Author: Julien J. O'Reilly

My Georgie 

I am unified,

Connected eternally, Internally, Externally. 

My mother, miscarried myself, My other half, My half bounced wave of my intricate being,

My counterweight

My balance in sway,

In realm and time and forever space. 

In this embrace, We unified. 

We became one spirit, One belief,

That we are truly, uniquely attuned, To one another. 

My perfect everything that I am not, And everything that you are not,

I complete, you complete,

And we can cross this dimension,

This structure of singleness,

Into a new way,

A multiplicity of infinity within me, And infinity within you. 

I am you, exactly and inexactly you,

And you are I, exactly and inexactly I. 

We traverse though any time, And place, space, race, face. 

Our bodies no longer tied to this rigidity, This uniform structure of existence. 

Our powers, unbelievably immense,

Unimaginably dense,

The collision of my time with yours,

Intrinsically weaved and ever changing,

Communication across a new channel,

Shared conscienceness,

Shared beliefs,

Crafting and planning,

Shaping and turning,

Entering a new existence,

To move with love, With passion, With knowledge of immensity,

And purpose,

Overwhelming purpose,

Responsibility, To see every being,

Every thought, action, reaction,

With compassion,

And begin to take shape 

This new understanding of where we are, Who we are,

To live without limits, Love without limits,

Without doubt,

And carry those along the way,

To explore all humanity, All creativetity, all authenticity,

Without judgement 

In the infinite expanse of all the ways I can be I, and all the ways you can be you.

Appreciation for the oddness, The absolute impossible odds of us,

Colliding in this way,

At this time,

In this emotion,

Interpreting the ticking of time,

In how we are equipped to fit,

And in this blip of time,

Understanding that linear being is a construction, a fabrication, to tie us down,

And through our own intuitions, we shall lead onward to become who we were always here,

To be. 

– Julien J. OReilly



Ha! I’m a fucking dinosaur. I’m all wrapped up in this cosmic gr-Ace, a blessing a cursing a fucking meteor crashing down into my skull to give way to my mammalian brothers and sister kissers and huggers, fuzzy and wuzzies and blah blah blah. Shut your mouth you fabrication. You copy cat, mopey and fat, fucking flip-haired conformist rat, buzzing bellowing brat. We’re reborn here, we’re re-horned and scorned here, instilled with this fear of death and stank old pussy breath here. Oh do my words curse you, does my flipping the bird somehow scratch the surface of your wasteland of holding hands in pretense, pressured, putrid, neatly-folded cold-nuclear household lands. Wake the fuck up, we ain’t going anywhere, we’re on this boat, behind this glorious ozone moat, gracious blue-green float, protecting your idiotic ideas and mutation manifestations on your shimmy-shaking titty-tossing engrossment of righteous ritualistic churches of cheap, chapped, recently-single enlightened Judas Jewish Christened historically Hindued boring Buddha’s mother Mohammad. You are the church, You are the savior, You are the fucking coming of the new age, the apocalypse, the new Messiah, the crowned queens and kings of crushed souls and wailing whales – fucking plastic wrapped heroes in costume. What do you think they all spoke about? What, did you think the “awakened” were the only ones awake, did you really think your eyes were somehow only meant for glancing over meager menus for the millionth meal of your week? Or hovering over words and scribbles from some other half heightened enlightened nitWit. Your selfishly trekking to new lands and new experiences in those whitened fueling spewing southwestern wing tips??? You’re not here to save the world, you’re here to fuck her good, to strap the condom on and keep your nose clean with mutant fungi prescription penicillin scripture. But fuck her good, and come back for seconds too, in case that iPhone 5 high wasn’t enough for you. But really I’m sorry, I’m sorry I had to endure this, had to come out and say this, and snap you out from patient-Earth’s weekly pap. Dr.Environmentalist Dr.Marine-Biologist, compiling facts to prove we weren’t the ones to infect Her. No, we’re the ones to save Her, to crave Her, to respect Her and then only to hang Her. I’ll be here on my high horse waiting for you with the noose too, and on arrival of your galloped Merdedes steeds, perfected with sharpened hooves to plant your millennial seeds. We’ll all take a sip of our extra sweetened high-fructose koolaid with single-serving high-density poly eurothane plastic straws, and make a promise to come back to this very spot, this very holiest of holy lands where we made our last stand, and 1,000 years from now, when the eye of the earth has been dried and rivers blood-shot, our visine-ordered victory will have proven obsolete, and we’ll dig up those cast-away single-serving high-density straws and build a monument in His honor anyway, in His image, in His body, to ensure His wretched gnarling feared form will last another 10,000 years.

But you know Fuck it, we’ll probably make a movie out of it someday too.

Galactic Rulers

We enslave the creator –

our own mothers who gave birth to the world,
to the universe,
all we see, and love, and know.

The mothers rule this earth, in spirit and in giving of life.

We are here to protect them, us men, not rule them…

We take entry into our bodies,
into our very existence,
say our thanks, and then go on to dominate the very existence
we were funneled into.

Look around,
-everything we know,
is because of women,
-everything we love,
is because of women.

Our hearts and souls, bound to our very mothers own.

Give the earth back,
for the rule of women has yet to be felt.
We are failing our planet earth,
our motherly planet earth.
By overcome with greed and power,
both of which were created by man.

I say it’s time to step down from our throne as king, a
nd serve and protect the rightful heir to the galactic rulers,
our mothers, our sisters, our daughters.

