nothing is special.
not skydiving,
landing on the moon,
or the greatest romance of all time.
nothing is magic.
all slight of hand,
a card up the sleeve
or some camera tricks to make me think so what.
nothing is perfect.
always a smell,
a sound
or a dirty sock to fuck the whole thing up.
there is only the vision
and the dream.
in this
even the
plainest
oldest
shortest
loudest
little screaming lost soul
is the miracle.
the dream.
the world.
perfect.
magical.
we'll save special for the retards,
and laugh as they run.
all work copyright 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010 luke cammack this is stupid. awesome. stupid awesome i think.
November 30, 2007
nothing to see here
last lunch.
last oasis,
last splinter of light.
before i make this leap from dream back into sleep,
from sleep back into bed,
from bed back into shoes
and walk the walk of nothing,
like as if i was a slinky on fire.
it will get me there,
and almost no one would notice
except that
i am a burning spiral of metal clanging down the hall!!!
what you looking at, fool?
last oasis,
last splinter of light.
before i make this leap from dream back into sleep,
from sleep back into bed,
from bed back into shoes
and walk the walk of nothing,
like as if i was a slinky on fire.
it will get me there,
and almost no one would notice
except that
i am a burning spiral of metal clanging down the hall!!!
what you looking at, fool?
November 24, 2007
shark
crimson shines so ably
the saltwater and blood become fast friends,
spiral and wind away,
deeper and farther
spreading the word,
there is food here,
there is death here.
makes me wonder,
as i get broker,
and my situation decays,
what that guy meant
when he said,
"how you, chum?"
the sharks show up in droves today.
and as they tear into me,
and i feel my flesh disintegrate in a thousand directions,
i can only smile,
because if i don't,
they will know
they
have
gotten to me.
the saltwater and blood become fast friends,
spiral and wind away,
deeper and farther
spreading the word,
there is food here,
there is death here.
makes me wonder,
as i get broker,
and my situation decays,
what that guy meant
when he said,
"how you, chum?"
the sharks show up in droves today.
and as they tear into me,
and i feel my flesh disintegrate in a thousand directions,
i can only smile,
because if i don't,
they will know
they
have
gotten to me.
November 22, 2007
thanksgiving feast
when you choose to be a lonely rooster,
some things are great.
you can have anything you want from anyone,
and you never have to put up with
nag
nag
nag.
you can sleep with 2 or 3 or 4 women in a week.
you can stay up till tomorrow.
you can eat whatever and whomever you want.
fly to rome,
hitchhike to vegas,
stay in bed,
drink for breakfast.
all in all, it is quite nice having been a 14 year old with a drivers liscense and the ability to buy booze. i may stick with it for another 20 years.
the problem is
holidays.
no one around,
no warm company,
no greetings,
no gifts,
no circle of smiling friends,shaking hands,
singing along.
no safe home.
so i sit today in the sun of the pacific.
not bad at all.
i'll sit all day,
and into tonight,
and think of how great it is to be free,
to be the 14 year old rooster.
i'll smile even bigger at the bar tonight.
but just for today
my cockadoodledoo
is an empty roar.
just for today i am not really laughing,
the bellows and smile cover up,
my envy
my loss
my fear of losing all this nothing that i have made.
just for today, and christmas, maybe new years, although new years can be a holiday for roosters too.
maybe for birthdays,
but really not much else...
these couple of days are the longest ones.
the quietest ones.
just listening to the chinese couple next door play tennis and argue away in a pitch that could peel the paint. a couple of planes. a breeze in the palms from time to time.
long. empty. quiet.
these days are for you, your family, your life and the wonderful world you have made.
the rest of them, they are for me.
doesn't seem much, just 363,
days to do and be what i want,
go everywhere and run wild and haunt,
keep running faster, year after year,
until it all moves so fast,
it all becomes clear.
everywhere's home.
all of them lovers.
everyone brothers and sisters.
the gift for me,
i unwrap this day, the space, the time.
tied up with a bow,
it is room to notice,
to breathe,
to let everyone go home,
leave me be
with the sleeping sun,
ocean of dust,
and my new best friend,
this pigeon on my doorstep,
who just took a shit
on my thanksgiving froot loops.
some things are great.
you can have anything you want from anyone,
and you never have to put up with
nag
nag
nag.
you can sleep with 2 or 3 or 4 women in a week.
you can stay up till tomorrow.
you can eat whatever and whomever you want.
fly to rome,
hitchhike to vegas,
stay in bed,
drink for breakfast.
all in all, it is quite nice having been a 14 year old with a drivers liscense and the ability to buy booze. i may stick with it for another 20 years.
the problem is
holidays.
no one around,
no warm company,
no greetings,
no gifts,
no circle of smiling friends,shaking hands,
singing along.
no safe home.
so i sit today in the sun of the pacific.
