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.

Wednesday, May 5

SONG OF THE DAY: Quicksand


Despite all the historical racism and national geopolitics which seems somewhat Jesse Helmsesque still, Carolina is a whole vibe. It’s fucked up too, because there’s no real identifier of that whole vibe (which I’d dare say is its own culture), but it’s where the edges of New York influence and Dirty South ambiance bleed together, perhaps at the margins of both. I grew up in southside Virginia, which feels far more like Carolina than the more known geopolitical parts of Virgina (northern Virginia’s affluent DC suburbs and Hampton Roads military industrial complex of a whole bunch of lives spread wide across multiple cities). As a young delinquent, we were at first always more apt to roll up to Richmond than south, because those artificial borders create big psychic walls. But as I got older, I’ve come to see how that whole Piedmont Carolina vibe is steeped from the same sludge that I was in southside Virginia. And with the steady influx and influence of migration from further south, turning large parts into Carolina del Norte, it’s gotten even more Southern Gothicc Futurist. You might just zip through on the interstate, or skirt through the edges trying to get to Charlotte or the OBX, but if you slow down and slide in deeper, you’re gonna experience a beautiful place with a unique vibe. I love that shit, and with the weather turning warm, it’s got me daydreaming of meandering cruises through that whole area, windows down and AC running on high, at the same damn time because fuck it, blasting Morray’s “Quicksand” and trying to decide if I wanna get chicken gizzards from the gas station deli or pupusas from the back of the tienda. Can I do a gizzards/livers combo? And get two lorocco pupusas too? Damn, true and living Southern Gothicc Futurism is already here, and it’s a glorious goddamn thing.


scattering a natural 
born rainbow wherever the 
fuck I can in this dark world 

Tuesday, May 4

SONG OF THE DAY: Mentiroso Boquisaboroso (rebajada)

daydreams of digging through crusty ass boxes 
at some back roads flea market 
that's only back roads to you 
but a main thoroughfare to locals 
whom you've never seen 
all their oldies but goodies 
barely sorted into empty boxes 
and milk crates 
and scattered across cheap plastic 
banquet tables underneath 
back yard pop-ups 
the great american dirty southern 
flea market 
actual antiques and implements 
of useful life from back when shit got made 
with metal or wood but also 
a bunch of useless shit piled in 
many decades of american empire 
prevalence of having shit 
all which got left behind 
and brought here together 
in this holy trinity of the post modern 
american experience 
and time 
the time to wander slowly down 
aisles built mutually 
actual community 
time to dig through the shit that looks good 
or worth your while 
coming out of it all with 
a bunch of kitchen utensils 
including a fat skimmer your ex wife kept 
plus an empty kitty litter tub 
full of 45s mostly old country hits 
but also some bluegrass and gospel 
including long distant cousins 
according to your dead dad 
who you think of lovingly 
as you look at the glass bowls 
which is longhaired redneck slang 
for weed pipes 
the swirling colors inside the glass 
like marbles you lost in the backyard 
back in the day 
back in the far corner 
of the late american empire 
digging through displays 
of better than nothing 
at the big ass 
flea market 


southside Virginia scrub pine - 
pulpwood existence meant for 
mulch around plantation oaks 

Sunday, May 2