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.

Tuesday, July 16

SONG OF THE DAY: Thank you



Always good to give thanks to everybody actively trying to stomp you down. What a wonderful mutually supportive world we have built! [Click like to passively and performatively support this!]

SP4C3 0TH3RW1S3 W4ST3D BL3SS3D...

space otherwise wasted blessed
with colorful blasts of latex
messages, spoken in tongues

Monday, July 15

S1TT1N' 0N S0M3TH1NG FL4T, W1TH...

sittin' on something flat, with
inspection sticker long dead;
candyflake dreams just idling

SONG OF THE DAY: Run Through It



Random ass bandcamp label called Placenta Recordings released a compilation of a bunch of random ass hip hop acts they’d released over a period of time from Detroit called Up North Trips Volume 1. But there’s like nine asterisks from that statement I just wrote, because first off I love any compilation ambitiously titled “volume one”. But also none of this is random. Hip hop, and music itself in all genres and genre hybrids, exists every fucking where. Hip hop scenes have existed in so many places for decades, and Detroit has a deep history, which we know the popular portions of this – the Eminem/Royce music industry Illuminati piece, as well as some of the horrorcore pioneers like Esham. But every scene is just chock full of dreaming ass local rappers and producers, who make piles of music that remains obscure but wonderful. Shit man, I was involved in helping organize a local hip hop festival in Charlottesville this past year, and just that has introduced me to so many amazing fucking jams and people who live and breathe this shit, even if the larger world has no idea. The track on this comp right before this 7 Mile Clee jam has a pair of lines right at the beginning that goes, “Had a dream I got signed to go rap out of state, but then I woke up and scraped crack off the plate.” The international struggling ass hustler’s dream – which I literally just saw a local rapper post yesterday on his Instagram as “I just want to change the world and live comfortably.” I’d love to dig through the shit more and post it up in an organized faux-scientific fashion, but to be honest, you can’t keep up. That’s the shortcomings of science – real life moves too fast for our human sciences to dissect it all. You just gotta focus out to the big picture view, accept the fact I was blessed for somebody to tweet the Up North Trips onto my timeline, which I happened to click, and 7 Mile Clee’s northern no fucks given drawl got stuck in my brain, unlocking brief blasts of dopamine which allowed me to enjoy the mundane life of struggle that human existence remains, even in this allegedly more free than ever society.

P1CTVR3S 0F W1NT3R P0ST3D...

pictures of winter posted
in summer; a reminder
that we are not calendars

Sunday, July 14

SONG OF THE DAY: Tahoultine


contemplating the concept of only a half-life has passed 
with a six-pack's worth of decades (after the drive home) 
to still be a life 
writing prayerpoemraps about basically fuckthat 
in its entirety, attempting to not think 
with poison culture brain, trying to see 
if I can still hear my heart 
find a mountain to machete the kudzu 
and an AR15 to keep clean enough 
for when the devils come from the crossroads 
the four-leaf clovers of progressive avoidance 
interstates and highways intersecting 
with intersectional theory ignored completely 
except for the homeless camped in the woods 
that VDOT can't afford to contract immigrant labor 
to weed eat and gather the trash 
climate change blew the budget during Aquarius season 

contemplating the concept that these legs and ankles and hips 
which all ache from the suicide expressed as self-destruction 
expressed as ridiculous recklessness which makes for 
good tales and better scars 
that I can keep walking rightleftrightleft 
chipping away towards whatever horizon is enticing 
me to not climb into the graves dug for me everywhere 
made it through southside virginia mine fields 
where so many I've loved suffer self-inflicted wounds 
because the devils teach you from the freshest age 
it's all your own fault it's all your own fault 
it's all your own fault 
so we end up trying to kill that voice inside our head 
repeating what we was toldtaughtshown to be a type of true 
which consumes
trying to silence them voices with bullets bowls pills 
chemical fogs and digital distractions 
vodka shots at lunchtime from the bottle behind the seat 

born dead broke deadbroke and miserable for multiple generations 
so that life liberty and happiness carrot don't mean shit any more 
so bring out your sticks and stones 
chanting la ilaha illallah while my machete swings 
through kudzu and blackberry clusters gone too far right 
when the devils finally decide to come for me too 
no problem dying because been half-dead already 
contemplating how the half-life is possible 
when I been half-dead the whole time 

L3G3NDS 0F TH3 1LL3G1T...

legends of the illegit
arts creep past sometimes without
the gatekeepers realizing