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I am pleased to report that my newest book will be out in the next day or so through Amazon Digital Services. The following is a puff piece introduction to the book.
TAKE ME NOW GOD!
A story
by Jim Putnam
So
what happens when one pursues every course of self-enlightenment and discovery
available to people with too much time on their hands? And what happens when they have exhausted
their search through religion, cults, mysticism, spiritualism, Native American
cultures, prophecies, politics, the psychic world and beyond?
At the
journeys end they have only one option left.
"Take Me Now God!" A
demand to the Creator, Source, or God, no matter what you choose to call him or
her, for immediate salvation. As the
author says, "In the beginning was
the Word, and no one listened."
In the
first chapter of this "unauthorized
autobiography", he laments; "She's
right you know. I'm not compatible with
humans. Hell, half the time my damn dog
loses it's loyalty. She once asked me if
I ever considered suicide. Who wouldn't
after what I'd seen. But I said no. So
she rephrased the question. Maybe I
should consider suicide. That's why I
decided to end it."
Beginning
with the opening Post Mortem, the author rushes to dispose of all that is
important in his life so God can take him now.
Prepare yourself for a hilarious journey through the world of
religions, the metaphysical, spiritual and more, leaving a trail of shattered
searches for inspiration and failure to find the hidden meaning in life.
Excerpts:
True
love: "I was star crossed from day
one, double crossed by day two, and nailed to the cross by day three."
The
Illuminati: "The New Age of
enlightened beings - the Illuminati.
Often caught up in their own delusional hysteria. Demanding to be heard. Demanding to be
followed. Judging others as they don't
want themselves judged. Know how to tell
the difference between a fraudulent Illuminati and enlightened one? You can't."
The
Rapture: "There are a lot of
interesting things in the spiritual world, but of all of them, the Rapture wins
hands down. Think about it, the optimum
lift off. The ultimate high. No more bills. No more taxes."
Creation:
"Ever wonder about creation? I do all the time. Seems the Bible can account for about 6,000
years, back to the time of the big surf, or flood. The Hopi and Mayan Indian can account for
another 250,000 years, including the mystic kingdom of Atlantis.
"Dinosaurs are 60-120 million years old. The Grand Canyon
is 2 billion years old. Earth 4 billion,
while the universe as we know it is 26 billion years old. I figure that is more than enough time to
accommodate just about every version of creation there can be."
Channels: "I
want real proof. Give me the winning
numbers to next week's Powerball lottery and I'll be a true believer for the
rest of my annuities. Those damn
lotteries. Why is it there are only a
few thousand possible combinations of winning numbers, yet the odds of winning
are 12 million to one? Where does that
math come from? Pythagoras in a drunken
stupor?"
Native Americans: "I
always had an affinity for them. Was the
only kid that ever volunteered to be the Indian. Didn't bother me to get killed in most
battles. Every once in a while we played
Little Big Horn and I kicked some white ass."
Genetic
Manipulation: "I've had suspicions about it since I was 5 years old, when I first tasted cooked spinach. That shit had to be genetically engineered
poison. And don't you think it made me
more than a little suspicious about my mother, who was trying to kill me with
it?"
Ancient
Prophecies: "There is nothing I want more than to believe the ancient
prophecies. After the mess we have made
of the Earth, we deserve no less than the catastrophic earth changes that have
been foretold. It would be a fitting
tribute to our self-aggrandizing ego trip."
From
dogs to demons, Christians to pagans, Take Me Now God! takes one on a wild
ride through the life of a searcher, albeit, one who came up empty handed but
with no regrets.
Here is the opening of the book:
From: Take Me Now God!
Part
One
The
Fall
EPILOGUE
I
got to taste the big time
been chasing dreams I
thought mine
but then a cowboy he never
learns
when to say no, when to go
slow
and all those people
‘round me
all those good friends I
thought I’d see
they disappeared in the
night
maybe they’re right, I
just shouldn’t fight
Keep
searching for a home with laughter
seems I’ve some upon the
final chapter
as I play out the last
scene
footlights fade out, an
end to my dream
That
curtain it - began descending
as that final act was
finally ending
that stage of life I had
known
left me no home, left me
alone
and don’t you know I can’t
wait to get out of here
so tired of being alone
don’t you know I can’t
wait to get out of here
I’ve
got to find my home
- -
- - Getting Acquainted -
- - -
First,
let me acquaint you with said subject me, the world I am trying to escape, her
world, and the great beyond, my world.
