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, October 1

TH3 3ND 1S JVST TH3 0TH3R...

the end is just the other 
side of a new beginning 
once your outlook's adjusted 

Wednesday, September 30

Tuesday, September 29

N0 S1GN H4S 4VTH0R1TY...

 

no sign has authority 
without men to enforce them; 
fuck your signs and your badges 

Monday, September 28

SONG OF THE DAY: Grey Winds


You might not be as woke as you think you are. Just woke enough to call everybody else toxic and retreat to your turtle shell of digital identity, while the real world continues to spin on a wobbly axis outside. At some point, real shit has to get done. People have to eat, and not be stuck out in the cold rain or snow. Some folks care more about cats than humans, but put forth this revolutionary persona. When shit starts falling apart (lol start… it’s already falling apart), you’re gonna have to be able to do shit you don’t wanna do with people you don’t wanna do it with. And you’re gonna have to know how to navigate that bullshit. I worry about how many dysfunctional people are culture has created, shit, perhaps including me.

P1LGR1M4G3S W1TH0VT KN0WN...

pilgrimages without known 
purpose, other than to more 
closely connect with each step 

Sunday, September 27

SONG OF THE DAY: The Devil Put The Coal In The Ground


My new house backs up on a quarry company, and is I guess what was known as Walton's Mountain on the tv screen. John Boy's house is literally a quarter mile from here. I can walk up there at night when the moon is too bright and yell GOOD NIGHT JOHN BOY! GOOD NIGHT JOHN BOY! And the cool thing is it's a small town, too small for cops, so only the county cops are likely to come, and they're most likely busy being corrupt with the local drug trades, which they've long been corrupted by. Anyways, I was walking back in the woods to the gulch behind the house, contemplating where property lines may or may not end, and how far I can ignore that to put up some goat fencing, and I discovered a trash pile, probably from the lady who used to live here, who apparently lost the house while she was renting to own because she got popped for two DUIs in two weeks a couple years back, the second of which just straight up going on the wrong side of a four lane highway with giant median strips in the middle of each direction, like those big ass median strips where trees grow and deer live in there and you could probably put up a pallet house if you wanted. I'm guessing maybe during those times she must've started throwing trash down the hill. Strangely this is a country phenomenon with quite a bit of history, where Appalachia meets the South, and them po buckras came to be an underclass that nobody has love for. There's something amazing about having trash and living on the side of an incline and deciding to just throw your trash over the side because fuck it. Of course, po buckra white folks are more earth-based white people, but that same trash tossing down the hill is basically Reaganomics and what the white elite practice as well. They're just not considered po buckra pieces of shit because they wear suits and are Senators and are well-trained in the stealth abstraction of their dirty deeds which has always defined the American Empire's wealth, laundering morality through a complex pyramid scheme where you slap your shitty world philosophies into the bottom and somehow freedom comes out the top.
I guess I'll clean that trash pile up at some point in the next month or two, because it's going to annoy me if I don't. But I also might put goats back there first and see how much of it they eat. I'm gonna see if I can get them to start carrying halal goat up at Ike Godsey's store too.

P4TR10T1C F3RV0RS P0K3D...

patriotic fervors poked 
and prodded through pride and fear; 
dirt recognizes no flag