RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition. He does have an amazing PATREON, but also *normal* ARTIST WEBSITE too.

Monday, April 19

Sunday, April 18

Saturday, April 17

Friday, April 16

SONG OF THE DAY: First Place Ribbon


Gillian Welch is on the short list of women I sometimes fantasize about sharing a trailer with somewhere near Roxboro, North Carolina, probably have one of those vintage tables in the kitchen, wake up naked together on the weekends and not even think about putting on clothes  until 2 in the afternoon, maybe, cooking pancakes with chopped walnuts in them bamas and drinking like four French presses of coffee, not doing shit, talking about Mary Oliver poetry and how great creeping phlox is and wondering if there were any new collections of VHS tapes at the Goodwill to dig through to add to the collection, even though we hadn’t hooked the VCR back up since I had them both in the middle in the room trying to do some VHS mixtapes with an old computer monitor. But then these fantasies always get fucked up because usually I’m laying on the couch reading an old magazine or some shit, and she walks through from the back bedroom to the kitchen, and I notice her really really nice full-color plant tattoo from her left shoulder all the way down to her elbow, like $1200 worth of tattoo, and I start to lay there on that couch in my fantastical mind, thinking about all the vehicles I bought that cost less than that (most of them, to be honest), or how much I could use that $1200 not in fantasy mind life but to pay off medical debt that just keeps trickling along in the real life, on the wrong side of the fantasy. Sometimes I just wake up from the fantasy and realize I’m zoning out while at work, in front of a computer screen, pretending to do shit that matters my whole goddamned wasted life. Other times I was half asleep, and I pick up my iphone to check my IG notifications. But sometimes I just get mad in the fantasy, at Gillian Lucinda Welch Williams Jr. there, except I don’t say nothing, because lolol I hadn’t worked in my fantasy in 9 months, and she pays all the bills. But I’m gonna log into OKCupid after she goes to bed tonight, and flirt with women that don’t exist on multiple levels.


the country church’s stained glass 
is just plastic film applied 
to the cheapest textured panes 

Thursday, April 15

SONG OF THE DAY: Troubles of the World


Neighbors on both sides pay this ol’ boy to cut their grass, and so did the people that owned this one before I got it last fall. I ain’t paying to get my grass cut, sorry, it’s not that big a yard. So I got a push mower, but I ain’t cut it all yet. Fuck it, it’s just grass. I’d rather blast funk gospel, watch the kittens dive into the air trying to catch butterflies, watch the redbuds turn pinker at the edge of the woods, and just sit there in my MY GRASS IS TALL t-shirt, stacking quartz rocks on old giant metal springs I found at the railroad tracks. As long as I keep the springs upright and the quartz above the tallest grass, I’m doing good. Who the fuck heard of having grass you pay somebody to cut instead of a bunch of junk springs with giant rocks on top? What kinda fuckin’ world is this we’ve made?


shadows of industrial 
revolution blind us to 
blue sky’s universal truth 

Wednesday, April 14

TH1NGS W3'V3 B33N M34N1NG T0 F1X...

things we’ve been meaning to fix 
for years rust back into Earth; 
meanwhile, our end creeps closer