Consider the obvious, and the less obvious becomes easier to
comprehend. I was Left Handed, Four
Eyed, Small Town, and Catholic, and they called me
Lucky.
The
second son sandwiched 13 months on either side by much larger brothers. I was born the first year of the Baby Boomers
as the fallout was still raining down from the two atomic bombs dropped on Japan. My Mother said I was quite an oddball even in
the middle of the helter skelter revolutionary and often anarchist generation
of the 1950's and 1960's.
How many
people do you know that start life with four strikes against them? You
see, I would have been most fortunate if those were the only strikes against me
in life. However, my role as entertainer to the gods or archangels or
whatever celestial beings needed comic relief, endowed far more strikes against
me than just left handed, four eyed, small town, and Catholic.
My
maternal side of the family, the Campbell
clan, left me with a legacy of the fantastic and mysterious ways of the Dark
Irish, a familiarity with the little people from Fairies to Leprechauns, an
unsought awareness of the ancient Druid wizards and high priests, healers, and
storytellers, and a whole bunch of other weird, mystical, and metaphysical
stuff.
Genetically
manufactured with the best and worst of Scotland,
Ireland,
and the Celtic Campbell clan, truly, I was the ultimate hybrid or mutant DNA.
Then
there was the paternal side, the Putnam clan, mostly English aristocrats with a
touch of German engineering and inventiveness, and pretty much at odds with
everything from the whimsical and magical world of my mother's ancestors.
They were the aristocratic ancestry leading to various figures of nobility I
dare not mention lest I sully their memories in the history books we read.
Why my
father's non-Catholic ancestors even had their own big church near London
shortly after the English drove the Catholics out of Britain, meaning back when
my father's side in jolly old England drove my mother's side from their
ancient homes in the Scottish Highlands to Ireland, and eventually to land here
in America.
I do not
know a lot about DNA and genetic coding but if we are the product of our
parents and ancestors combined DNA then I must have lived in a constant state
of revolution and never known who I could trust from my own family.
However,
I cannot afford to believe in the children inheriting the sins of their fathers
or mothers or ancestors. From the little genealogy I have dared to
research about my family the burden of sins like those are of such tremendous
magnitude that us siblings haven't got a chance in Hell of living normal lives.
That
sucks...
When I
get to the Pearly Gates and confront St. Peter, I expect he will not find my
name on the invitation list. You see, based on the sins of my families my
judgment was a foregone conclusion long before I even died.
Still I
am a writer and storyteller by birthright, ancestry, and intuitive expectation
and I am an occasional believer, when it suits my purpose, that we can create
our own reality. So do not be surprised
that the moment of my birth I had the dreadful realization that a very serious
mistake took place.
It was a
dread that would haunt me through my life. You see, I just knew there was
a serious mix up at God's baby processing facility in Heaven and some
absent-minded angel had sent me to the wrong family on earth.
Over time,
it was to become obvious.
 |
| House of Rothschild |
I was
supposed to be born a Rothschild in the legendary House of Rothschild in London, home of one of
the most mysterious and powerful families in history. Of course, there is
no single House of Rothschild but castles all over Europe
and the world.
My real
family owned nations, kings, diamonds, gold, banks, and politicians.
Though my palate back in Iowa
longed for lobster, caviar, sconces, and tea, I was stuck with pork, corn,
hamburgers, and hot dogs.
I did the
best I could in a world without soufflé.
Of course,
there were serious sacrifices. I
expected armies of servants, limos and trillions of dollars, but I had to
settle for an apartment in small town Iowa,
parents who were just college students themselves, and a family history of
bizarre tragedies and wild magic.
