another year of holidays, parties, drinks, travels, women, waves, shows, meals, classes, friends, births, deaths, marriages, divorces, storms, miracles, disasters, shoes, and feet.
this life has been just walking,
another year,
another step,
another moment,
another breath.
breaths are lifetimes,
coming and going,
again and again.
except for it always being so special,
it seems like the same thing over and over,
even this feeling,
this same time,
every year,
one foot in front of the other,
exhale,
one more year,
like soft clouds in the clear blue.
all work copyright 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010 luke cammack this is stupid. awesome. stupid awesome i think.
December 25, 2007
December 23, 2007
the wizard of oz
dinner tonight
the last of the old chips.
frozen chicken and corn.
mustard to lubricate
and salt
and beer.
company tonight
all of the old movies that i have already seen,
some from way back,
i remember them all.
when i was young,
i would set and gaze,
on breaks from school,
saturdays,
sundays.
the sound aside from that,
between the commercials
and the action of the cheap,
is the rain and wind,
seemingly set to tear down the buildings out here on the west side.
i imagine the echo of steps in the hall
to be the sound of feet
on the golden bricks.
i imagine i might wake up in my old house,
play in my old yard,
talk to the old friends
and the long lost family that has drifted so far.
back to the beer,
movie,
wind,
if i am brave enough,
i might step out into the gale
for a sip somewhere in the neighborhood.
it seems like this should be lonely,
especially for christmas,
but for now i feel blessed and warm.
when you drift around
for enough years,
it doesn't take much
to make you feel
right
at
home.
the last of the old chips.
frozen chicken and corn.
mustard to lubricate
and salt
and beer.
company tonight
all of the old movies that i have already seen,
some from way back,
i remember them all.
when i was young,
i would set and gaze,
on breaks from school,
saturdays,
sundays.
the sound aside from that,
between the commercials
and the action of the cheap,
is the rain and wind,
seemingly set to tear down the buildings out here on the west side.
i imagine the echo of steps in the hall
to be the sound of feet
on the golden bricks.
i imagine i might wake up in my old house,
play in my old yard,
talk to the old friends
and the long lost family that has drifted so far.
back to the beer,
movie,
wind,
if i am brave enough,
i might step out into the gale
for a sip somewhere in the neighborhood.
it seems like this should be lonely,
especially for christmas,
but for now i feel blessed and warm.
when you drift around
for enough years,
it doesn't take much
to make you feel
right
at
home.
solstice
only on this darkest night can i see so clear
the smallest sparks, the beautiful, lost lights.
only in the quietest room can i hear so well,
and listen to the longest off, farthest sounds,
and the closest ones too.
heart
lungs
blood
and even
the atmosphere, swimming around my ears
and the thousand
beautiful
lost
smallest sparks
as they light up the air
of the long night
and keep me
warm.
the smallest sparks, the beautiful, lost lights.
only in the quietest room can i hear so well,
and listen to the longest off, farthest sounds,
and the closest ones too.
heart
lungs
blood
and even
the atmosphere, swimming around my ears
and the thousand
beautiful
lost
smallest sparks
as they light up the air
of the long night
and keep me
warm.
December 13, 2007
dumbass?
right now is a mix af hail and freezing rain, and i am going to buy a surfboard in order to paddle out this weekend after the tempurature drops another 10 degrees. i hope it stops hailing at least.
December 12, 2007
cartoon sky
by the time you get all the way out,
12th avenue,
out of the midtown glare,
the cliffs of jersey across the cold, cold hudson
you can see stars
not stars like wilderness stars
not like maui stars
or ocean stars
just the big ones
just the clearest parts of the warriors and gods.
just the barest bones
skeleton of the sky
ribs glaring
bleached by moonlight
stripped by neon.
but still
the big ones make it through
the clearest lines of the warriors and gods.
just enough to make a decent show of things.
