RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition who does all types of things, daily. The best place to get it right now is his Patreon or find his books at Amazon.

Tuesday, February 19


Finished the first issue of a new zine the other night, taking it to get printed today (though I can’t pay for that until Friday). Calling it Southern Gothic Futurist, naturally, and I write most of it extremely offline, on a word processor I affectionately call “the clacker”. It’s kinda weird to be writing a zine on the clacker, twenty five years after I used to prominently do zines on an earlier clacker. My first word processor did some problematic zines, mostly because I was figuring out my place in this world, and as a first generation college student, definitely didn’t not feel like some of the people I was around. Haha, some of them still harbor grudges against me to this day, hating with their hater asses. At that time there was no real class acknowledgement, so the feelings of fraud and not being the same were ignored back then. Had roommates once, one of whom became a fairly well-known punk singer briefly, who held that class shit over my head on a couple of occasions. But the differences are obvious to this day, what having access to wealth and not having access to it means.
But also I ain’t complaining. As a young adult male I wrote some really horrible shit at times, things I’d be ashamed for my children to read and think was actually who I am now. And despite shock and awe tactics of artistic output, I’ve always been an authentically honest person at heart, who wants good for as many people as possible. Not sure the digital realm fits with that any more. It feels like a poisoned well that once was full of very sweet water, connecting with like-minded fringe fuckers you couldn’t easily do in real life. That’s likely the source of my regression to zines, because zines were that before there was an internet. I remember going through the old Factsheet Fives, seeking out fucked up people to exchange fucked up mail with. And I can’t really say I miss that, because you can’t go back to what’s already been trampled into dust by time, and zines in 2019 are a completely different beast than zines in 1995, but hey, what can you do? I was actually looking at my first zine’s rough layout (literally cut and pasted, never no pdf) and already thinking how it’s nothing but words for the most part, and how the last time I shared a booth at a zinefest with my daughter, some dude came up and saw how my zines were nothing but words and literally gasped, and not in a good way. So I’m not really saying anything here except I do what I have to do to survive being who I am.
My first word processor was bought by my grandmother from part of the life insurance payout when my uncle Ricky committed suicide. My uncle Ricky was problematic as fuck, in fact my whole family is. But so is everybody else’s. The symbolic realism of typing not only college papers as first generation college student but also fucked up poetry and zines on a word processor bought with life insurance money from my uncle’s suicide was never lost on me. A lot of people die without ever getting their words out, and if they get ‘em out, nobody ever hears them. The spirit of Southern Gothic Futurism is very much the words of the voiceless getting heard, the assorted beautiful marginalized underclasses we find throughout the south, perfectly steeped in the cultural humidity, coming together, and making some goddamned noise. Sometimes I wonder, “what is my work? what is the work of the dirtgod raven mack?” and that’s the best I can come up with. I love to express what I need to express but just as much I love to amplify others who need that space too, and help those who lack the confidence in saying what the fuck needs to be said to untangle their own lives (which often are unnecessarily entangled up in systemic bullshit and other people’s trifles) get more confidence in doing it. To me, that’s what Southern Gothic Futurism means. But of course, if you’re practicing it too, it’s as much your’s as mine, so make it what you need it to be too.

CH3M1C4L C4R M0N1K3R...

chemical car moniker
masterpiece detail close-up -
sun rising over mountain

Monday, February 18


networks of intelligence
not nearly as strong as they
present themselves as being

SONG OF THE DAY: galahad in goosedown

[decided to take the ridiculous genius annotations to this song, then run them through google translate from english to persian, persian to welsh, welsh back to english, but I left the milo quotes intact; everything is ridiculous and robotic and full of shit but within this you can create nonsense gibberish in fact YOU MUST CREATE NONSENSE GIBBERISH to combat the cyborgian overwhelm of the human heart]

This line is related to his acceptance of the evil existentialism written in Paul Millo, he says: "Oh," to his life. As life is not really good and desirable, like sadness, Milli believes that his inherent suffering makes people paranoid or develops schizophrenia, where they change their reality.
It is also important to note that there is a disappointment, which can arise in many ways, but especially through the use of narcotics (as in the first line of the first verse), through dopaminergic paths. Scenophrenia is a prominent theory of the dopamine presumption that rejects defective or harmful dopamine responsible for schizophrenia. Therefore, although Millo claims claims for the state of the world and the existence of man, scientifically, there are also credible claims about the fact that resistance and schizophrenia are opposed - at least in the case of dopamine transfer.
The bridge refers to the song by Mylo Budlong Woods under the name Scallops Hotel, where he dies,
I thought, “Oh, well,” with regards to my entire life
Milo fans often tell him to inspire him to improve; Milo finds this very enthusiastic because he is known to talk about the meaningless life of his songs, as a Zen scientist, where he goes to Sisyphus: 
How he dazzled with bafflegabSisyphus surmounts the aggro crag
Silifos is an enthusiastic Greek figure condemned to rock boulders. When he reached the peak, the boulders reached the bottom of the hill, and Sisyphus had to repeat his deed. As a result, it is often seen as a tragic hero and a staggering embodiment of the creature. Silifos is more exposed to the deep philosophical vision of the Silifos legend. In this article, Camus believes that Sisyphus is the best example of a modern absurd man. That is, people lead the life that is basically meaningless. Milli recognizes this with her college's degree in philosophy, and uses the sphere to explain her feelings that her life is ashamed.
Slypism believes that one can only be sure of thinking. In his reflection, he developed by René Descartes and often leads to a monopoly situation. Milo is currently referring to inspiration from someone who cares for himself alone.


a touch of "backwoods" present
in every corner store,
but it's behind the counter

Sunday, February 17