Shocking Dream Excerpt From Johnny Oops

I was going through my roommate’s socks in the dark looking for his stash when the lights came on. He grabbed my arm, and spun me around shouting, “What the hell are you doing?” He didn’t tell anyone else, but when he calmed down he made me promise I would get myself straightened out. I promised I would, but I didn’t mean it. I was hooked and would do anything to get more dope.

I’m pathetic and despicable. I hate myself.

Back in my room at the fraternity, after one of my meetings at Eight Ball's apartment, I lay on the bed trying to make sense of what was happening to me. I had the window shade down and didn’t know whether it was day or night, nor did I care. I figured out I’d rather be stoned than spend all my time being serious and unhappy.

Where the hell did I leave my stash? I don’t even know what I’m doing – some genius. Maybe I’m not real. Maybe my whole life is a fantasy. Maybe some Game Master is playing with my head. I can’t go on like this.

The truth is that except when I’m having sex, I feel like crap—emotionally impotent. I’m oversexed. When I’m having sex, I’m in control. I’m a big man. My Dialectic Spiritualism Religion is a load of crap. I’m a load of crap. Tears are rolling down my cheeks now because I’m depressed and feel so damn sorry for myself, and no one else cares. No one gives a shit about me.

This is ridiculous. I’ll smoke some more weed or snort some cocaine so I don’t have to have these thoughts any more. I have a little stashed away from Sunday’s football game, or was that last week. I don’t remember. I only have a little money left from my winnings and can’t afford to buy any more coke, or get caught trying to steel someone else’s stash again. Now where did I put that stuff? I remember wrapping it up and putting my precious parcel in the dresser, or did I put it in the closet? My God, I hope I didn’t leave my stash in someone else’s room by mistake.

Why am I lying on this damn bed shaking and sweating? I stink and I need a shower, but I haven’t got the energy to drag my sorry ass down the hall to the bathroom. I can’t find my stash. I won’t be able to function. Everyone is laughing at me. My nose is running.

Finally, I feel sleep coming on. I’m so tired. I think I’m dreaming. I’m a fly caught in a web of shredded marijuana leaves. I want to get away, but my wings are entangled. The only way to get loose is to break my wings as I struggle to get free, but then I will lose the part of me that can climb higher and higher and feel great.

What should I do? My Quanta, the sub atomic particles of my essence, are colliding with the little that is left of my senses. I’m shrinking. I’m stuck in a rut of my own making. Slowly, I lift one foot off the bed to the floor and try to stabilize myself, but that isn’t helping. I must be having some kind of drug-induced reaction, or am I in a trance. Who’s that whispering? I can hear you. I know you’re talking about me.

Oh God, I hope I remember where I put my stash.

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Be Young Again

Remember what it was like to be fourteen and invincible? Relive the experience with Johnny.

Do you remember your first kiss, your first love, your first conquest? You can take a virtual trip with Johnny Oops and be young again.

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Raging Hormones

Johnny can't help it if he has the raging hormones of a fourteen year old. His aggressive genius genes are out of control. he doesn't know if he is a prophet, a charlatan or a sex maniac. Sometimes he even questions if he is real.


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Are Your Hormones Out Of Whack?

Johnny can’t help himself. Even when he becomes a full grown man he has the raging hormones of a teenager. He is a veritable genius whose aggressive genes make him act out most of his fantasies as his emotions boil over.

Johnny’s raging hormones lead him to a life on the edge. Moving swiftly from one affair to the next, he experiments with anything that will put his life in jeopardy such as drinking and drugs and sadistic women.

He thrives on living life to the fullest, and sometimes more than one life. Part of the time he feels he exists in different worlds at the same time thanks in part to quantum computing and his belief a game master is creating virtual worlds and alternate realties for him to live in.

Johnny seeks salvation in a new religion he creates called Dialectic Spiritualism, which promotes touching other people in their private essentials to help them find their inner selves. His weird concept of faith leads him to discover that he does believe in God.

