys. Sarhara told him not to worry about it. They could have boys another time if they ever fooled around again. In fact with the maturation schedule that prophets are evidently on, they could have a whole football team in no time at all.

Johnny said, “I like baseball better.” Poor Johnny, he forgot to duck as Sarhara threw a book at him.

And you think that only normal people have dysfunctional families. Believe me, they have nothing on prophets and their wives. Wait till you meet the twins. They are convinced they are geniuses that have inherited prophet rights and they age at three times the age of normal children. At the age of five they sound and act like they are fifteen, which gets everyone in trouble..

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

Staring Into the Face Of Death On Halloween

The face was all black and marbled and cracked. It had thin ridges protruding near the cheekbones with the hint of dried blood seeping out of them. I suppose at my age you get used to these things because I wasn’t scared; well maybe just a little bit. I am twelve years old and a boy genius. I know when someone is trying to fake me out, and yet this damn face looked real somehow. The worst part was that it was right in my face. I guess I was too nervous to rip it off and expose another young guy like me out for some Halloween pranks and candy. The part that really scared me was that it kept following me. Why was it after me? What had I done?

I tried to run away from it; dodging and weaving down a side alley a few blocks from my home, but no matter what I did, or how fast I ran, it stayed right in my face. I yelled out at it.

I said, “Get away from me. You’re not real. You are just trying to scare me and screw up my mind. I have your number. You’re a phony. I’m not scared of you. You’re just a Halloween prankster. Get out of my face.”

The death mask didn’t respond. There wasn’t a sound coming from it. It just kept dogging me. I tried to rationalize about what was happening to me.

“Johnny,” I said to myself. “Don’t let this creep get the better of you. You are too smart to be scared off by some dumb Halloween mask. Don’t let him scare you. Laugh in his face.

That’s when it happened. I gathered all my courage and told the Face of Death I knew he was a phony and I laughed in his face. And then I felt it. It was like a searing pain in the pit of my stomach. I felt so sick; I thought I was going to die. I dropped my own mask of an alien crocodile man-eater, and ran home as fast as I could, yelling at the top of my lungs.

“Mommy, mommy, let me in. The Face of Death is after me and he is trying to kill me. I feel like my stomach is going to explode. I am in terrible pain. He is killing me. Help me. I’m too young to die like this.”

My mother tried her best not to laugh in my face. She asked me how much candy I had eaten. I was so scared that I told the truth for a change, and admitted to eating about a half a bowl full from trick or treat scavenging during the earlier part of the evening. My mother suggested a trip to the bathroom, a glass of warm milk, and getting in bed and going to sleep. I did what she said, and the pain started to go away. I was so relieved.

I was lying in bed thinking how stupid I had been to get scared by a mask on Halloween. I felt much better, and realized how silly I had been. This was Halloween, that’s all. I was safe now in my bed, in my bedroom where I could be a child again, and not feel scared of the dark because I kept my night light on and my mother was downstairs watching TV. And then it happened.

I was just dozing off when I heard my mother scream. “Johnny,” she yelled, “Come quick, it is your father. He fell down and grabbed his chest. I think he has had a heart attack. Run next door and get Doctor Able to come right over. Hurry Johnny, please hurry,” she cried.

I ran downstairs, and saw my father lying on the floor. He looked like he wasn’t breathing and white bubbly foam was coming out of his mouth. I ran outside and jumped off the front porch to go to our next-door neighbor, Doctor Able, for help.

That’s when I saw him again. The Face of Death was right in front of me keeping me from getting to the front door of Doctor Able. I tried to run past him, but he wouldn’t let me. Now I knew he wasn’t here for me, but I was still scared. Doctor Able came storming out of his house with his black medical bag; my mother must have called him. Suddenly The Face of Death disappeared.

I don’t know if this was the real thing, or just a Halloween prank gone horribly wrong, or my boy genius imagination run wild, or a terrible coincidence? My father recovered thank goodness, but I almost never go out on Halloween any more. I’ve come as close to facing death, as I want to on that holiday. Well maybe I’ll just go down the street for a little candy if the spirit of Halloween moves me, but I want to warn you to watch out for the Face of Death. Next year it could be you or your family that he is after. Next year this story could be real. Next year it might be your sense of reality that is challenged. Have a happy Halloween, and don’t eat too much candy.
*****

Hi, I am Arthur Levine, the author of the novel Johnny Oops. To read more about Johnny and his fictional wild escapades please access: http://johnnyoops.blogspot.com

Monday, October 8, 2007

The Prophet’s Wife

Sarhara stormed into Johnny’s office/den in Rancho Santa Fe, California and screamed at Johnny.

“How could you? I trusted you. I believed in you. Where is the bimbo? I want her out of here immediately. I want her fired. I thought I was your one true love. My father warned me about you. He told me you were a bum and a charlatan.”

