J.J. Campbell

Post image for J.J. Campbell

by Ian on November 16, 2010

J.J. Campbell lives, writes but mostly dies a little each day on a farm in Brookville, Ohio.  He’s been widely published in the small press, most recently at ZYX, Poiesis, Underground Voices, FUCK! and ART:Mag.  J.J.’s most recent chapbook, “Suicide Porn”, was published by Interior Noise Press.

You can contact J.J. via email at jcampb4593@aol.com or his homepage.

***

just like god has done to me

i was watching a dirty latina
stick two fingers in her asshole
while listening to cheap trick
today

i turned down the music and listened
to her try to eek out a sexy moan in
order for me to pay for this

i closed my eyes and thought about
when i was 8 years old and was going
to be president

or when i was 12 and was going to be
the next left fielder for the yankees

or 15 when i wondered how much pot
i could smoke and still pass a needless
calculus test

or 19 when i pulled out of a rather large
woman and shot my load on her face
out of spite

i turned the music back up and somewhere
in the middle of the lyrics of “dream police”
i realized today was ash wednesday

i laughed and turned off the computer
happy i didn’t give a damn about such
trivial bullshit

and i know my mother will come home
soon and ask what i’m giving up for lent

and for the 34th year i will want to
look her right in the eyes

put a loaded gun in my mouth
and mumble life

but for the 34th year i won’t

i’ll simply utter the same thing
i say every year

caring

just like god has done to me

no longing for the past

it occurred to
me today

while in the
bathroom

that today
marks the
11th anniversary
of one of my
most bitter-sweet
breakups ever

and as i thought
back about her
i thought it was
rather appropriate
for me to be taking
a shit when this
thought entered
into my head

no tears

no longing for
the past

just hoping this
will all be over
before my legs
cramp up in
this heat

a slow cloudy sunday afternoon

i often imagine
myself tracing the
curves of your hips
with my tongue on
a slow cloudy
sunday afternoon

the perfect mix
tape playing in
the background

the both of us lost
in the unspeakable
acts we both need
at this moment

this moment right
now

and this is when my
imagination simply
runs out of steam

i haven’t been with
a woman in so long
i’ve lost hope in
what would happen
next

in my mind it’s all
one bad cinemax
movie

and i don’t get the
feeling you’d want
me reaching for a
towel and changing
the channel right
after we’re done

all my creative juices

i’ve grown
tired of
waiting for
miracles

and i’m
not above
paying for
it

yet here i
am

five fucking
years since
my dick saw
something
other than
my left hand

my complete
inability to
give a shit has
a tremendous
grip on this
dying soul

and all my
creative juices
are wasted on
these lovely
beauties that
grace my tv
screen

i imagined
death would
always be
more painful
than this

some privacy

my mother likes to
tell this story of
when i was young,
walking but still in
diapers, and she
would watch me get
up and walk behind
the couch or the
recliner

she didn’t know
what i was doing
until she heard me
grunting

realized i wanted
some privacy to
shit but was too
lazy to walk to
the bathroom

she believes this
story will embarrass
me but i’ll usually
stroll up to the group
of women at the
dinner party or
wherever when she
tells this story and
ask which cunt
would like to
wipe my ass

appalled, they all
walk away with
me laughing

wondering if my
mother will ever
learn which battles
are worth fighting

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