So very
reluctantly, I had to accept the cards dealt to me in life and rest assured it
was the last time I ever trusted a card dealer.
No matter what my birth certificate said, I was a Rothschild, quite Jewish,
an English aristocrat, rich beyond imagination, and lost in the cornfields of Iowa.
My
ancestors did not just read the Bible, they wrote it!
However,
I never let go of the hope that one day when they audit the baby factory in
Heaven they find and rectify the fatal mistake that made a potential Rothschild
prodigy into a cursed Campbell-Putnam ancestor.
That "sins
of the father" talk hits far too close to home.
Go back
to the 1600's, just after the age of my favorite Queen of England, Elizabeth,
Virgin Queen. During her reign she did
her best to prevent her father's (Henry the VIII no less her mother beheaded by
old Henry) orders to persecute the Catholics by forcing them to renounce their
Catholic faith or drive them from Britain.
It just
happened that one of the most powerful Catholic clans in Scotland was the Campbell clan, my other folks. For
decades, maybe centuries they had ruled in the desolate but beautiful Scottish
Highlands and fought for and against the imperial English rule depending on the
mood at the time.
Of course,
it was the same English rule that the non-Catholic Putnam family in London was
advocating. After Elizabeth's death at the
turn of the 17th century King Henry's rule was finally enforced and the Campbell clan got a choice, denounce your Catholic
faith or be banished to Ireland. Refuse to choose and you lose - you die.
 |
| One of many Campbell castles in Scotland |
What a
choice. Give up all ancestral religion, rights, titles, and property
under Great Britain or go to
Ireland. They made it sound as if Ireland was a
far worse fate than losing everything.
The part
of the Campbell Clan refusing to convert to the Church of England knew those
deceitful Brits were lying about how dreadful things were in Ireland.
The Brits just hated the place because the Irish kept rejecting English
rule. However, where else could Scottish
Celts go to be among friends?
 |
| Another Campbell castle |
My
ancestors held to their conviction, then kicked out of Scotland, and
banished from their homeland, estates, and titles. After a few
generations in County Cork Ireland, the Campbell
family then migrated to America
in the 1800's. They were victims of one side of the family curse.
Once the
Putnam's got the Campbell's and other Catholics out of Britain in the early
1600's they migrated to America, arriving in the mid 1600's in New England in
the Puritan rush to Plymouth Rock, some 200 years earlier than the
Campbell clan.
 |
| Yet another of the dozen or more surviving Campbell castles |
Specifically
the Putnam family arrived in New England and once unpacked, some chose to
settle in a Puritan place called Salem,
Massachusetts, just in time
for the Salem Witch trials. Thus, set in motion the other half of my
family's ancient curse.
Here it
gets quite complicated. Look at the court transcripts of that fateful and
tragic trial in the 1690's.
You see,
there was a Puritan Putnam family who spent years creating a safe and isolated
haven to protect the "witches" from harm by the village church fanatics. They successfully hid those suspected of
being witches for decades in their remote estates. At the time of the trial, supposedly 6 of the
8 largest property owners in the Salem
area were from the Putnam family.
Then into
the story comes a young Putnam girl named Anne, but not from the Putnam family
creating the safe haven, rather she was the minister's daughter from
town. She told her Putnam Preacher pop the witches possessed her and made
her do evil things against her will.
It was a
rather ingenious story perhaps but with deadly consequences. Soon a bunch of other local kids joined the
chorus and suddenly all those witches protected by one Putnam family were
arrested and tried for practicing Black Magic on those poor innocent children
of the villagers by the other Putnam family.
You
probably heard the rest. A couple of dozen witches were burned or hanged
to death, later the kids admitted they made up the story, and thus began the
curse of the Salem witches cast upon the immediate and all future Putnam
descendants until the Putnam blood line was wiped out.
Seemed to
me our family should have got some metaphysical credit for protecting the
witches all those decades. However, as
far as the curse was concerned all Putnams looked alike. It was as good a curse as any ancient
Egyptian curse (King Tut) or medieval curse from the Spanish Inquisition.