He can’t, however, stop his aggressive out of control hormones from getting him in trouble when he falls onto the raging rocks of an inlet of despair, attempts suicide at college, falls off the roof of his fraternity house during a drunken party, crashes his plane in the jungle, parents a seven foot tall giant, hallucinates in a drug infused frenzy that giant watermelons are falling from the sky filled with beautiful women, or enters into an adulterous affair with a movie starlet when newly married to the love of his life, Jody.

Constantly striving for his own redemption, Johnny crosses the Country trying to help others find salvation, and he goes on National TV to promote his causes, but his dark side gets the better of him as he is captured in pictures printed in the newspapers hog tied and stripped naked in an orgy of masochism.

In a state of despair after his followers leave him, he loses touch with reality and even consciousness only to be redeemed by God with the help of his inner self – a one-foot tall albino dressed in a boy scout uniform who is responsible for Johnny’s new beginning.

Hi, this is Arthur Levine author of the novel Johnny Oops, find out why Johnny’s hormones are out of whack by purchasing the novel Johnny Oops at amazon.com

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Bullies - excerpt from Johnny Oops

One on one, I can sometimes handle myself when a fight starts, but if these three bullies attack me at the same time, I’m toast. I think they know that.

Sometimes, when we are on a thirty -minute recess, the five bells calling us to the cafeteria for lunch saves my ass. Vick and his friends would rather eat than fight. In my case this signifies a respite from these dumb bullies who don’t have the command of the English language I do. I guess I have to learn to live with the bells even though I firmly believe there has got to be a better way. School is hell. My life is quickly turning into a disaster.

God, why are you letting this happen to me? I’m your Messenger – at least I think I am.

This past Saturday there were no bells to save me. I thought I was safe because school was closed and I was taking a shortcut across the schoolyard with my friend Billy to go to the candy store and spend some of my allowance.

Three bullies, who are the bane of my existence, jumped out from behind a garbage disposal bin in back of the school cafeteria, and started pushing me around. They must live here.

I tried to run away too, but I froze in fear. Vick taunted me, saying, “Where you going? How come Mommy let you out of the house?”

Stan pushed me over Don’s outstretched leg, and I found myself flat on my back. The pain creeping over me was a killer. Couldn’t draw a breath. Lungs exploding. When I started to figure out what had happened to me I couldn’t move. I wasn’t functioning. Couldn’t muster the strength to turn over and try to get up. I tried to raise my hands in front of me to protect myself, but I was paralyzed. My muscles tensed reflexively: as I got ready fro the beating I knew was coming. A sense of hopelessness and dread crept over me like a black hole that was sucking my useless body into the ground. Tried to pretend I was somewhere else. Didn’t work. I was in too much pain

Before I could raise my hands or legs to defend myself, Vick, the leader of the pack, jumped on me straddling my thighs, and started smacking me in bridge of my nose with the palm of his right hand, while punching me in the stomach with his left fist. The blows came nonstop. Vick wore a big silver pinky ring. The damn thing split my lip. Blood flowed everywhere. The air whooshed from my lungs. I gasped for breath feeling I was going to pass out. Wishing I did. The warm, salty taste of my own blood, trickling down my upper lip from my nose, and into my mouth, making me nauseous. Wave after wave of crunching pain racked my body. I started coughing and couldn’t stop.

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Excerpt From Johnny Oops

CHAPTER 11

After Alice’s departure for California, I was inconsolable for weeks. I wrote to her constantly. We talked on the phone. She admitted she had met some football player from La Jolla High School in San Diego. I wanted to kill myself. Then Dad told me he had arranged for me to get early, early admission to Harvard. I would be one of the youngest students ever enrolled. I felt like killing myself twice. My whole world is coming apart. I feel totally insecure. I’ve lost my Alice and my home at the same time. Even my religion can’t save me now, the hell with Dialectic Spiritualism.

Slowly thoughts of Alice occupied less of my time. Eventually I thought about her only late at night when fleeting urges prompted my sleeping passions. I’ve too many other things on my mind.