12th avenue,
out of the midtown glare,
the cliffs of jersey across the cold, cold hudson
you can see stars
not stars like wilderness stars
not like maui stars
or ocean stars
just the big ones
just the clearest parts of the warriors and gods.
just the barest bones
skeleton of the sky
ribs glaring
bleached by moonlight
stripped by neon.
but still
the big ones make it through
the clearest lines of the warriors and gods.
just enough to make a decent show of things.
this could be the one
all i can wonder is how
this collection of triggers
groupings of scratches
on the page
have come to mean so much.
an identity forms
separate from the beast
a whole new demon
and he's taken the wheel
mutiny!
stolen the office
and hands
and words
triggers
scratches
and now all that matters
is the search for more
more words
more lines, arranged
tore apart
anything to satisfy
the new lord of all of this
more words
for the woman to love
the friends to ogle
the others to shun
and make fun
of the new lord of all of this
the only fuel
is the search
and in this search
i have come to see fit
to write about
the search itself
these words
become the words
i was looking for all along.
and now i can finally stop looking.
i might.
this collection of triggers
groupings of scratches
on the page
have come to mean so much.
an identity forms
separate from the beast
a whole new demon
and he's taken the wheel
mutiny!
stolen the office
and hands
and words
triggers
scratches
and now all that matters
is the search for more
more words
more lines, arranged
tore apart
anything to satisfy
the new lord of all of this
more words
for the woman to love
the friends to ogle
the others to shun
and make fun
of the new lord of all of this
the only fuel
is the search
and in this search
i have come to see fit
to write about
the search itself
these words
become the words
i was looking for all along.
and now i can finally stop looking.
i might.
December 11, 2007
cowpie
it is good to know that there are at least a few folks that understand how many hours and days and years of drinking, working, walking, sitting and more it takes to make just one of these lines make sense to the heart.
until they make sense, they just don't sound quite right, and can't come out.
they were always there.
tickling fingertips.
teetering on the edge of the tongue.
just about to fall.
and then
when just the right amount of bullshit
enough steps, enough hours, enough beers
just the right amount
fills to the brim
plop!
some of the bullshit spills over
onto the page
into the keys
inside of words
like birth
or really
like pooping.
until they make sense, they just don't sound quite right, and can't come out.
they were always there.
tickling fingertips.
teetering on the edge of the tongue.
just about to fall.
and then
when just the right amount of bullshit
enough steps, enough hours, enough beers
just the right amount
fills to the brim
plop!
some of the bullshit spills over
onto the page
into the keys
inside of words
like birth
or really
like pooping.
December 10, 2007
mantra
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
mid town
the dregs
of the empire state
are hollering in the early evening,
just blue clouds
and alien arms outstretched
to beat down the cold of the premature darkness,
even of this,
what little there is to be had
could drown any second,
and wash away
in the river of lights
and ocean of sounds that are the city.
leaning out the window,
i let my eyes chase the dream and this one spearhead,
one sharp blade that cuts through the belly of all,
and stare down 42nd street
to the ailed heart
of the mobbing, throbbing beast.
having forsaken my salvation for the grip of the pavement,
the cracks in the asphalt,
the trickling scraps of paper and man,
it is all i can do today
to crawl back in from a week of this ride
and settle in for a moment,
an hour,
a breath,
a sip,
and listen
to the never ending hum,
hinting at the grinding of the gears deep underground,
below the trains,
below the rocks below the trains,
there has to be some spark
that set this place on fire,
way back,
way back before we agreed to do this here.
there is still some hint in the shimmer
to the fearless brawl that got the whole thing under way,
something fierce,
inexhaustible,
unquenchable,
some little flicker that won't quite be quelled,
but her evidence is saved for the eyes of the last lost ones,
the dogs and rats of the city
and this one final fatal flag.
the empire state,
buried in the baby fingers of a new borne empire,
we can only watch,
like the last mast of the great ship,
trickling under,
no wind ever devised could tickle the hull
back from the deep and across the sea.
it makes perfect sense from time to time.
other times it hurts worse than chewing on rocks.
fights, screams, sirens, yuppies, drinks, work, work, fucking, scams, takers, givers, garbage, smog, smokes, parties, work, drinks, work, drinks, fucking, food, freezing to the bone, boiling in oil, time spiring away like a dive bar shitter that hasn't been flushed all day long.