At any
rate, I would not have thought much about the curse except one day I was
reading about Amelia Earnhardt, the world famous airplane pilot, and I realized
that Amelia married a certain George Putnam of the New England Putnam family
when she was 33 years old, and six years later, she disappeared off the face of
the earth.
Well, so
goes the story of my ancestry as passed down from generations of Celtic and
thus Irish storytellers. My Irish grandfather on the Campbell side used to tell me one should only
half believe any good story told.
I can
tell you this. Where I was born, Iowa City,
Iowa, was home to the University of Iowa Scottish
Highlanders Marching band, one of the most famous
bagpipe bands in the world. Why a Scottish band was far from the magical
land of the Loch Ness monster and located in the same town where I lived in Iowa is a mystery?
Okay, in
spite of the curse, we survived which was somewhat unusual but I do feel the
DNA coding with its highly conflicting Campbell
and Putnam elements, which we did indeed inherit, is an important clue in the
story of the wayward Iowa Hayseed.
Think
about it. DNA just might be the direct link to God since most of us blame
Him or Her for giving it to us in the first place. In fact, we do not control a number of
critical life elements, like inheriting the DNA. Did you pick the family
you join, the country, state, town, or village?
Did you choose your family status in your town, rich, poor, or
dependent?
Then
there are the race, income, religion, language, and a host of other major
cultural, religious, and demographic classifications in your life, and again
you have no control. Then, wait a
minute. What are the most significant influences on your life?
There is
Survival 101 - your parents. Then there
is Survival 102 - your grandparents.
Finally, we have Survival 103 - your elementary, secondary, and higher
education teachers. What do they all
have in common? You did not choose any
of them.
Add to
that the millions of variables that make up your life, for instance the number
and gender of siblings, their smarts, and their attitudes. Toss a few
dozen relatives, priests, ministers, mullahs, or rabbis into the mix and you
have yourself one powerful cocktail.
What do
these amazingly varied and seemingly unrelated components of your life all have
in common? On Judgment Day, any or all
of these variables provide unintended consequences in your verdict.
In spite
of the fact your Day of Atonement and moment of judgment will come from whoever
your divine God might be, your fate relies on a whole bunch of factors and
standards you did not control, select, or endorse!
You did
not create! You did not choose!
Yet they
are the measuring sticks for your judgment.
Do not
know about you but I feel I have just made a powerful case against the use of
"free will" as a determining factor for judgment day.
There is
nothing "free" about those varied components we inherited in our
lives and it is about time we not be held responsible for all those impediments
to the exercise of genuine "free will" on our part.
They are
all someone else's "will" being unfairly imposed on our life.
That
compelling argument and consequential attitude should get me off the hook on a
whole lot of stuff when I stand before St. Peter awaiting judgment at the gate.
Youth is,
wasted on the young. If only we could have waited until we piled up all
those experiences, feelings, joys, failures, loves found, and lost loves before
we lost our innocence, our ability to dream, and our faith in the unknown.
Instead
we spend a lifetime being beaten down, educated I guess they call it, tricked,
fooled, disappointed, and occasionally, well, we might even find a moment to
get happy.
That is
not to say everyone is that way but now that I am much older and wiser I have
noticed there are fewer and fewer happy people.
She is
right you know, the Pretender. I am not
compatible with humans. Hell, half the time
my damn dog even loses its loyalty.
Every time I try to relate to anyone, I just seem to blow it. Guess the only thing compatible with me is my
cactus, and lately some of them have even taken to dying.
She once
asked me if I ever considered suicide.
You would after what I had seen.
However, I said no. Therefore,
she rephrased the question. Maybe I
should consider suicide. That is why I
decided to end it.
My
termination seems to be the only way to protect the human race from further
contamination by me. What did she call
me? Oh yeah, the Devil Incarnate, better
known as the Prince of Darkness.
Once
wrote a book that talked about the Prince.
Guess she finally figured anyone that knew as much about the Prince as I
wrote about must be speaking from first hand experience. She might be right I reckon.
Makes
sense that the Prince would know all the details of Jesus’ life. He was there tempting him in the desert,
trying to seduce him with riches, power and women. Finally, when he gave up on Jesus, he was
there nailing him to the cross.