Harvard is a whole new world. The school buildings are magnificent stone, ivy-covered edifices: homage to an age gone by of virtue and scholarship. The girls are 3 inches taller and at least three years older. I’m the kind of guy that goes for older women, but this is ridiculous. The guys ignore me. To them I look like some brainy nerd. The only v-necked sweater I own is a tennis sweater and too short for me. I don’t fit in. I feel like a fart lost in a windstorm. I’m alone and miserable.

My roommate, a six-foot six-inch tall football player weighing about two hundred and fifty pounds, basically pretends I don’t exist. My dorm counselor acts like he’s been handed some full-term project. I think he has a drinking problem. His corner dorm room reeks of alcohol and the faint smell of dried urine. He isn’t about to get too involved with my problems. I’m away from home, without my Alice, and totally miserable.

I eat in the school cafeteria, spend most of my time in the library and try to concentrate on my studies. I guess taking mercy on me, my dorm counselor, in one of his more lucid moments, suggested I try out for the debate team.

I’m not into organized activities, don’t want to ever be vocal again, and definitely don’t want to get into anything competitive. The only thing I’ve any interest in is religion. My counselor frustrated and feeling out of options, suggested I go see the Chaplain. I guess he’s worried I’m suicidal. Maybe he and I could get a group rate at Harvard’s physiological counseling center.

Chaplain Bill, as the guys call him, is a much-needed miracle. He’s a tall, handsome, blond-haired wasp from some seminary in the Midwest. I told him I was questioning my faith, and felt totally out of place at Harvard and away from my Alice. Chaplain Bill says he is questioning his faith too.

We got along famously. He offered me a part time job as Chaplain’s assistant. I jumped at the chance and decided to minor in theology—might as well learn about other people’s religions. And working with Chaplain Bill gives me something to do and someone to talk to. I’ve found a friend. Chaplain Bill recognizes my genius. He doesn’t talk down to me. He’s very kind and considerate. We spend hours in his study at the school chapel discussing life, religion, and our hopes and dreams for the future. Of course he doesn’t look anything like my Alice, but he does remind me of her. To tell the truth, I think he is attracted to me and I to him.

I find that disgusting, but nothing happened. My provincial background wouldn’t allow anything to happen. My remembrances of Alice wouldn’t allow such a transgression. My basic instincts rebelled against even the thought of any physical contact. I’m straight and I intend to stay that way. I think Chaplain Bill is secretly relieved. Nevertheless, our friendship does give me someone to whom I can reveal my innermost thoughts. I need someone to talk to.

Of even greater moment, the association with Bill gives me time to consider what is happening to me. It’s a shame a kid of fifteen has to resort to getting his head straight. Life plays tricks on us all. I suppose it’s a Carl Jung thing. I guess I’m a trickster at heart: sometimes shapeless, sometimes all form and image. Here now and then gone. On the top and then on the bottom of the heap—life stinks. I’m tired of being a joke.

I’m going to have to make some major revisions in my religious beliefs. Dialectic Spiritualism seems to have its weaknesses. I can’t be expected to go around having blind faith in some religion even if I made the damn thing up. Does that make sense? That’s what I mean, nothing I do or say makes any sense to me any more. I discussed this with Bill.

He said, “The nature of faith is a constantly changing thing. It’s natural to be confused at times, especially after the type of trauma you’ve suffered losing Alice.”

I’m very impressed with how smart the Chaplain is. I’m beginning to think he’s a genius like me, only older and wiser in the ways of religious beliefs.

Of course when it comes to worldly things I’m miles ahead of Chaplain Bill. He’ll never know the love of a woman. Wait a minute. What am I thinking? He’s not a Catholic priest He can get married. Maybe he’s even been with a girl. This is what I mean. Since I lost Alice and came to Harvard, my thinking has been all messed up. Must be the trauma I’ve experienced like Bill said. I’m suffering. Will this horror never end? I think I want to be a kid again.

I couldn’t take the loneliness anymore. I summoned up my courage and wrote to Alice begging her to come to Harvard for the Harvard/Penn football game. I promised her a great time. I enclosed a roundtrip airline ticket. Nearly busted me. I told her Chaplain Bill had given me his football tickets right on the 50-yard line. She wrote back that she was coming. My life is starting to take on meaning again.

