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, July 28

Tuesday, July 27

H0P3 T0 B3 S1TT1NG 1N TH3...

hope to be sitting in the 
yard, watching world slowly spin 
round, once I’m too old to “work” 

Monday, July 26

Sunday, July 25

SONG OF THE DAY: Oregano Flow (chopped and screwed)

I begun a project called Screw Scholarship at my patreon the past couple days, where I'm gonna go through like the first 250 chapters of released DJ Screw tapes. Why? Because fuck it. Why not here instead? Because I don't know, the internet is weird now. I mean, you can get access to my patreon for as low as $1 a month, and I've been posting there nearly daily for the past few months. At higher levels you get other benefits too, and it seems to me my ridiculous world-building shit is worth support. It's really hard to explain exactly what I do as an artist, much less how I use patreon for those purposes. But what I do is unique, and soulful, and worth getting fucking supported. Anyways, this is a random mention of my patreon on my public blog, although mostly that means my sister will read it, and then feel like she has to join my patreon. MICHELLE! YOU DON'T HAVE TO JOIN MY PATREON!


what we lust for today ends 
up abandoned in pile a 
couple tomorrows from now 

Saturday, July 24

SONG OF THE DAY: Turn Down Yo Lights

Raven, an Aquarius. I love long drives at the margins of the declining American Empire, and wearing purple surgical masks when buying fried chicken in gas stations in parts of the country I'm not from. My turn ons are walking through train yards and marking things therein, and my turnoffs are people who think they know, and also cops, who are like the ultimate people who think they know. An ideal supper would be an 8-piece dark meat special, spread out over the course of the night, and probably some ginger brews or maybe orange Perriers or I don't know. I don't drink anymore so liquids aren't nearly as important in distracting me from what's going on as they used to be. Do you have a purple porch light? Holler at me.

F4TT3N3D W1TH M4T3R14L...

fattened with material 
burdens, we appear to be 
ghosts, even while still breathing