That
could explain what I saw. All the time I
thought I was the reincarnation of Joshua, the friend and scribe of Jesus. Never crossed my mind I might just be the
Prince of Darkness. It took the
Pretender to wake me up. Her insights
take all the fun out of the end of the world.
Therefore,
this must serve as my final will and testament.
Consider it my great escape. This
sorry world has hit such a subterranean level of degradation that anywhere can
only be better. It is the final plane
ride to Neverland.
Some
might call this a “Living Will” or something like that, but how could a living
will be serving the dead? Never did
figure that one out.
That
might have been my problem, always trying to figure things out. My persistent questioning of anybody and
everybody got me in more trouble than I could ever imagine. That and telling stories. When I was a kid, my grandfather and a bunch
of other old men used to tell me stories, for hours.
They made
me laugh. They made me cry. They even scared the shit out of me. However, they always made me feel. Nothing else ever did I guess, except those
old stories. It was a gift. Made people feel good. Made some like me feel for about the only
time.
So there
I was, just a kid, and already burdened by twin curses. Curses, by the way, that would haunt me the
rest of my life. Figuring things out and
telling stories. Yes, maybe she was
right; maybe I was the son of Satan.
You see
there is no other logical explanation on why this Iowa Hayseed set out on his
Quixote-like adventure through life as reflected in this story.
I had a
couple of advantages over my brothers to offset the many disadvantages and most
important was my obsessive compulsion to read and write, something they found
overly demanding with little downside reward.
Thus, I
was the gatekeeper for all the knowledge of the universe found in books and I
could communicate what I learned to others through the ability to write.
For quite
different reasons they both settled on me being rather odd, although Bosco did
find my adventures far more interesting and challenging than the Archangel did.
In my
fantasy world, getting dirty was normal, getting in trouble was noteworthy, and
getting someone mad was worth a merit badge.
For the
most part our childhood memories consisted of observing the Biblical life style
of the Archangel and causing as much chaos and confusion as possible for a
couple of Afterthoughts.
Except
for the scripted interaction from the parents in which the Archangel
was to bestow on us his favor, we lived separate lives. We were so separate in fact, that neither the
Archangel nor we remember being friends or
hanging out throughout childhood.
I did
with my brothers what the laws of God and nature required, but that was the
extent of it. Beyond that I created a new world of boundless creative
endeavors, the aggressive pursuit of knowledge, and the ability to instantly
leap into the Land of Oz, Wonderland, Camelot or even the Alamo and still escape.
By
kindergarten, my highly disciplined path began by joining the Public Library
Book Reading Club where I won many honors reading the most books each
month. It was the first of my activities intended to separate me from my
siblings, as the thought of joining a library book club terrified both.
My
pursuit of information taught me what the kids in Russia,
China, and Europe
learned long ago; do not overlook our grandparents as a source of information
and knowledge.
Interestingly,
my grandparents on both the Putnam and Campbell sides found my curiosity to be
charming and spent a lot of time sharing their knowledge with me and I shall
forever be grateful. I was far more comfortable in the company of adults
than other kids were.
By the
time third grade came, I found kids to be quite naive as they were clueless
about world affairs, politics, or history. Yet every weekend Grandfather
Campbell would test me on current events that week expecting me to have read
Time and Life magazines before I saw him for Sunday brunch. Of course, he
did not know I also read Popular Science, National Geographic, and Boys Life.
If you
were I, how would you feel about having the four strikes against you at
birth? As you can see, my life was not just the four strikes against me
but the fascinating DNA issues and the myriad of other factors dumped on me at
birth and for a long time to come after.
I was
born with a bull's eye on my back.
Before my
mouth even opened, confusion and torment already threatened my existence.
Back when I was still in the womb I'm sure I sensed the foreboding and when I
was jerked out into the world the first thing I saw was a woman doctor, quite
uncommon back in those post-war days.
Then
there was my religion. Of course, I already mentioned I was really a
misplaced Rothschild kid due to the screw up back at HQ. That left me a Jewish-Catholic.
