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 22

SONG OF THE DAY: #neverusetheinternetagain

Algorithms continue to feed us fast food pseudo-information, as manipulated by mechanisms beyond our ability to see, buried deep into the terms of service. These methods have allowed for maximizing marketing potential, to engineer our tastes and desires and even overall philosophies and identities, which is all built off the foundation that free market capitalism is good, and that marketing is a psychological mechanism for which all humans have the will power to deny if so desired, and that by taking part in all this culture we share under social conditions, we have given complete and continuing consent to this process. Only problem is most of what we think of as psychological is most likely neurological, which throws out the whole concept of will power, as well as whether this is ethically truly informed consent. But also, informed consent is a legal term, not a moral term, and legality and morality are not equal. Most of our culture is built off legal liability, not moral responsibility, so getting channeled by algorithms into depression, despair, debt, and all the other things – despite not really being all that moral – is entirely legal, and nobody is liable except for you (or me).
Since way back in the day, I’ve always thought of and described the internet as being this tiny little portal wherever you are, right up into the middle of the largest most sprawling cities on Earth, which on one hand is great because you have access to all these people and cultural items you never would be able to see otherwise. But it also gives you access to every dark horrible thing potential within human nature as well, and that access goes both ways. So it’s not necessarily better, or worse, but it’s huge, and imposing, and that may be too much for a single heart to handle in a lot of situations. I often think of giving it all up, going back to scribbling in notebooks beside the river on a bench, and I’d certainly be happier if I did that. But I’d also be disconnected, and miss out on a lot of good things and people I am precariously associated to through digital methods. Not sure if the overall effect is good or bad – I tend to lean towards negative, despite all the wonderful people I care about who I have zero idea of what they actually look like in real physical life. What a time to be alive! Who knew the dystopia would be so bright and engaging? All those ‘80s movies always made it seem much darker and utilitarian.


dollar store luchador in
lime green light - an artistic
photograph by raven mack

Tuesday, May 21

H4ZY M3M0R13S 0F B4CK...

hazy memories of back
in the day wanderlust road
trips which never got nowhere


Doom and dysphoria high right now. So much digital fentanyl fog that we ain't even thinking about seeing clear no more, just wanna see our favorite fog, get wrapped up in it and let the hours scroll away. No red pill blue pill binaries, just lost, not even in between the accepted binaries but on a different spectrum entirely, not even acknowledged as real, so that everything feels unreal. Got me feeling that urge to walk to the ocean, make a pilgrimage of returning to the simplicity in most simplistic manner - on my own damn feet, slowly, ragged step by ragged step, and throw rocks into the ocean, stone the devil away, unfuck the world if I can in my own little rippling way while still on this crooked Earth.
The tracks run along the James from here to Richmond (and beyond), just walk checking off the mile markers, passing #69 where they'll scatter my ashes, pass the power plants in Bremo, pass the fork of the Rivanna where Rassawek once was, pass the state-controlled prison industrial complex, on through the western end suburban metastasis sprawl of Richmond, cross the river by Oregon Hill where my firstborn was first born, travel the southern end from there, along route 10, through the more neglected bank of western civilization, the south side always neglected for some abstract potentially related to cartography reasons, maybe cross back over on the ferry at Jamestown but maybe not because you can't walk across the tunnels to the ocean from that tip. Imagine that - building a conduit for travel across an immense body of untravelable Earth, but saying, "there can be no pilgrims here, only larger mechanized vehicles… humans are secondary" because progress is not necessarily ever about humanity so much as strange perversions in the minds of certain men. I'd hope that if I spent a couple weeks walking from here to the ocean, many of my own perversions and delusions and these feelings of doom and dysphoria and of being lost in the dystopian fog might lift a little, the manufactured veil pulled back just enough to baptize myself in the salt water and look out over the immensity contemplating my miniscule yet perfect existence - a single atom in the endless universe - and chill the fuck out, finally.


resort skyline from distance -
wide variety of same -
American leisure dreams