Johnny responded meekly in a low weak voice, “This is your fault. You know I can’t control my urges. Why did you ever hire this blonde bombshell, Dixie Kups? Was it to tempt me? Were you testing my love for you? I guess I have failed miserably, but I still love only you. This Dixie Kups woman means nothing to me. You go ahead and fire her.”

Sarhara stormed out of the room to find Dixie and fire her, but she had already left the premises as soon as she heard that Sarhara had arrived. A bigger problem was Sarhara’s father, the Rabbi Frenbren’s demand that Johnny take Kabala out of the name of his religion. She didn’t know how to approach Johnny on the subject. When she finally broached the subject, his response was startling.

Johnny laughed and said, “It will be my pleasure. I only added the name Kabala to pacify your old goat of a father. Let him take his ancient mysticism back to the Middle Ages. My religion is all about the here and the now and the future. The only thing I care about is you.”

Sarhara called her father to tell him the good new, but she didn’t know how to tell him she had decided to give Johnny another chance so she made up a story based on ancient Jewish mysticism.

‘Rebbi, it is your Sarhara. I have had a dream. I need you to interpret it, and tell me what to do. First let me tell you that Johnny is tasking the name of Kabala out of his religion with great sadness. This is what happened in my dream.”

“I saw a ghost like figure, an old woman with a big mole on her nose, dressed in billowing clouds of white chiffon hovering and circling over my head as I was lying in the middle of a muddy street with my cloths in taters. She spoke to me in a crackling hoarse whisper and told me that if I didn’t remain faithful to my marriage vows that I would end up going around in circles and rolling in the mud for the rest of my life, and so would my father the honorable and venerated Rabbi Frenbren. She told me that she knew this to be so because this is what happened to her when she left her Rabbi the great, great, great grandfather of my father six times removed who went by a completely different name and was from the old country. What does this mean father?

Rabbi Frenbren said in a trembling voice, “It is a vision. Our family gets them from time to time. Whatever you do don’t leave this bum Johnny the Prophet. This could bring disaster to the whole family including me. You will have to stay with the charlatan for the sake of the family. This is your curse for convincing me to let you marry this no good nick in the beginning. I wish she had told you our original family name. I can’t trace it back that far.”

“Yes father, yes, I will do as you wish. I will live with this no good bum of mine forever for the sake of the family.”

Sarhara then went to see Johnny again and told him, “Okay this is the deal. I will stay with you, but you can forget about fooling around in the foreseeable future even if you are a prophet, but if you ever are unfaithful to me again I will have you running around in circles in the mud for the rest of your life. Do you understand? The wise woman of Kabala has come to me in a dream like vision, and this is what she told me. You can count on it. I have the ‘word’ of the Ghost of Kabala.”

Johnny swore he would never be unfaithful again. He secretly thought to himself, ‘Boy now everyone is a prophet including my wife. I thought I was supposed to be the only one that had visions around here.”
****


Hi, I am Arthur Levine, the author of the novel Johnny Oops. To read more about Johnny and his fictional wild escapades please access: http://johnnyoops.blogspot.com

Saturday, October 6, 2007

The Prophet’s Speech At Both Ways Hokum University

Johnny strode to the podium with a glare in his eyes as he got set to address the student body at Both Ways Hokum University in San Francisco, Ca. He was a man with a purpose intent on delivering a message he was convinced had been sent to him by God.

He started to rant, “You do not understand, you do not understand. Of course you do not understand, but don’t worry, God came to me in a dream and told me it’s all right. He doesn’t expect us to understand. All we have to do is have faith.”

“We are all sinners. Do you hear me? Are you a sinner? Do you understand it’s all right to be a sinner? God came to me in a dream and told me it’s all right because we are all sinners. Do you understand?”

“What’s in your hearts? Do you have good intentions? In my dream God told me it’s all right that we are sinners as long as we believe and want to do better. Do you understand?”

“My fellow students, my friends, members of my flock, The Dialectic Rationalization of Kabalistic Materialism Religion will show you the way. All you have to do is have faith, and renounce your sinning ways. Do you admit you are a sinner? Do you want to stop sinning? Do you believe and have faith? What do you have to say? Hurry, God may be waiting to hear from you.”

“I can tell you that I personally have been a sinner with my assistant Dixie Kups here who is going to distribute my ‘God Saves’ pamphlets to you, but that’s all right because God understands.”

The audience, which consisted of some twenty thousand students, alumni, and local followers, jumped to their feet and started to storm the stage yelling we are sinners, we are all sinners, show me the way. Dixie kups had just been motioned by Johnny the prophet to center stage, and it is unclear whether the audience was trying to get to Johnny or to Dixie who was trying to distribute the ‘God Saves’ pamphlets on Johnny’s instructions dressed in a revealing mini skirt. In either case a campus riot ensued. The local police were called in and tried in vain to quell the raucous crowd who tore up the stage trying to get to Johnny and Dixie. The crowd ended up putting both Johnny and Dixie on their shoulders and marching towards downtown San Francisco shouting, “We are all sinners, show me the way.” They were at the same time grabbing each other in their private parts as the Dialectic Rationalization of Kabalistic Materialism Religion preached was all right as part of its doctrine.

