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.
So I dropped a new book called Life in Chaotic State... Then Silence, which is a collection of renga poetry I wrote in monthly batches on twitter. The feature renga was done October of 2018 during a three-week period where I rode the Amtrak from the east coast down south, out to California, had a week-long residency there, did a haiku slam in Oregon, then rode the [t]rain back through the upper midwest and Chicago, back down to Charlottesville. It's a pretty great book in my opinion, as are the other ones. All are available on Amazon, or from me in person.
Additionally, I'm offering up signed copies of the new book (along with a few select older titles), where you can purchase it directly from me, received it signed, with a tanka poem inscribed in it as well (since I'm doing those on postcards as part of my patreon as well), and I'll tuck a recent copy of Sovthern Gothicc Fvtvrist zine in the envelope as well. Cost for this is $12 (plus $3 shipping).
the bang of creation, inner muse ejaculated upon the world oftentimes unnoticed, stains along the bottom sides of capital life's secondhand cushions easing the existential pain of mundane existence common wage slave's resistance "LIFE IS PAIN MOTHERFUCKER" proclaimed buddha ray moore and never have those words been truer - that's it… never have they been truer… this is what being human is about navigating the ridiculously sprawling labyrinth of manmade obstacles we've built over centuries stale places of mildew and rot and devising a way to make it feel fresh cultivating bang culturing bang to fend off the metaphysical vultures by swinging our vorpal blade around at the entangling world trying to choke us out like kudzu made of burnt copper wires snaking through yakubian spreadsheets… by swinging our vorpal blade clearing out a little space to take a deep breath and realize deep in your heart fuck it
it's a cold Sunday, so I made chanko nabe stew in big steel pot sautee onions and garlic in oil, add chicken thigh meat I make my own broth, frozen, on hand, stored in old yogurt containers one at the ready to throw in the big pot whenever bought some giant red beets the other day, so took the tops, chopped them up throw it in the pot, along with some shiitake mushrooms chop up spinach bunch, add that; starting to smoke so throw in broth ice cube everything cooks while broth melts, softening, blending, stewing I have that "crab meat" stuff, which when cooked unravels kinda like noodles threw in some mussel meat, plus medium-sized shrimp, with tail on that shit was on sale, half-price - ingredients are determined by cost next time I make it, it'll be completely different and yet, entirely the same essence - slow, simmering stew of hearty shit all this sat on medium-low for a good hour, rightening busted out saucepan, six minutes to soft-boil eggs, runny in middle timer goes off, dunk in ice cold water until all cool I just let it all sit there, simmering on stove, did my Sunday chores washed and hung clothes, vacuumed, watched little Anthony Bourdain finally, I was ready for big fat bowl of chanko nabe stew in fact, I ate four… it'll sit on the stove for few days I've often joked that Ishiura should eat his chanko nabe stew so small, always looking to do the side dash thing for win and yet this second Sunday of this basho, side stepping didn't work Nishikigi clutched him tight, gripped for inner position Ishiura seemed doomed, yet again, when his trick failed upon start somehow, once Nishikigi pushed, Ishiura slipped past with upper grip now, Ishiura wrapped one leg around opponent he grabbed Nishikigi's left leg, and thrust his head like goat Nishikigi's vast body fell like oak, carrying Ishiura with ultra-rare triple attack - mitokorozeme move me sitting here with chanko nabe dribbling down blackberry bush beard no smack for Ishiura - more man than I'll ever be I finish it all by writing silly poems for obscure website while Ishiura drives off in his green Lamborghini
Chiyomaru's one of my down-low favorites - sideburned heavyweight born in Shibushi, as a child he studied judo first by high school, sumo chose him, even though he had not yet chosen it he's got that extra-sumo shape, yet extremely agile his judo remains with him - day seven he fought Kotoshogiku immediately has his man pushed to the dohyo's edge Kotoshogiku regains footing, so "fuck it" thinks Chiyomaru he just shoots back other way, slapping his opponent down I often wonder the sense of touch in these men, feeling muscle shifts naked flesh pressed together, feeling the other man's thoughts unconscious of mind reaction times when one feels energetic shift using opponent's own force against himself - pure judo
Hakuho's tiny protege, Enho, always fights above his weight somehow he does well, despite being many stones lesser against Shohozan, he again did far better than his size would dictate Shohozan maintained composure, got him slipping on the sand Enho had strange split - sumo dudes practice that leg split mobility shit the level of specific training involved in insane thousands of practice bouts, pushing giants backwards until exhausted serving up chankonabe for stable elders, for years this has been Enho's destiny, living under Hakuho's strong wing Enho's fighting an uphill battle, succeeding thus far but he's many bowls of chanko nabe lighter than most of these dudes on day six, mighty Shohozan caught the young buck slipping, sat him down on a day where all leaders except Hakuho took loss Shohozan - wily veteran maintaining place middle of the pack too good for juryo, but not quite good sanyaku level
Discourse
Warning – none of us born here chose to be American, that shit chose us. Any
space is only as exceptional as how much effort and work the people occupying
that space put into making it exceptional or special, or whatever the fuck.