not bad at all.
i'll sit all day,
and into tonight,
and think of how great it is to be free,
to be the 14 year old rooster.
i'll smile even bigger at the bar tonight.
but just for today
my cockadoodledoo
is an empty roar.
just for today i am not really laughing,
the bellows and smile cover up,
my envy
my loss
my fear of losing all this nothing that i have made.
just for today, and christmas, maybe new years, although new years can be a holiday for roosters too.
maybe for birthdays,
but really not much else...
these couple of days are the longest ones.
the quietest ones.
just listening to the chinese couple next door play tennis and argue away in a pitch that could peel the paint. a couple of planes. a breeze in the palms from time to time.
long. empty. quiet.
these days are for you, your family, your life and the wonderful world you have made.
the rest of them, they are for me.
doesn't seem much, just 363,
days to do and be what i want,
go everywhere and run wild and haunt,
keep running faster, year after year,
until it all moves so fast,
it all becomes clear.
everywhere's home.
all of them lovers.
everyone brothers and sisters.
the gift for me,
i unwrap this day, the space, the time.
tied up with a bow,
it is room to notice,
to breathe,
to let everyone go home,
leave me be
with the sleeping sun,
ocean of dust,
and my new best friend,
this pigeon on my doorstep,
who just took a shit
on my thanksgiving froot loops.
thanksgiving
living out of the dregs,
the lost and found
and
all of the drift wood
that makes it by some strange chance
out here to the middle of the pacific.
out of it all i have one meal left.
out of it all i have more than i need.
into it all i can dream
and maybe make whats left
into something
or someone
to
sit
with
here.
the lost and found
and
all of the drift wood
that makes it by some strange chance
out here to the middle of the pacific.
out of it all i have one meal left.
out of it all i have more than i need.
into it all i can dream
and maybe make whats left
into something
or someone
to
sit
with
here.
November 13, 2007
week 9
unquenchable, bottomless thirst, save for this.
i am full when:
i see the backs of your eyes
i dream of the world i am heading into
i remember the world i am coming from
i sit easy in my breathing
i let myself fall along the wave
you smile
you laugh
you love
you dream
i am so excited for you and your world, your people, your friends and family. the places you'll go, and all that you will do. i am so excited to see you, to hear about you, to think of you and the lights and cars and trees and bars and faces and classes and everything else that gets to be filtered through the beautiful you. you make the universe the perfect dream, and i am in gratitude for a glimpse of the picture, the sound, the feel. i am thankful for you in a way that i cannot put into words, and dread the thought of not having you here, but know that where you are headed you are headed because it is all part of the amazing spectacular, and because of that laugh and smile like i will for the rest of my days because you are...
6 days is everything.
6 days is a drop in the bucket.
be with everyone now, all of them.
fall in love with you, the you that is all of the people around you, all of the things, every second, sunrise, breath, star, tree, all of it.
don't hold tight,
drink deep.
when it is done, remember...
this is where you begin.
i am full when:
i see the backs of your eyes
i dream of the world i am heading into
i remember the world i am coming from
i sit easy in my breathing
i let myself fall along the wave
you smile
you laugh
you love
you dream
i am so excited for you and your world, your people, your friends and family. the places you'll go, and all that you will do. i am so excited to see you, to hear about you, to think of you and the lights and cars and trees and bars and faces and classes and everything else that gets to be filtered through the beautiful you. you make the universe the perfect dream, and i am in gratitude for a glimpse of the picture, the sound, the feel. i am thankful for you in a way that i cannot put into words, and dread the thought of not having you here, but know that where you are headed you are headed because it is all part of the amazing spectacular, and because of that laugh and smile like i will for the rest of my days because you are...
6 days is everything.
6 days is a drop in the bucket.
be with everyone now, all of them.
fall in love with you, the you that is all of the people around you, all of the things, every second, sunrise, breath, star, tree, all of it.
don't hold tight,
drink deep.
when it is done, remember...
this is where you begin.
November 6, 2007
sure i'll watch.
if the digital clock
could tick away
maybe there would be hope for some slumber.
instead, just the whine of the ancient a/c
red luminous numbers emblazoned
in my eye
mind
heart
the minutes are hours of knives whittling away
at the splinters
that are
all
that
is
left
of
this
maybe i could forget.
maybe i could convince myself that i want to forget.
maybe i could sell myself on convincing.
maybe i could reason myself into selling,
lull myself into reasoning,
push myself into lulling.
or else
just pray for more
dig in
to the lonely
with teeth and hands
eyes and ears
drink up the midnight
with full
bellowing
blasts
drown in the distance
stand on my feet,
fight tooth and nail,
fall through and land
back in the empty
echoing empty
the only sound here
is the thump, thump, thump
of a full heart
balancing the tin drum
of a second's passing.