Alice arrived late Friday. I gave her a quick tour of the campus, took her to a fancy French restaurant called Biba, was refused when I tried to order champagne, and we went back to the Four Seasons Hotel where I’d booked a room. We had sex, which was a far cry from the all-consuming love I remembered. The passion was gone. I guess her football jock boyfriend from La Jolla is better than me. I guess he’s more of a man. Alice didn’t complain, but I knew this was the end of us.

We sat quietly through the football game, freezing our asses off on the following day. Again, Alice didn’t complain. We sort of stumbled through the rest of the weekend. We didn’t have sex again. When the time came for Alice to leave, she told me I was her first love and she would always remember me, but we both had to move on. I cried. I was pathetic.

Several days later I had a major category 4 nervous breakdown. I went running through the hallowed halls of my dorm in a Crimson colored jock strap, playing Requiem for a Matador on my trumpet, a throwback to my high school days in the band I suppose, while I tried to scrape the freckles off my face with my razor. By the time three campus security guards finally subdued me, I was a bloody mess sobbing, “out damn spots, be gone.” I never could forget my Shakespeare.

My parents drove over four hours from Connecticut to pick me up at the hospital in Boston where I had been taken by ambulance. They placed me in the Happyville Sanitarium for emotionally disturbed boy geniuses. There I stayed for almost 3 months under the tough love therapy of a Doctor O’Hara. At least he’s straight, I think.

The closest I remember him coming to showing some compassion for my plight was when the good doctor said to me in all his red faced Irish glory, “Look on the bright side Johnny my boy, if you really wanted to kill yourself you would never have used a safety razor, doesn’t cut deep enough. Remember that if you ever want to try again.” Doctor O’Hara was a big man, and when he laughed it sounded more like a roar. He had a rather weird sense of humor. To tell the truth, he scared the shit out of me.

I’m not going to bore you with all the gritty details of my three-month incarceration at Happyville or the analysis I went through. I was diagnosed as having homophobic neurotic manifestations brought on by my rejection as an inadequate lover by Alice. I can relate to that.

They also told me that my playing Requiem for a Matador on my trumpet symbolized my wish to die a hero’s death so Alice would mourn me as a martyr. O’Hara told me that my wearing the jock strap represented my desire to fuck her football player lover both figuratively and literally, and that trying to scrap off my freckles was an attempt to become more mature in the way I dealt with social relationships. Doctor O’Hara said this last part was actually a hopeful sign. There is much more, but most of it’s too painful for me to discuss. When am I going to grow up?

After 3 months they released me to the care of my parents with the strong recommendation that I not to go back to Harvard until I’m sixteen no matter what my folks think. That’s right, blame my problems on my folks. Why not give them a guilt trip. That’s the way these shrinks get new customers. There never was any chance of my returning to Harvard. I don’t want to go through the horror and the loneliness again and the University doesn’t want me back.

For the next few months I moped around the house doing nothing much except growing a beard. I wanted to hide the scars on my face where I’d cut myself. Physical scars you can hide, some mental ones never go away. You can only push them into the background. That’s life: A lot of crazy shit, a lot of hiding from yourself, and a little love to keep you going.

My old friend Billy came over to visit me. That was a hoot. He was fatter than ever. He was repeating seventh grade for the second time. He had developed the nervous habit of sticking his index fingers in his ears when he started to talk. I guess he didn’t want to hear what he had to say. I told him he was sicker than I was. He said I was right and he was sorry. We both had a good cry together. We’re both pathetic. I will never let him come over again.

Alice called and wanted to come visit me. My folks, Doctor O’Hara and I absolutely refused to even consider that. And so my relationship with Alice ended, or so I thought.

Chaplain Bill did come to visit me. He apologized to me for not feeling my pain and for not being able to give me a stronger faith in God.

I said, “That’s all right, we all have our crosses to bear. Its not your responsibility to make me a decent human being who cares enough about others not to make them feel guilty.”

Chaplain Bill thanked me for being his friend and helping him find his faith again. He gave me the silver cross that he wore around his neck. How come I can help other people, but I can’t help myself?

