Full Blue Moon Dementia

    Badly Translated: Murders, robberies, heroin and rock’n’roll: the polar cocktail that kills! La sélection noire de Philippe Blanchet. TOO DRUNK TO FUCK In the late 70′s, Patrick was a roadie for Dead 
Kennedys and road manager for Flipper, one of the 
best punk bands of the San Francisco Bay Area. 
He was a...

The Next Big Thing: Self Interview Wendy C. Ortiz, poet, writer of prose/nonfiction, co-founder/curator of the Rhapsodomancy reading series, and a person I admire, a lot, tagged me for The Next Big Thing.         What is your working title of your book or work in progress?   Hold-Up   Where did the...

      Patrick O’Neil a découvert l’héroïne à San Francisco. «Hold-Up» est son premier ouvrage, non publié aux États-Unis à ce jour mais qu’il nous paraît urgent de partager avec vous. Les Mémoires de cet auteur «extrême , sous haute tension» sont une fuite en avant désespérée sur fond d’histoire d’amour toxique et aliénante....

  Discerning writers choose Hold-Up nine out of ten times in our hermetically sealed taste tests. Merci beaucoup Monsieur Rob Roberge!     Artists possessing refined palates pick Hold-Up over other competing brands (filtered, and non-filtered). Thanks a million Jean-Fabien Leclanche (photographer of Hold-Up’s cover photo)     A recent nation wide poll of singer/musicians, most...

  My Author Page is up at my publisher’s website.      

      Reading: “There’s a Crackhead at my Window” at the Tongue & Groove reading series, Hollywood, California. January 20th, 2013. Special thanks to: Steven Wilson for the camera work. © Patrick O’Neil/2013      

    Open publication – Free publishing – More litterature     Page 15: Hold Up        

Gorsky Press Podcast Released 19 October 2012     Patrick O’Neil reads "Something’s Wrong" by Gorsky Press   Excerpt from my memoir Hold Up 13E Note Editions 2013      

Old woman in wheelchair, out front of a liquor store, squinting in the glare of the overhead light, smokes a cigarette and panhandles for change. 11:38PM and it’s still hot, the day having been a scorcher. Two kids walk past, laughing, and ignoring her pleas. One of them drops his empty coke can on the...

It’s eleven-thirty pm and he’s standing on the front porch of a slightly disheveled two-story wood framed house. Located on a dark side street, across from the gas station, and the men’s rehab next door. Hesitant, he reaches to press the doorbell, but stops. Glancing up he sees the camera. Pictures his digitalized image on...