could tick away
maybe there would be hope for some slumber.
instead, just the whine of the ancient a/c
red luminous numbers emblazoned
in my eye
mind
heart
the minutes are hours of knives whittling away
at the splinters
that are
all
that
is
left
of
this
maybe i could forget.
maybe i could convince myself that i want to forget.
maybe i could sell myself on convincing.
maybe i could reason myself into selling,
lull myself into reasoning,
push myself into lulling.
or else
just pray for more
dig in
to the lonely
with teeth and hands
eyes and ears
drink up the midnight
with full
bellowing
blasts
drown in the distance
stand on my feet,
fight tooth and nail,
fall through and land
back in the empty
echoing empty
the only sound here
is the thump, thump, thump
of a full heart
balancing the tin drum
of a second's passing.
November 5, 2007
deep shit.
as i reach in,
arm extended,
full length,
tips of the fingers,
straining for this last inch,
feet alighting
as the bottom of the barrel looms,
faint reflection of my sillhouette,
from the dregs of liquid
from the bottom
deepest
farthest
reaches.
the dull clank of metal on the wood bottom.
the sound sips
and washes through.
behind it is the drought.
so clear, just whisps of dusty wind through the fabric of clothes of mind of eye.
so clean, just shards of frozen clouds, draped across the clear blue, greying blue, beyond the golden light of afternoon,
beyond the reaches of tracks and roads,
reaching for heaven,
just a sip, a taste, a moment, a glimmer, one full, real second.
desire is a cup never filled.
the world is an empty barrel.
our hearts are the wells, all spring from one source, one flow.
what you want is you, self seeks self,
in the eyes and dreams of everyone else.
instead look inside everywhere.
i am there.
you are there.
look where you want,
where you don't,
where you are,
where you aren't,
where you can,
where you can't,
where i am.
there is the full heart,
the endless waters,
the banquet feast,
and mountains and oceans,
everyone,
everything,
everywhere,
anyone,
anything,
anyhwhere.
that is you.
that is you.
that is you.
this is me.
arm extended,
full length,
tips of the fingers,
straining for this last inch,
feet alighting
as the bottom of the barrel looms,
faint reflection of my sillhouette,
from the dregs of liquid
from the bottom
deepest
farthest
reaches.
the dull clank of metal on the wood bottom.
the sound sips
and washes through.
behind it is the drought.
so clear, just whisps of dusty wind through the fabric of clothes of mind of eye.
so clean, just shards of frozen clouds, draped across the clear blue, greying blue, beyond the golden light of afternoon,
beyond the reaches of tracks and roads,
reaching for heaven,
just a sip, a taste, a moment, a glimmer, one full, real second.
desire is a cup never filled.
the world is an empty barrel.
our hearts are the wells, all spring from one source, one flow.
what you want is you, self seeks self,
in the eyes and dreams of everyone else.
instead look inside everywhere.
i am there.
you are there.
look where you want,
where you don't,
where you are,
where you aren't,
where you can,
where you can't,
where i am.
there is the full heart,
the endless waters,
the banquet feast,
and mountains and oceans,
everyone,
everything,
everywhere,
anyone,
anything,
anyhwhere.
that is you.
that is you.
that is you.
this is me.
fruity pebbles
somewhere between shiva and bukowski,
out in the middle of the screaming pacific,
under heavy rain,
we lie.
no one could have dreamed
a more precarious stance,
languid dance,
the only light
left for today
was the kind you see
billowing out
from beneath closed doors
as you set up,
hidden for fear or fun,
anticipating
the long lost drop,
cool water,
fallen from heaven
to these parched lips.
it is the waiting that makes it all worthwhile,
it is the waiting we were waiting for really,
and as such,
the releif is not really anything
more than becoming willing
to start the game again.
all that stands now
between me and the end
is a saint
and an old man.
all that stands in the light
behind the door is you.
the in between is empty space,
room to fall,
just wood and nails,
and waiting,
waiting,
waiting,
for the vacuum to implode
this universe of possibility
that is hovering around the center of this idiot's world...
out in the middle of the screaming pacific,
under heavy rain,
we lie.
no one could have dreamed
a more precarious stance,
languid dance,
the only light
left for today
was the kind you see
billowing out
from beneath closed doors
as you set up,
hidden for fear or fun,
anticipating
the long lost drop,
cool water,
fallen from heaven
to these parched lips.
it is the waiting that makes it all worthwhile,
it is the waiting we were waiting for really,
and as such,
the releif is not really anything
more than becoming willing
to start the game again.
all that stands now
between me and the end
is a saint
and an old man.
all that stands in the light
behind the door is you.
the in between is empty space,
room to fall,
just wood and nails,
and waiting,
waiting,
waiting,
for the vacuum to implode
this universe of possibility
that is hovering around the center of this idiot's world...
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