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J. O'Neal

I am here for Friends

About Me

Myspace Layouts at Pimp-My-Profile.com / Dark city

There have been occasions Of myself falling into myself, As if a manhole cover was Purposefully left out of place, When firm footing is suddenly not And the pit of my stomach Lodges in my throat, gulping to get out And up and away, There have been occasions Of myself despising myself, And I contrive desperate Ways of spitting myself in the face, Like nocturnal sled rides Down the steepness of my decline, Then when the speed and pitch are right To bring suitable gust, just hock it up And not away, but briefly out of me, Long enough to feel the difference Before I catch up with that globular Release, then: smack, And I recall why I spit it in the first place, Contrast has a way of bringing me back, Righting my keel so I dont over Do the doom and gloom parties Having a guest list of one, Because when I arrive fashionably late, I am so very seldom impressed, Its on those occasions That being pitiful and full of vinegar Really stands out as a waste, Like checking my email every five minutes, Hoping some she-surfer Liked the look of my digitized face and my witty quotes And the most recent novel Ive read, Or maybe just by chance clicked on the profiles I post, That really just say: lonely Between those well thought out lines of poetry And likes and dislikes and dissertations On my height and weight, Its thoughts and days like that, Yeah just like that, But occasionally, man Its moon dances and hot springs, Boiling with lunar buoyancy, Its hell yes fused with fuck yeah, Rip roar motivation that makes my Milquetoast alter ego look like The flimsy shell encasing a hurtling egg, Flying at the face of futility, Its rage at the gentling razor keen to Clip me with neutrality, It's striving to make this the mostly, Not just the occasional reprieve

My Interests

I'd like to meet:

Well, Elvis is undead, Feeding off of grease traps Out back of Church's chicken, Arteries hardened in immortality, Like a bloated, vampire parody, And Reagan is dead, But cant remember dying, Having slipped away In a haze of gun-smoke memory, Juxtaposed with images of his mommy, The listing right cries: Ronnie, Ronnie While Nancy wraps herself in a red dress, Then continues to embalm herself With stem cell syringes, Filled with gelatinous, fetus phylacteries, John Wayne still rolls in his grave On the longest day of the year, Twitching with revenant sparks of thought, Recalling womens dresses, two-way mirrors And repo men, who thought he was a queer, All the while aliens eulogize Andy Kaufmann on the internet, And a moon-faced boy Tries to snatch his life back with a blog, In this grave matter world Jesus laughs, persona non grata At the back of a Brittney Spears gala, Bursting with the knowledge That Bill Hicks, actually is GodDinosauria, we
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My Blog

Loki

It had to end sometimeyou surly bastard.After two undignified yearsof you skulking in the basement,smelling of urinelike some incontinent specter,it seemed a shameto let your decrepit statecontinue to...
Posted by on Thu, 12 Feb 2009 20:30:00 GMT

Summer, Sex and Ice Cold Beer

Making lazy, slow-motion loveunder the sweat of a Midwestern summeris like being so wet you stopgiving a damn about a storm's pelt of waterand just walk through the rain,since running only makes you l...
Posted by on Mon, 30 Jun 2008 10:30:00 GMT

Summer’s Long Shadow

The summer slunk in like a feral, city dog-pest ridden with it's panting tongue slick with froth.We didn't notice it at first then its damp fur stenchsunk in like it had been there all along,skulking ...
Posted by on Mon, 30 Jun 2008 10:26:00 GMT

Swing low.......lower

The meek shall inherit a jackboot in the ass or at best a thorough glossing over, leaving them unremembered, unremarkable and extremely pliable.   Their true reward awaits them when they pass f...
Posted by on Sun, 15 Jun 2008 10:20:00 GMT

Legacy

Hope hangs limply within a translucent IV bag inanimately waiting; a forgotten transfusion, while fear bubbles in a superheated spoon eager for the suck of a syringe and the plunge of a junkies thum...
Posted by on Sun, 15 Jun 2008 06:03:00 GMT

Devolve

come along now         through the ochre birth canal   into the fermentation         pre-establis hed for you over...
Posted by on Sun, 06 Apr 2008 00:26:00 GMT

Underbelly

It’s within the echoes of asphalt footfalls, raspy chants of street prophets, the crackle and vacuum of trash can fires and chiming chorus of breaking glass.   It takes shape in the rants...
Posted by on Tue, 01 Apr 2008 15:58:00 GMT

Haiku

I. Autumn robs the sky Of color with raven’s wings Like a jealous child   II. Truth is the cold rain While the sky is but a myth To the sodden earth   III. As green becomes brown The...
Posted by on Mon, 24 Mar 2008 18:31:00 GMT

The fickle now and the lying later....

The fickle now and the lying later transforms the clock hands to fingers of bone, stretches the murdering moment longer, defines the linger between burning and burnt.   Here, fabricated shine a...
Posted by on Sat, 22 Mar 2008 08:01:00 GMT

Query

Be it here, under hardened stare of the eyeing sun, within the amber skin of near summer’s end?   Be it there, the riddle of the stone faced, living sphinx, the simian link of blood shoved...
Posted by on Sat, 22 Mar 2008 07:48:00 GMT