Ollie Into Heaven:Sub-objectivity

As you all know here at the Ollie into Heaven Project we're all about keepin it real. And what more effective tool for keepin it real is there than the age time honored method of breakin it down. There is so much conflict these days about what is objectively true and what is subjectively true, its so confusing and as we all know confusion is the yetzer hara's special application scoped rifle pointed straight at your face. But shhhh don't worry, at Ollie into Heaven there is no Objective or Subjective, there is only Sub-objective. Sound complicated? Dude it's so not. History is complicated. I mean for real, the entire compiled record since the dawn of civilization. Is that a red dot on your forehead cause I think the yetzer hara's about to pop? But lets face it without objective history, we dont have past events as a reference to plan our future actions. Congratulations the yetzer hara just splattered your brains all over your crying mothers face. It's called mesora dude, now we're getting sub-objective. With mesora we can make up fantastic stories that heroic figures may or more likely never did and base our future actions on those. So lets say in real life some rabbi had a job and supported his family responsibly while minimizing his work schedule and leisure time in order to commit that time to his learning and prayer, are you feeling fuzzy? I don't know I kind of feel like I want to punch that rabbi in the face. How about instead an angel, or better yet another dead rabbi comes to a rabbi and tells him that he has to commit his whole life to study or else his whole life will be a huge waste and then when his family is about to starve to death a king or like a forest troll or something gives him like a box of gold that he then gives to another poor rabbi only to be rewarded by yet another box of gold. Now I'm rock hard! History rewards consistency, fortitude and unwavering commitment, mesora rewards fantastical, super- human behavior and here at Ollie into heaven we are nothing if not Super humans.


Ollie into Heaven: Brooklyn

Brothers and Sisters,
Let us not kid ourselves, no wait, let us kid ourselves but for the time being let us ignore systematic logic and go with my gut on this one, we ain’t moving to Israel, just not happening. Its far away, hot, has a large population of African Jews which we will feel obligated to except but never feel truly comfortable around, and constant Arab aggression which forces us to question our commitment to our ideals and convictions, lets face it, those Jews are survivors, the solid unbreakable core of Jewish scrappiness that Hitler Yamach Shamo was talking about, while we are more the kind to line up for a train ride to the east for an ambiguous labor seminar, but fear not Rabbi X has got your back.

We have something better, closer, easier, and more ethnically divided, we have Brooklyn. That glorious city on the river, that urban expression of our psyche, that center of purely esoteric knowledge and culture where even the poor and ignorant are pretentious, a city were nobodies and nothings can make something of themselves… Brooklyn... Say it softly and it is a song, loudly and it is a prayer. Halls of study so grand one never has to suffer the light of day, and a dogmatically clannish attitude towards the world, a social cocoon so warm and intentionally judgmental that the outside world becomes an illusion from which our sustenance comes to us like manna from heaven, but whose angels and demons are to be loathed and shunned. Here at the center for Jewish Guilt and Persecution we know who the true Jews are, Brooklyn Jews, everyone else is pitiably misguided by these goyim, with their reasonable guiltless lifestyles, tempting us with their existence, and their faux attempts at spirituality.

In Brooklyn we can be our political, quarrelsome, divisive selves without fear of judgment, there are always more communities, more chances to game the system, more chances to destroy those we profess to love, it is a world with infinite Jews made for no one. In Brooklyn we are the Chosen people not because of what we do, what we remember, how we present ourselves to the world, but because we say so, and isn’t that a more realistic/comfortable attitude?

So remember, we are no longer wandering Jews, there is no exile, we are already home, we are in Brooklyn.