Months have gone by since I’ve come home. My parents try and stay out of my way, especially my mother who had a long talk with Doctor O’Hara. I think she is seeing him now herself. My Dad doesn’t know what to say to me to cheer me up so he tries to tell me stupid little jokes. I love my Dad. I feel his pain. Must be tough to have a screwed up son whom you think you’re to blame for being messed up.

In the midst of my solitude and boredom, a strange thought crept into my mind. I’ve been going stir crazy, pacing up and down in my home, with nothing to do, waiting for my face to heal. Tossing around in my bed late one night, unable to sleep, the thought struck me, maybe none of the stuff that happened to me with Alice, or trying to commit suicide at Harvard is real.

Eureka! I sat bolt upright in bed. I felt alive again. I’ve a new purpose in life. Strange thoughts came tumbling into my mind. I started thinking how some super genius might have constructed my whole world. Maybe this is a virtual reality world I live in, not the real thing. Maybe everything that is happening isn’t my fault. I couldn’t stop thinking. Finally, I have something to occupy myself with, and take my mind off my problems. I decided to put my genius brain to work proving my new theory is correct.

I have to know who has constructed the virtual reality world I fancy I live in to prove to myself that this is the fact. I have to decide why someone or something has gone to all this trouble. I decided to call this alien force the Game Master, calling on my broad knowledge of video computer games.

Figuring out how to create a virtual world was another matter. Then the thought crossed my mind: The Game Master must’ve used some version of what we know as Quantum Computing (1). That’s the only program powerful enough to allow him to do this, but why? Was he really what we’ve come to believe in as God or just some time and space traveler creating a game for his or her own enjoyment? Am I part of the game? And what about my concept of Dialectic Spiritualism? How does this virtual world concept fit in with my religious theories? The more I thought, the more confused I got.

Thinking about the concept of a virtual reality world caused more ideas to pop into my head. Hundreds of questions started streaming into my mind – some conscious, some not. I couldn’t stop thinking about this. Now I’m glad I’ve plenty of time. I spent most of the summer in my room attempting to replicate what this genius Game Master must’ve done. What better use could I make of my time? The task before me is almost inconceivable, but I won’t stop. I’m a genius too. I should be able to replicate this program, but trying to implement the concept is an unbelievably daunting task. How am I ever going to figure this out?

How to recreate the senses of sight, smell, touch, sound, taste, and combine these with cognitive capabilities, emotional context, and real time responses is a mind boggling endeavor. How did the Game Master do all this with the use of artificial intelligence, and still make everything appear so real? What was his motive? Where did he obtain the historical knowledge base necessary to do a project of this nature, and most important – how did he know how to populate this virtual reality world?

Where did the people come from? Who chose the races and the animals? Who created the scenarios we all play out? Is any of this possible? Am I just letting my over active imagination compensate for my human shortcomings? Am I giving my wild imagination too much credit for the ability to discern fact from fiction? Why approach the problem using Quantum computing? How else can I hope to recreate a virtual reality world? Quantum computing is the only application I can think of advanced enough to do the job of creating all the variables and all the randomness necessary to pass for reality.

I poured over information gleaned from searching the Internet through Google. What I learned about Quantum Computing was amazing, and made me think creating alternate reality worlds was possible. A Quantum Computer can run hundreds of thousands times faster than our current computers. Using the Quantum Computing principals of Superposition and Entanglement could help make all the things I was hypothesizing about a virtual world possible.

Even with my genius mind, the concept is almost impossible to grasp. There are so many sub concepts. I don’t even understand what they mean. The thought occurred to me that maybe a superior form of intelligence was needed to create worlds and universes real or virtual, but I kept on trying. Geniuses don’t give up that easily. Sometimes I feel as if I’m on the verge of great discovery. Other times I get stuck in theory, and can go no further. The harder I try to understand the more confused I became.

Quantum computing is nothing like what I had jokingly described to my childhood friend, Billy, and yet in some respects there is great similarity. As best I can figure the theory out, Quantum Computing is our best hope of producing a program powerful enough to challenge our understanding of reality. That’s what I’m trying to understand, the theory of reality.