The following morning the San Francisco Chronicle Newspaper ran a front-page article saying that Johnny’s Dialectic Rationalization of Kabalistic Materialism Religion had caused a riot in downtown San Francisco when members of the student body rioted because they couldn’t get to a stripper named Dixie who was the prophet’s assistant and ended up grabbing each other in a wild mass orgy of sinners and body parts.

Poor Johnny, his wife Sarhara read the article on the Internet back home in South Hampton, New York, and flew to San Francisco to straighten her prophet out. Rumor has it that there was going to be hell to pay for Johnny’s indiscretions. But Johnny didn’t care. He was convinced it was all right that he was a sinner because God had told him so.

In the meantime back in the South of France, Rabbi Frenbren, the Kabalistic Mystic, was being bombarded by his followers who had seen the reports on the evening news on the BBC to Get our good name out of that phony prophet’s religion or else God would cast a spell on him and your daughter that would make him wish he had never heard the name Kabala.”

The old rabbi sadly wrote to his daughter that she must leave Johnny, and insisted that he immediately take the name Kabala out of his phony religion. He told her that his counsel of religious peers had spoken, and that it was God’s will. He told her that God works in mysterious ways, and that her marriage to Johnny was one of the strangest aberrations of all times.

Poor Sarhara, what was she to do? She was torn by her love for her father and her love for her husband. Her old religious beliefs stood in her way, but she truly believed in the ‘words’ of her prophet Johnny. What she really needed was a miracle to show her the way. What she really needed was a husband who would stop sinning. Oops, for that to happen she would need a miracle that even Johnny Oops, her love and her prophet, was not capable of performing.

Friday, October 5, 2007

I Am A Sinner – What About You?

I don’t know how I get myself into these situations. One moment I am dreaming that God has taken me by the hand, and the next I am giving in to my worst instincts and shacking up with every beautiful woman I meet. Let me tell you what happened.

That’s right, I Johnny Oops am a sinner, and I need your help to show me how to stop sinning. Are you a sinner too, or have you learned how to control your urges? This type of illicit activity is unbecoming to a prophet. What will my wife say? What will my flock think? Oh God, where are you when I need your help? This is what happened.

It all started innocently enough. We had opened offices – huge mansions in effect – in Rancho Santa Fe California and South Hampton, New York. I had gone to California to entertain and solicit some big Hollywood Moguls, and Sarhara stayed behind in South Hampton to meet and greet the local big donors.

Sarhara had evidently hired me a secretary in Rancho Santa Fe by phone interview because I am notoriously bad at organizational activities of any kind, and need someone to in effect take care of me. Many great people are disorganized dreamers and that includes prophets like me.

I was sitting in my office/den when this gorgeous blonde walked in wearing a mini skirt that revealed more than it hid of what in my opinion was the best looking female body I have ever seen, except for my wife of course.

She strode over to me and grabbed me in my private parts and said, “I want to make a contribution and this is all I have to offer.”

I honestly don’t remember whether she told me that she was my secretary or her name before or after we had sex. I’m not sure I really care. I frankly blame my darling wife Sarhara for this. She had no right to hire a secretary for me over the phone. If she had seen Dixie Kups in person, I don’t think she ever would have hired her. My darling wife trusts me, but this is ridiculous.

I plan to mention my sinning ways in a speech I will give shortly in San Francisco, California titled Are You A Sinner. Hopefully I will get many positive eager responses from my flock who will be in attendance. Just to be on the safe side I will bring Dixie in her Mini skirt with me to hand out my ‘God Saves’ programs. That should arouse the men in attendance to acceptance that they are sinners who often gave in to their own worst instincts. I don’t intend to enter this self-inflicted self-help confessional alone. I want company while I’m suffering in my intellectual water closet if you get my drift.

I have once again asked God for his help in controlling my urges. I think He has answered me. He came to me in another dream saying, “Hold on, the best is yet to come.”

What did he mean by that? Sometimes God acts in mysterious ways that I cannot begin to understand. What about you? Are you beginning to understand that we are all sinners? Are you getting the message? Do you have faith that the best is yet to come?

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

The Dream That Changed The World

Johnny woke up in a cold sweat. He had just had a dream that both frightened him and at the same time made him feel wonderful. In his dream he was floating in space in the palm of what he perceived to be a giant Hand. He was able to see and travel through beautiful galaxies all on this gigantic Hand, and he saw the wonders of the world. Johnny remembered asking out loud where he was, and who this Hand belonged to. He remembered the Hand answering him.