Ollie Into Heaven: The Evil Eye

Brothers and Sisters,
I have been noticing of late the drop off in the sale of our red string, a drop off in faith, a drop in how much G-d loves you, and I will not stand for it. Sure my love for you on behalf of this G-d fellow is quite extensive, but I can’t be around all night to protect you…from the Evil Eye. Its realm is dark, fetted and filled with everything a person could ever complain about, with the souls of Christians and Apostates boiling in a soup of Semen and Menstrual blood, with harems of demonic shiksa wenches dancing around his 360 degree’s of visual malice, a place, that without proper protection you are all doomed to. There are those deceptive souls who will tell you that the Evil Eye is just an idea, that it is just an expression of the danger the Envy of those not equally blessed pose to those who have known good, an expression to ward off boisterous talk one might engage in the presence of embittered people. People who say such things are the agents of the eye.
I know the eye is real.
Years ago, before becoming the spiritual megalith you see before you I craved many things, things left unfulfilled do to my G-dless ways, before my awesome vision of Big R and the Material girl, things I thought would come to me if only I could become a true bluesmen. Having buried a autographed photograph of my hero Elijah Muhammad, the bones of a black cat, and box of my nail clippings at a Mississippi crossroad, he came to me. Giant and mercurial, throbbing darkness, as I cursed myself for leaving my surfing Hamsa at home, its glare burned into my being, revealing my mistakes, my sins, just generally being judgmental and making me feel uncomfortable with myself, which in the end is the greatest sin of all.
Well then I sobered up, but I will always remember my night with the Eye, and how useful the symbol of universal observation is, how little of ourselves we show in good taste, and how uncomfortable it is for others to see ones true self.
And as I look out onto this crowd of sinners, thieves, pederasts, and wealthy donors I see a lot that people wish to hide, that people need protection from, things that they would hate the community finding out about, things that they can keep hidden with a small donation and a few dollars worth of red string. So as you browse our gift shop remember, security isn’t the only thing watching…

Ollie Into Heaven: Introduction to our philosophy

Brothers and Sisters,
I used to be like you: Spiritual, Sincere, and Sexually perverse in ways that would make Woody Allen cringe...non-nuerotic ways [wait for gasps and hushes], but then the alliteration of my life changed. One day when I was rock climbing on E with my sexually ambiguous life partner the Rebbe came to me in a vision, holding hands with Madonna, not the Madonna, just Madonna, and explaining the faults of my personal philosophy. For so...no, wait... too long I had felt that a closeness to G-d required a commitment to personal dignity and self improvement, to change I had to become something more, now thanks to the R man in the sky and Madonna, I realize I just have to be something different with an ideology so convoluted that by the time everyone finds out what I really am I will have...wait for it...Ollied into heaven!

That's right the long and hard road to spiritual enlightenment has a lip on it, and that lip is a mixture of Eastern Mysticism, Socially Dynamic clergy and everyone’s favorite Kabballah. For centuries Judaism was the religion of dignity and reason, but thanks to the mind crushing crucible that is a millennia and a half of EXTREME! Eastern European persecution the isolated enclaves of Jews created a slave ideology that would bring a solitary tear to an Egyptians eye. Traditionally Astrology, Cosmology, and abstract symbolism has been realm of Pagans, Cults, and Demagogues, but no more will we bound solely to an all knowing, all being, all powerful deity. We have once again reclaimed our right to small powers we can relate to on a personal level, pleasant Yokes of self worship less powerful then ourselves, you can now be dominated by the unknown as much as, or as little as, you want. We have an a excellent staff of quasi-shaved costumed Rabbi's waiting to remove your guilt through donations, the sale of chai necklaces to ward of the all knowing evil eye which dominates the darkness within all of us and commands respect equal to any G-d, prayer and spiritually manipulative sex, like the Kama Sutra spiced with guilt and garnished with self loathing.

Come Study with us, and remember study means spend time with us so we can build a reporte before we start asking for money, just to be clear, I mean who ever heard of someone wanting to learn with the poor, destitute, and of embittered spirit, those people are downers and a waste of all of our time, Rabbi X only studies with winners, are you a winner?

Ollie Into Heaven: It begins

There are some big questions out there…

Questions others are too afraid/responsible to answer…

People like your father…

People like you?

Does the fact that you're gonna DIE... scare you to DEATH? Do you feel like you're already dead? Was a sense of purpose and self assuredness something you just weren't born with? Yes you say, but what can I do about it. A life-long struggle to find myself is just too long, especially in the fast paced world of today. Deep study and commitment to the beliefs, convictions and goals of my forefathers is so cold and un-dramatic. How can I turn the journey to enlightenment into a chaotic whirlwind of unmitigated self-righteousness and pitiable self-loathing?

These are the questions, now without further ado, the answer…

Well Broham, you gotta learn to OLLIE INTO HEAVEN!!
with Rabbi Xander Shmoiglstein!

BN: How do you do it Rabbi Shmoiglstein?
Rx: Call me Rabbi X.
BN: Ok, Rabbi X
Rx: No, no, just X.
BN: ...Ok then X
Rx: No, no Rabbi X, gotta let the people know I'm trustworthy.
BN: Ok Rabbi X, tell us about your hysterically un-centered philosophy.
Rx: Well man first, fuck all that other bitch ass Torah, this shit is straight Kaballah. Steps one and two have always been for nerd pussies. We go straight to step three.
BN: Wow, that does sound uncentered. So how does Ollie Into Heaven work?
Rx: Its all about the idea that when you can you can and when you can't you can't, but the point is that you can and you have to, all the time.
BN: Volatile yet sustainable, I like it. Lets hear from some of Rabbi X's satisfied minions, any questions/comments from the flock:

Audience member#1: I'm in love with this program. Rabbi X's recklessness with mysticism makes it all about duality rather than unity so when you had sex with me, I knew that it was only disgusting blemish on my reprehensible body that could easily be cleansed away by the awesome power of my soul, my clean, clean soul…I love you Rabbi X! You’re the Messiah! [ carted out of the auditorium]

Audience member#2: Everything I don't like God doesn't like and everything I do like, God loves, thank you Ollie into Heaven and thank you Rabbi X!

