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.

Thursday, January 23


At some point I fell into a Ghanaian Hip Life website, and grabbed a bunch of tracks. Without a doubt this particular song has been my most played song through the winter while riding around in the Corolla. It’s weird to me how nationalized our consumption of music is. There is no real global coverage for hip hop and hip hop tangential releases. My oldest has spent a couple trips in recent years in Malaysia specifically but throughout Southeast Asia, and the hip hop scene over there is vast, and actually pretty amazing. And man, they got their content and marketing attitudes down. She forwarded me a screenshot from the Malaysian Hustler the other day, using M.E.C.C.A. as an acronym for Mindset, Ethics, Character, Communication, and Attitude. The secular but highly Muslim culture of Malaysia has its effect on all that, and fuck if M.E.C.C.A. isn’t just emblazoned in my mind now, to where I’m contemplating that shit, like any good mantra.
Anyways, jam the fuck out to Gasmilla’s biggest hit, “Telemo”. His nickname is the International Fisherman, which would make a great iron-on letter t-shirt. As would MECCA. Fuck it, I might dig out my box of iron-on letters and do both tonight.


reality's subjective;
"nothing is true" goes the old Hassan i-Sabbah saying

Wednesday, January 22


The Power of Lounge creeps like tendrils through the shadows of respectable society. We have this notion that society/culture can be utopian and fully embrace everybody, so we’ve come to talk about marginalization as a bad thing. And sure, it is. But at the same time, there can be benefit to the margins – a certain autonomy outside of the system that may actually be better in many cases than getting assimilated into the system. The system itself is only designed to grow wealth for those in control by extracting value from everything – Earth, humans, technology, minerals, whatever. So your economic benefit from assimilation is also skimmed off of, and somebody somewhere is making just as much off you as you are for being you. Thus, dwelling in the shadows is where the true strongest Power of Lounge can be cultivated.
I’ve very much been practicing refusing to refer to my government name as my “real name” because it establishes organized society as the truest legitimacy, and the source of truth. My government name is no way who I am, and probably just as many people refer to me as “Dirtgod” as “Charles” now, though obviously having Raven as my government middle name blurs the issue because it is both my government and real name, albeit the government’s second choice when referring to me. If I died in an accident that made the news, they’d refer to me by my government name, and nobody would know I was dead. Somebody recently texted me about legally changing their name, to their more outlandish real name they use in life, and it seemed unnecessary to me, just filing paperwork because you still identify the government recognition as the most authoritative.
I say all this in relation to this “Tipitina” song, because what you have here is a musical creation, born from the mind of a human whose real name is Professor Longhair. There are few greater real names in the recent history of American culture, than “Professor Longhair”. It is so wonderful I am sad I no longer have longhair, and if I had a shitty tattoo gun, I might put “professor longhair” on my left foot tonight. And then the song was redone, for a larger cultural audience, by a human whose real name was Dr. John. Again, though not quite Professor Longhair level, that’s still quality lounge. [Side note: one of my dad’s drinking/smoking/watching football buddies was known as Dr. John aka Johnny Sprinkle, and man he was known for telling the most ridiculous stories that you knew were lies, but tolerated nonetheless because he was so adamant in his ridiculous telling of these fibs. He was obviously very influential on a young dirtgod.]
None of this has any point specifically, just rambling words spiraling off wherever. I’ll perhaps print this out in a month and tape it up with dollar store scotch tape into a zine, and it’ll circulate there as well. Ridiculous fucking prayers against order and assimilation and authoritative systems that define themselves as reality but no longer really do all that much to earn that. Ridiculous fucking prayers towards the Power of Lounge, inshallah.

4LL 0VR HVM4N3 0RD3RS 4R3...

all our humane orders are
barely held together by
manufactured nuts and bolts

Tuesday, January 21

SONG OF THE DAY: Middle Child

J Cole is a polarizing as fuck figure. Some folks think he's an MC genius, and others hate the mention of his name. That's some classic middle child shit, tbh. I was getting gas the other night at the BP down at the bottom of my neighborhood, where wacky shit is always going on it seems, and it was cold as hell, but some lady pulled up absolutely BANGING "Middle Child". The SUV was rattling apart as she left it running to go inside. It briefly made it not feel so cold, and I appreciate that.


sitting under conference
of tree elders makes a strong
shade for deep contemplation