“Who are you?” Johnny asked.

A soft voice answered, “I am the Hand of God.”

“Why are you here?” Johnny asked.

“I am here because you need enlightenment,” said the voice of God.

“I do not understand. Have I done something wrong?”

“We all do things wrong. It is not important. What is important is what you intend to do. Do not worry, I know you do not understand.”

“I don’t know what I should be doing.”

“That is why I am here, to help you find your way.”

“When will I know what to do?”

“You will know when you are ready, when you truly believe.”

“But please Dear God, when will I be ready?”

“Keep asking the question. You are getting closer.”

With that last statement Johnny felt a gentle shove and felt like he had been plopped back down on his bed. He woke up in a sweat calling for his wife Sarhara.

“Sarhara, Sarhara, you will never believe what just happened to me. The Hand of God spoke to me. He told me I was getting closer to understanding what I should do with my life.”

“Of course He did,” Sarhara said. “Why wouldn’t He talk to his own prophet?”

“No, you don’t understand. This time I could swear He really spoke to me.”

“Of course dear, He always does.”

“No Sahara, you do not understand, but I love you anyway, this much God has taught me. He has taught me to have faith.”

“I understand that you are my prophet Johnny. I don’t need to know any more.”

“My darling Sarhara, I am discovering more and more that I am just a humble human being – that is of course if any of this is real, and not just part of a dream. But I believe and I have faith and therefore I believe that I am real. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“As far as I’m concerned my darling Johnny, the prophet has spoken.”

"I am going to have to share with the whole world what just happened to me. I have to tell them it's all right that we do not understand. I evidently am a prophet, and I have the 'word'. I have to tell them that we are getting closer to God if we just believe and have faith, and that is all that is important. Isn't it wonderful? I can't wait to tell everyone."
*****


Hi, I am Arthur Levine, the author of the novel Johnny Oops. To read more about Johnny and his wild escapades please access: http://johnnyoops.blogspot.com

Monday, October 1, 2007

The Dialectic Rationalization Of Kabalistic Materialism: Johnny Oops

Johnny woke up to a kind of adulation he could only have dreamed of in the past. The episode with God’s Hand lightening bolt had made him famous as a new prophet throughout Europe and the United States. In recognition of the ancient Jewish mystic benefits that his wife Sarhara had persuaded him had helped him become a recognized prophet, he added the name of their religion to his own. Sahara’s father, Rabbi Frenbren, was not sure whether this was to be taken as a blessing or a curse, and retreated into his library to study his ancient Kabala texts in hope of finding an answer. Johnny had no such doubts and returned to the United States, which awaited his arrival with great anticipation.

Johnny said, “Look at that Sarhara, there are thousands of our followers waiting to greet us here at the airport. Isn’t this wonderful?”

“Yes, yes, it is wonderful,” replied Sahara, tugging at his sleeve. “The people love you, but what do we next?”

Johnny smiled and said, “I have a great idea, let’s tour all the states by train just like Roosevelt did, or was that Truman. Maybe I should run for office.”

Back home in the South of France Rabbi Frenbren felt a sudden chill as a cold wind blew through his library room window. Strange he thought for it to be so cold in the middle of the summer, but stranger things than this were about to happen. Johnny was going on tour, and he was running for a new cabinet position he wanted created as head religionist for the United States. He harbored no hesitation about the legal restrictions on separation of church and state. To Johnny’s way of thinking anything that Johnny did was legal because he was a prophet who carried the message of God.

Johnny had the ‘word’, and the ‘word’ was, “I’m in charge of religion around here.”

At lunch that day over cracked crab and lobster, Sarhara told him, “I hope you haven’t bitten off more than you can chew. Lobster isn’t kosher you know. The other major religions won’t be happy about this.”

Johnny smirked and said, “I make the rules around here.”

Sarhara smiled and replied, “I know, I know, but even you have to be accountable to a higher authority.”

Johnny turned pale, bowed his head and said, “Let us pray,” as he choked on a lobster claw that had gotten stuck in his throat. For once he was speechless except to struggle in a hoarse voice to whisper, “God has spoken. I will return to my ministry. No more politics for me. I have been given the ‘word’, and the ‘word’ is if I don’t shut up I will lose the ‘word’. I have gotten the message.”

Sahara said to herself, “I hope so, but I don’t believe it. I love him, but he will never shut up. Maybe I will just have to keep feeding him lobster. I wonder why a genius like him doesn’t know to take the shells off? I wonder if my father and his ancient mystic Kabala spells have something to do with this? Something doesn’t smell kosher around here.”
*****

Hi, I am Arthur Levine, the author of the novel Johnny Oops. To read more about Johnny and his wild escapades please access: http://johnnyoops.blogspot.com