BN: Well that’s all the time we have for this symposium, come back next week when we will be discussing the Evil Eye in greater depth.


Fly in the Face of Convention

When I was nineteen I discovered a certain fly buzzing about my dorm room, and something intrigued me about this fly. It was slightly larger and less annoying then most flies, making a light purring noise like a satisfied cat, instead of the annoying drone of its brethren. I think this fly fancied himself some what of an aristocrat perching himself on the rim of my Manhattan and spitting in it and drinking it back up. I figured my drink contaminated, so I abandoned it to the dandy insect, and went to sleep sober. The next day I awoke to see the drink empty and the fly drunkenly wobbling up to the top of the glass just to role back down. He tried once more, but fell back and passed out. Feeling sorry for the little bugger I cut a piece of lime for a morning treat and fixed it to the rim of the glass and left for class. When I returned I found him gingerly nibbling on the lime, making a satisfied squeaking noise. I found this too damn cute. I decided I would make him my pet, naming it Earnest Hemingway the II, after another prodigious booze hound.
He became a fixture in my life, perched upon my shoulder, like a parrot from Chernobyl. I taught him a few tricks like fetching small crumbs, playing dead, and taking standardized tests. My friends thought it was kind of creepy to have an oversized purring fly on my shoulder. They just couldn’t understand Ernie, as I have come to call him; he was rejected by fly conventions due to his exotic tastes and impeccable social graces. To force him back into that barbarous and hellish life, to make his existence short, ugly, and brutish, would be a crime against enlightenment. He was not stuck up or anything like that, I would often find him sitting back on a Pilsner glass dropping back some Sam Adams with drunken frat boys, or doing Vodka shots with members of the Russian mafia, and other unsavory characters. Whenever he would get in too deep with these types I would have to come in and extricate him, but before I could get angry at him he would just give me that wide-eyed look he couldn’t help but give due to his lack of eyelids. All was forgiven as we embraced.
I once took him to a Picasso exhibit as he had shown immense interest in his blue period work. Unfortunately, it was his cubist work, and Ernie couldn’t see what the big deal was. It wasn’t because he couldn’t understand and appreciate abstract art- quite the contrary -abstract and conceptual art was Ernie’s favorite, which was why I was so confused by his disinterest. Late that night it finally came to me that with his refractive vision, his kaleidoscopic world was just to cubist for Picasso to ever live up to.
After about two weeks I began to worry. Flies generally live for no more then a month, and my new found platonic love for Ernie was too deep to lose him so soon. I began to research ways to extend his life. I didn’t sleep a single night for three days as I searched every source for a cure for his all too short life span. As the fourth day of sleeplessness was about to consume my mind, Ernie flitted from his Gin Rickey to my video collection, and he landed on the horror classic The Fly. Eureka.
All I had to do was build a matter transporter, we would both get in it, and boom we would share genetic materials and he could live. I trusted Ernie to only do good with his super powers, being the gentlemen’s gentleman he was, so I got to work. For the next week I did nothing but research and build. My technical abilities and sanity were stretched to their limits. On day 27 after our first meeting I had finished it, tested it on the Janitor for safety sake, and then Ernie and I went in. It worked… too well. We both came out the other end unchanged. We tried it a few more times before I gave up and smashed the transporter in to fragmented shards. I always hated Star Trek.
After that we tried to make every last moment count, visiting all the cultural sights he could tolerate, and jiving with coolest cats at the hippest caf├ęs. We drank… lets just say we drank oblivion under the table. Then on the 30th night in our drunken reveries we fell asleep, both believing our friendship wouldn’t survive the dawn.
When I awoke Ernie was on his back in his favorite Martini glass. Tears started to fill my eyes as I cupped his body in my trembling hands, and then he flipped over and exclaimed “Tadaa”, in his flittering voice, his first word.
Over the next year Ernie grew both as an individual, and physically, growing to the size of a football. At this point he grew aware of his nakedness and made me tailor him a smoking jacket, and as a result he immediately took up smoking small cigars and a pipe I had carved for him from a piece of cherry wood. He had also increased his vocabulary to include, “Smashing”, “bully”, “Dadaist”, “overrated”, and a series of Latin phrases, leading me to believe that if not for the exertion of speaking through his proboscis he could speak fluent English. After he had attained such skill, and style, I thought it best for him to keep a low profile. Disney had been sending its costumed hooligans to find out about Ernie, and I believe this is what caused Ernie to go red.
While I think he found Marx’s ideas as stupid as any sane man would, he found the corporate structure of America, a structure which would deny him the basic rights that should be afforded to any thinking being, to be an unsound structure in which he would not participate. He set his mind on going to Cuba, reasoning that a corrupt communist structure was better for his continued well-being and growth, rather than an efficient and cunning corporate one. I made him a disguise of a white suit, shirt, tie, and Panama hat. His bags packed, he left in the dead of night- he so hated good-byes.
A month later I received a letter from Ernie. He had bribed his way into citizenship, and a small seaside mansion. He enclosed a photograph of himself in a rocking chair nursing a Martini and Cuban cigar. He became a successful author under a series of pen names, and lives in Cuba still, deep in the abandoned American Colony. Writing, living and drinking, he writes me often in his beautiful looping letters. He sometimes asks me to come and join him, but I can’t. Our lives have diverged, my friends and family are here, I can’t leave, but I will always treasure my friendship with Earnest Hemingway the II.