These are some things about Quantum Computing that astound me: (2) Quantum Mechanics is a mathematical description of reality. Some of its predictions go against the common sense of how humans expect a system to behave.

Superpositioning uses waves of particles that allow the same electrons to occupy different space at the same time. Are you kidding me? What the hell does all this mean?

Then there is more theory on Entanglements, whatever the hell they are, moving faster than the speed of light, which I thought is impossible under current theories. 0 and 1 Quantum bits or Qubits combine to allow the creation of an identical duplicate in a different place. I think that is what is happening to me.

All of this was in Einstein’s opinion, “spooky action at a distance”. Guess he couldn’t figure it out either. How do I expect to fathom all this?

Enough, that’s how I feel—spooked, incomplete and divorced from reality. This stuff is driving me nuts. I’m being overrun or evolved by quantum bits, and it’s tearing my thinking processes to pieces. I never said I was a mathematical genius. I’m a philosopher.

This crazy Quantum theory, as I understand, allows us to reduce new age computer chips to the size of atoms, which have their own strange characteristics including using 1 and 0 to mean different things at the same time, or to mean the same thing at different times. Boy is this confusing. The worst part is that much of this is still theoretical, and hasn’t been proven to work. How am I going to use this stuff to create a virtual reality world when it’s not actually working yet except in the laboratory? All I know is that this whole process dynamically increases the speed with which we can process information. That makes sense. How else can I possibly hope to program all the different bits and pieces of information necessary to make up a virtual world?

Everything I’ve learned so far shows me that the theory of Quantum Computing might allow us to exist in different realities at the same time. That’s perfect for me. If I don’t like one reality, I can just switch to another. The truth is I think I do this already, I just don’t know how I’m performing this trick, but then I’m a genius, and much of what we know is instinctive on a sub-conscious level. All of this thinking is getting me more, rather than less confused about what’s reality, and what part God and Quantum Computing play in this whole process. I don’t really know any more than when I started this whole experiment. All I know is that a higher power than I is necessary to have formed the universe and shaped our thoughts.

I took a quantum leap of faith and made a determination that would stay with me the rest of my life. I’ve decided that in my version of reality, God is the Game Master. I pray that’s so. This has been a humbling experience. Strange how us humans feel called upon to examine the nature of the world we live in. Why can’t we just accept what’s happening to us like other animals? Why must we always question our own existence? I guess that’s what sets the human race apart. I don’t feel much like a genius now.

God, if You are listening, I believe in You. I’ve my doubts at times, but in my opinion You’re the Game Master. You’re the Man. I just want to be Your Messenger.

Time has worked wonders. I’ve decided that whatever world I’m living in is the right one for me. My face is healed. No more pensive thinking for me, and speculating about the nature of what’s real. I’m ready to come back to the world of the living. That’s the reality I like best. I feel good again. The Game Master must be watching over me.

Thank You, God.

I’m glad I didn’t kill myself. I still don’t know the meaning of life. I still don’t understand the nature of my faith and I still don’t have a plan for the future.

What I do have, as Doctor O’Hara has explained to me, is some time, precious time, to look around and see the beauty in life. He says it’s all around me. All I have to do is look. You don’t have to be a genius to keep your eyes open. I’m starting to take a peek. I think I like what I see. Life still sucks, but I’ll hang around and see what happens.

Who ever heard of a bearded young guy with freckles getting the girl? It’s ridiculous. That’s me, all image and fantasy. Am I just a quirk of nature or the real thing? Who will keep me company and give me love now in my paradox of discovery, as I surge from one reality to another, one quantum qubit at a time?

==Reference==

(1) Quantum Computers, quantum mechanical phenomena, superposition and entanglement. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedic

(2) Quantum Computers: What are they and what do they mean to us? – Google. Material referenced from Explorations in Quantum Computing by Collin Williams and Scot Clearwater

Report from Bargain Books on Johnny Oops

Hi Everyone, please take a look at a writeup that just came out tonight from Bargain Books about my first novel - Johnny Oops at

http://bargainebooks.blogspot.com

Regards,

Arthur