any second, any moment, whoosh!
all gone, all gone, all gone.
i wouldn't have missed it for the world.
of the empire state
are hollering in the early evening,
just blue clouds
and alien arms outstretched
to beat down the cold of the premature darkness,
even of this,
what little there is to be had
could drown any second,
and wash away
in the river of lights
and ocean of sounds that are the city.
leaning out the window,
i let my eyes chase the dream and this one spearhead,
one sharp blade that cuts through the belly of all,
and stare down 42nd street
to the ailed heart
of the mobbing, throbbing beast.
having forsaken my salvation for the grip of the pavement,
the cracks in the asphalt,
the trickling scraps of paper and man,
it is all i can do today
to crawl back in from a week of this ride
and settle in for a moment,
an hour,
a breath,
a sip,
and listen
to the never ending hum,
hinting at the grinding of the gears deep underground,
below the trains,
below the rocks below the trains,
there has to be some spark
that set this place on fire,
way back,
way back before we agreed to do this here.
there is still some hint in the shimmer
to the fearless brawl that got the whole thing under way,
something fierce,
inexhaustible,
unquenchable,
some little flicker that won't quite be quelled,
but her evidence is saved for the eyes of the last lost ones,
the dogs and rats of the city
and this one final fatal flag.
the empire state,
buried in the baby fingers of a new borne empire,
we can only watch,
like the last mast of the great ship,
trickling under,
no wind ever devised could tickle the hull
back from the deep and across the sea.
it makes perfect sense from time to time.
other times it hurts worse than chewing on rocks.
fights, screams, sirens, yuppies, drinks, work, work, fucking, scams, takers, givers, garbage, smog, smokes, parties, work, drinks, work, drinks, fucking, food, freezing to the bone, boiling in oil, time spiring away like a dive bar shitter that hasn't been flushed all day long.
any second, any moment, whoosh!
all gone, all gone, all gone.
i wouldn't have missed it for the world.
4:20 wakeup call
the crane twists the skyline,
ever higher, ever bolder.
somehow they see fit to begin at 7 am.
it makes about as much sense
as a midlife teen age boy
beating the pavement
with hooved feet
at three am
in search of another heart in this mist and muck.
no matter how high
no matter how bold
or early,
the muck is still going to be around you,
the vision still blurry at best.
that is until you have a heart
right on top of you.
then it is all crystal clear,
in the rush
to get there,
we forgot that the mist and the muck,
made it a worth while game.
more concrete.
two minutes to go.
20 years gone.
socks and shoes to disguise my cloven feet.
if only the cranes could have taken the day off.
or at least waited to start until noon.
ever higher, ever bolder.
somehow they see fit to begin at 7 am.
it makes about as much sense
as a midlife teen age boy
beating the pavement
with hooved feet
at three am
in search of another heart in this mist and muck.
no matter how high
no matter how bold
or early,
the muck is still going to be around you,
the vision still blurry at best.
that is until you have a heart
right on top of you.
then it is all crystal clear,
in the rush
to get there,
we forgot that the mist and the muck,
made it a worth while game.
more concrete.
two minutes to go.
20 years gone.
socks and shoes to disguise my cloven feet.
if only the cranes could have taken the day off.
or at least waited to start until noon.
December 8, 2007
prophecy
you might say that attention to
tiny
puny
insignificant
inconsequential
unimportant
finite
miniscule
infantile things is a waste.
einstien, jesus, ghandi
they might say
nothing
and continue to stare at the trees
walls
shoes
shoe-prints
specks
dust
nothing
everything.
they might have had less to drink
more to say
but really.
who are you fooling?
certainly not me.
tiny
puny
insignificant
inconsequential
unimportant
finite
miniscule
infantile things is a waste.
einstien, jesus, ghandi
they might say
nothing
and continue to stare at the trees
walls
shoes
shoe-prints
specks
dust
nothing
everything.
they might have had less to drink
more to say
but really.