In my
reality show family back in Iowa the ancient battles between my maternal and
paternal ancestors were renewed, the battles where my non-Catholic father's
English family helped drive my Catholic mother's Scottish family from their
birthright, titles, castles, and money.
Now fast
forward to my birth. My father was a recent convert to Catholicism and
when it comes to embracing religion, there is nothing like a new convert for
enthusiasm and a bad case of religious fervor.
That
meant instead of going to church once a week for Sunday services, my fanatical
father decided he needed to go to church every day, probably to make up for all
those years he had not seen the light. Therefore, he dragged us kids
along for the ride.
Whatever
he expected from the hyper-Catholic activity, it did not seem to help us in
God's favor. No matter how hard I prayed, I was never going to hit the
game winning home run or score a date with the beautiful rich girl.
Unfortunately,
my dad's family never got over the traitor, my dad, who would forgo the eternal
security of being non-Catholic to switch sides and join the dreaded mackerel
snappers.
When we
would visit the rest, of the Putnam family, I always searched around for any
signs of cross-burning or voodoo dolls, knowing the deep-seated conflict
between these surrogate families for the English and Scottish/Irish causes.
Oddly,
both sides of the family accepted me, perhaps because I reminded them often of
my true Jewish heritage, which thus made me much less of a card carrying
Catholic threat.
Now the
fact they seemed to accept me thus cast suspicion on my motives by my mother's
Campbell side of the family who seemed to think I had been spiritually hijacked
by those dastardly Putnam's and was probably already indoctrinated into the
Masonic 50th degree secret society.
I did
nothing to discourage the rampant rumors and innuendo, choosing to remain
silent. I am a great believer in the Tip O'Neill philosophy about saying
little, "it is better people don't know what you know, than to know what
you don't know."
On the
other hand, I could always strike terror into the hearts of those Putnam's by
threatening to join their Moose Club Lodge or Masonic Order, also secret
societies I suspected of having a rather negative view of Catholics. They never
had the heart to tell me I was ineligible.
Throughout
my life, I was a most curious person about everything, which was another of my
many demonic virtues according to my mother, and especially according to those
priests and nuns.
Speaking
of which, in spite of the Putnam pressure against it I actually joined a
Catholic secret society, the Knights of the Alter, God's army for Pete's
sake. Okay, okay, so I was just an alter boy, but I was armed to the
teeth with bells and smoke bombs, oh yeah incense I mean.
It was
during my early Dark Ages, when the memory of my true Rothschild heritage was
beginning to slip away in the chaos of growing up. It was in the latter
part of grade school. At the time, I actually harbored the thought of
becoming a priest, which I soon rejected based on observing those of the faith
I personally experienced.
Then I
figured I should not waste all those pious years of training to be a priest and
I decided to be a religious brother, but there were far too many rules for such
a simple life. My idea of saving the world was not learning how to weed a
garden. I was thinking of being more like Thomas Aquinas or St. Augustine,
theologians, not gardeners.
Therefore,
my last grasp at retaining a link to all that Catholic education and training
was to become a religious hermit because by this time having a conversation
with me in a cave would be far more intellectually stimulating than remaining
in my environment.
What ever
happened to those glorious dreams of thinking I could save the world?
A
fabulous world of classical literature, ancient Greek mythology, empires,
kingdoms, warlords, and dragons drew me in. So I am stuck with brothers
who hated to read and abhorred the very thought of writing. Intellectual
stimulation to them was sticking your finger in a light socket.
By now, I
had experienced the mysterious Catholic world of Baptism, First Communion,
Confirmation, and Exorcism; I was ready to try something new. It was time
to experience rowing, croquet and polo instead of kick the can, cowboys and
Indians.
By the
time I reached the end of grade school, it was obvious I had greatly
miscalculated my potential and possibilities. I needed a fresh start.
Pity the
child who knows no better, who taught himself everything. Pity the child in the shadows, who taught
himself how to think. Pity the poor boy
you never noticed, nobody really cares.
Pity the child you cannot see, in his world nothing is fair.
.