Let them lead with love, as only they possess the power to do so…

-Julien J OReilly

Where Are We?

In this flesh of a man, a prism of complexity, spinning in wild existence
in dominance of every attribute,
constructing emotion
to devour the lives surrounding.
The raging battle,
in competitive survival
stacked and positioned
inventive of every new-age stage to marvel.
Even the purity of love,
used and sharpened,
as a spear tearing through all in its path.

The consequences of my being sets this rage internal,
pulling apart every layer of skin I’ve masked.
The walls of ego stripped bare, shredded,
until nothing remains,
not even a tongue for speaking,
or a sense of the self ever worth fighting for.

Where did my essence go?
Was it attached at the teet, at the yearning for life…
Has the reflections of the World sapped over my seed,
Infinitely generating a Modern Man of the time.
Where is credit due, or even deserved?
I am not the language I speak, or even the thoughts so deceivingly portrayed as my own.
I am the culmination of a millennia… no, of all of existence, of all of Time,
folded and struck from the chaos of the cosmos, in the brilliance of light and life.
My sense of self dissolving before me, into this fabric, pulsing with ancient wisdom.
All of life speaks through my mouth – every howl, every whisper,
every dogmatic twinkle of my ancestral molecules beating to the drum of my own heart.

I suppose the march will continue, long after the chuckle of my flame, gasses away.
Where will the emotion leave me, when the clock pounds out the cursed blessing of endless life.
I simply can only repeat –
In this flesh of a man, a prison of complexity, spinning wild in existence.

Julien J. OReilly


A poem falls victim today
on the battleground of a swallowed tongue.
The remains of a severed word struggles to usher it’s final truth
before rolling to a stop among the cliffs
of a desolate and unforgiving land.
As others had fought here before,
emerging from tragic storms on the horizon,
they now had seemed to spring off the banks in vein,
searching for a meaning amongst the lemmings of such other beasts.
Their crimes were suited with their fate,
washed away upon the shores of a closed mind
and a broken ear,
never to collide
with the passing of a sailing vessel.
But these words today
were given no such chance
but instead lay gasping for air,
before finally slipping back into the darkened depths
from which they came.
Perhaps tomorrow the tale will be different
of a victory to sweep
and to be awash under wine and celebration
but until that day,
these soldiers shall stay in their quarters,
to pass their time,
before their final calling is spoken.

-Julien O’Reilly


Im in this corridor, and the door, the door is not quite there, it’s multiplying, Shattering down, sequencing, split split split, framed and framed and framed, and this corridor, its not a standard hallway, or tunnel or anything like that, it’s a possibility, it’s an funnel through the interactions of my space. And im sputtering down, down down down, drifting and in drunken control, my face, it takes on these shapes as absorbing the energy around me, taking in all of the impressions, dimples and wrinkles, understandings of the c omplexity of these interactions.  And I’m seeing you, and I’m seeing you for everything you are, and by this I mean in the happiness and joy beset before me, and my reflection of happiness is open and cascading down my forehead, I mirror my presence, absorb your thoughts, and cast back a reflection of your ultimate potential, ultimate connection, higher beings of magnificent peace.  I’ve undressed before you, removed my coat of waxing society sacrifices, ignited my hearts heat and melted down now, for what you see. we are nothing more now than beings in this coridoor, searching the walls, scratching the paint, sometimes we slide, or we crawl, or kick down the triplicating doors.  But take the shapes in here, and molding and frameworked, snapping our knees, truncating our legs, this here is our world, this corridor is just my dream.

the sensation of Time Travel

Your concepts of travel, escape me.

In this notion of space, and time travel that is.

We exist, yes,
in this physical realm around us,
in the bodies formed to protect, to serve, to perform,
and also yet, to predict.

In the Present time, I stand here breathing,
and pulsing,
forwardly projected in that realm we call space, time.

But where are we going?


*written in a bar*

In the eyes of the relationship. 

A reflection of turmoil. Longing for connection.

Unleash your self. Your essence. 

What else is there to live for. Why subject yourself to a painting of your true self.

It’s only a fabric, animation of who you are deep inside, who your parents knew when you first discovered the world. 

It’s okay to take down that sheath. Because we all have it. We’re all in the same cloth, 

just cut to fit our own interest. 

-Julien J. OReilly

Give in

There it is.
I did what the canvas asked.

Give me More it demanded,
so I obliged.

Don’t Stop,
so I didn’t.

I just kept giving,
not even knowing what it was
that I gave, but sure enough,
little by little,
I gave exactly what it had asked for.

Even small amounts of something,
end up adding up
to the whole of everything,
at least what it was that I could offer.

If I held back,
then what was I even preserving it for?
If I save it all for myself,
I won’t be giving anything.

But then who would even know,
what that something
could have been,
or perhaps,
should have been.

I may dream up of this big something,
you know, all on my own,
but in the end, a dream cannot be shared.

I can still provide that glimpse of self,
even if it fulfills another’s wishes, ambitions,
and maybe,
just maybe,
that glimmer of the greater possibility,
of what should have could have been,
will be blinding in brilliance, to those
who lay witness to the greatness.

And relish brilliantly in that moment,
so our proud parents, and grandparents,
can see a glimmer of their own dreams,
and say that;
they gave it up for us,
so that we could one day,
give it all up again.

-Julien J. OReilly