who are you fooling?
certainly not me.
lifeline
led zeppelin
might not be the messiah.
but they are certainly a welcome
LIFELINE.
especially in this sea of nonsense.
that is not to say
for certain
that
they
are
not.
might not be the messiah.
but they are certainly a welcome
LIFELINE.
especially in this sea of nonsense.
that is not to say
for certain
that
they
are
not.
solutions
i am only fucked up.
after several hours of trying to make sense
because i can't taste
can't feel
can't smell
can't spell
i am only fucked up
looking in
looking out
sorting
or
at least
trying
i am only fucked up
heckling plants
from the corner
deciphering irradescent
colours
messages
from the flooded basements of brooklyn
and beyond
i am only fucked up
buffering simplest ears
against truth
saving smallest legs
from carrying
swallowing the most
swimming the deepest
saying the wrongest
tasting the worst, the best, the blandest, the hottest, the coldest, the newest, the oldest, the sharpest, the dullest, the quietest.
that might be the proof.
the quietest.
i can only devise,
assume
understand
that
i am fucked up.
after several hours of trying to make sense
because i can't taste
can't feel
can't smell
can't spell
i am only fucked up
looking in
looking out
sorting
or
at least
trying
i am only fucked up
heckling plants
from the corner
deciphering irradescent
colours
messages
from the flooded basements of brooklyn
and beyond
i am only fucked up
buffering simplest ears
against truth
saving smallest legs
from carrying
swallowing the most
swimming the deepest
saying the wrongest
tasting the worst, the best, the blandest, the hottest, the coldest, the newest, the oldest, the sharpest, the dullest, the quietest.
that might be the proof.
the quietest.
i can only devise,
assume
understand
that
i am fucked up.
December 7, 2007
marriage
marriage is restful.
comfortable.
sleep.
i sit on the balcony
a few stories up
below this frozen moon.
i sip on cigarrettes,
and watch the world of ants below,
as they chase thier cabs,
trains,
busses,
doorways,
eachother.
i watch them struggle.
kill the flame,
stamp out the smoke.
back to bed.
sleep.
i dream of the struggle,
i would miss it
but i know
i will be
back in it
soon enough.
comfortable.
sleep.
i sit on the balcony
a few stories up
below this frozen moon.
i sip on cigarrettes,
and watch the world of ants below,
as they chase thier cabs,
trains,
busses,
doorways,
eachother.
i watch them struggle.
kill the flame,
stamp out the smoke.
back to bed.
sleep.
i dream of the struggle,
i would miss it
but i know
i will be
back in it
soon enough.
world record.
i am sure that it was a falling building.
a crashing bus, or plane.
the sound of ten thousand tons.
floor shaking.
windows rattling.
maybe it was a crane collapsing in the cold dark of an early new york morning.
i am sure we will hear about it on the news.
see it in the daily rags.
see folks' eyes dart around in terror,
the only way they could get more keyed up than they already are
on cabs,
trains,
buildings,
people,
people.
endless sea of people.
maybe it was a sink hole.
a terror bomb.
i can't be sure just yet,
but i am sure that something
loud
violent
destructive
has pulled me from my sleep.
what's that smell?
oh, shit!
well almost.
i hope this girl next to me doesn't wake up,
and throw me out of the house
for being the dog
that i am.
that must have been the biggest fart ever.
a crashing bus, or plane.
the sound of ten thousand tons.
floor shaking.
windows rattling.
maybe it was a crane collapsing in the cold dark of an early new york morning.
i am sure we will hear about it on the news.
see it in the daily rags.
see folks' eyes dart around in terror,
the only way they could get more keyed up than they already are
on cabs,
trains,
buildings,
people,
people.
endless sea of people.
maybe it was a sink hole.
a terror bomb.
i can't be sure just yet,
but i am sure that something
loud
violent
destructive
has pulled me from my sleep.
what's that smell?
oh, shit!
well almost.
i hope this girl next to me doesn't wake up,
and throw me out of the house
for being the dog
that i am.
that must have been the biggest fart ever.
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