A Special Poem about women's bathrooms

A women’s bathroom

The tiles glazed an opalescent white
Polished by orthodontic hands

Cold and smooth, refreshingly clean
Ventilated and fresh, no hint of mildew

The sweet scent of the woman’s bathroom
Untainted by male musk and stank

As if women defecated only rose petals and doves
As we always dreamed they did

The rows of shampoo bottles enhanced, purified, and abundant
And their lady in waiting, conditioner, as plentiful as their liege

You open the frosted speckles pain
Sliding unfettered, as if greased with ambrosia

Into a bathtub covered in razors


The Jew Hater

I sat in his Jew office, a mockery of a real office, with his pictures of family and friends, and his pagan idols, marked with "Employee of the month" and " Award for continuing service" no doubt given to him to appease his heathen lust for polytheism.

Where are the crucifie and icons to remind you of G-d's glory, the Virgin Mary and the relicquaries that give form to our belief in G-d's son who these people killed.

The Jew. I call him that because to me they all look alike,came in, in his Jew garb. I mean who wears a suit and tie these days.

" Well everything seems to be in order, I'll show you to your cubicle" so like a Jew, putting a G-d fearing Christian in a cube, too good to share his office with little ole me, "Jew" I muttered.

"What?" He asked with his Jew lips, I said " I said 'you', you lovable rascal" I hated myself for that.

He showed me a cubicle with a phone, a computer, and a stack of papers. The Jew left me with instructions and his worthless Jew Thanks. I promptly opened minesweeper, sat back, and waited for the rapture I knew would set things right.

The Importance of Fabric softener

One often belittles the fabric softener, many manly men tossing it aside as a women's extravagance.

One MUST understand it does more then soften, much more.

It Prevents static my friend, the scourge of any bed sheet.

One moment your looking at your wife snug in her sheets, the next they're lit with saint elmo's fire, and then all the manly men in the world won't stop the screaming.

The same electricity they use in lightening my friend, they say it cooks you from the inside.

During my time as a traveling lighting rod salesman many people said " Sure my house is protected..." I wish they would finish, because I would say nothing. The product speaks for itself; instead they just pull out a shotgun and the chase is on.

Why Thor and Dr. Zeus ever thought it was a good idea I will never know, the apes and Norse have always been mysterious, so like us.

I believe there are worlds without softener , worlds of endless crags, bathed in the twilight of dying twin suns and lit with the constant arcing of static which are consumed by eyeless hairless monsters, boiling their old blood for food in the fiery blast furnaces they call stomachs. Pools of acid storing this insane energy, filled with gnashing eels and worms. Froglike men harpooning them and eating them raw and still alive. Fungal blooms clog the air and find root in all that is living, deforming their victims, choking them, the only cure being the crucible of terrible energy allowed to coarse through them, burning away the parasites. Yellow crusted land crabs praying to a burnt red sky, scored with jagged white light.

Lucky for you my friend we live in a softer world, and I happen to have my last box of softener right here and I'll sell it for...WHAT THE HELL AM I SAYING, its mine, get away, I'm not going back, I'm not going back...