People don’t seem to be “putting in work” but they wanna still expect everybody
to give America the accolades of being some mighty shining beacon of whatever
the fuck we’re supposed to be a beacon of. One of the greatest strengths of
trash culture like poor people or gangs or survivalist hillbillies is that
these cultures all know that YOU AIN’T SHIT IF YOU DON’T KEEP PUTTING IN THE
WORK. It’s all sand castles and washes the fuck away pretty quickly unless you
keep putting in the work. Right now, America is fucked, but it’s mostly fucked
because nobody wants to do the work. And I don’t mean manual labor at
construction sites, I mean the hard work of fixing a bunch of shit that ain’t
working for the benefit of most people. You can’t keep selecting your favorite
self-important asshole because they got a blue or red check beside their name,
and think they gonna do it. None of those fuckers care, because they don’t
understand. But they think they know. People who don’t understand but think
they know are the most dangerous human beings around. And that’s about 99.9% of
our political class. So we’re fucked in that sense. So I’ll just keep putting
in work, try to make alliances for survival, try to carve out a shady corner to
be able to take deep breaths without somebody stepping on my head. I didn’t
choose this life I’m living, it chose me. None of us picked getting slowly
crushed by the corporate oligarchy’s avarice and greed that is the pyramid scam
of America in the 21st Century; but we’re here. Putting in work won’t set you
free – there’s no escape, unless you’re lucky. But putting in work means you
don’t crushed out of existence, hopefully, at least not today. Although it’s
crushing somebody else right now, and crushing way more than it’s lifting up.
Takayasu's big hairy ass is personal fave… always has been stoic gaze and bulldog frame, but the ozeki's struggled always injured it seems, and there's no break from this sumo life (for life) Meisei arrived on day five, with spirited performance they give an award out for best fighting spirit every basho Meisei made an early play for its consideration Takayasu's five thousand metaphysical pounds came out thrusting Meisei danced the physical rikishi tango dervish with lime green power aura, Meisei's metaphysical mystical force rose a twist of torso, yank of Takayasu - victory
if Tochinoshin had remained full strength, might've made yokozuna the Georgian mountain of a man could overpower all full-strength, he lifted even the most gigantic men, and carried them now, with perpetual sore knee, plus elbow, not the same and yet, somehow he's still able to pull off these amazing displays tussling Takarafuji, no man gaining advantage looked like another Tochinoshin slow defeat, after his strength failed as it looks almost over, a rare kubihineri "head twisting throw" is the Japanese translation, first time in nine years one arm around opponent's neck, the other takes his hand then Tochinoshin twisted Takarafuji's neck until he flipped "where your head goes, your ass shall follow" George Clinton once said or something like that; but even not at full strength, Tochinoshin rules can't help but wonder about if he had remained healthy might we have seen the first ever European yokozuna rank? sumo is relentless; body's health will job to mental state
