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.

Sunday, February 17

S0VTH3RN G0TH1C FVTVR1ST...

southern gothic futurist
psychologies always been
around - just need connection

SONG OF THE DAY: Sound of Da Police



Seen a couple pretend new school muscle cars like Mustang or Charger, but specificially Mustang triggered this blurb thought stream – loud exhaust shiny newish Mustang driven by jarhead 1 on the sides 3 on the top white male, generally pro-cop as fuck. Maybe I was raised in a strange cultural vacuum of rural despair, but back in the day muscle car culture was delinquent and derivative of bootlegging culture, and thus had zero respect for cops. I mean they listened to the scanner to try and see if the cops was coming round to hassle people. This got me to thinking about how Nascar was a propaganda effect on culture, slowly taking a thing literally born from anti-cop anti-government bootleggers, assimilating it into corporate culture, covering it with sponsorship decals, taking away all the bumping and grinding and unsavory characters, to where a fuckin’ weasel-voiced shithead like Jeff Gordon is considered an all-time classic. What the fuck? This also got me to thinking about how a drunken drag racing buddy of my uncle back in the day became a cop, and that meant he talks funny like cops do, but he also saved me from a felony one time, which likely would’ve changed the entire trajectory of my life, so there’s a certain white trash privilege built into that, which poor whites utilize through that cousin or friend of uncle who becomes a shitty cop, which means we don’t talk about shit around them but still lean on for a favor if shit ever gets ugly. That’s exactly what my cop-hating dad did when I was looking at a potential felony back in the day. But I don’t think that makes me special or better. Shit, if the law was applied equally, I would’ve gone to jail, and my whole life would’ve been fucked up in a different way, which is EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENS TO A LOT OF FUCKIN’ PEOPLE, specifically minorities who ain’t got no cousin or uncle’s friend who became a cop for whatever fuckin’ reason. Which is why I say, as a white person from an economically-strained background, you should never be pro-police, even tacitly, much less riding around with a goddamned giant ass blue lives matter flag flying on the back of your fuckin’ ridiculous pick-up truck. Stop being class traitors, stop licking police state boots, and never ever ever believe that cooperating is to your benefit. They are liars. Shit, even when I was able to beat a felony, they lied to me to try and get me to implicate others, in order to “help” me. Fuck that. Don’t believe them. Lives aren’t born blue, they’re trained to be blue lives, utilizing deceit and enforcement of obedience and all sorts of other ugly shit, ultimately to generate revenue for the state and suppress elements deemed unworthy of helping. ACAB 1314

Friday, February 15

F34TH3R3D H41R 1N R3FL3CT10N...

feathered hair in reflection
of dusty mirror; basement
apartment has guns, roses

SONG OF THE DAY: I Couldn't Get High


An abnormally warm Friday, week of my birth, dark familial matters like always, nation state geopolitics absolutely fucked, can’t get no respite not enough hours to do all the creating I wanna do and maintain responsible necessities, trying to sell art to a broke ass world, stretching $14 from here til 8 days from now (plus untapped change jar about two inches thick, mostly brown though – been strip mined of quarters once already), so yes very much yes the concept of getting high still calls me, still says in that sweet whisper, “Hey Raven, fuck it man, none of this shit matters, you’ll never get anywhere and you’re wasting all this effort trying to do all this shit that won’t ever happen for somebody with your background anyways. Fuck it. Take that oxycontin and go sit in the park, don’t do shit but listen to the birds, or go down by the river and let the rapids laugh at you, which your dumbass.” And man, that whisper makes a lot of sense, but my hands ain’t shaking, at least not today. But those poor choices always beckon, as the best choices possible a lot of times.

S1M14N 0V3RL0RDS PL4N...

simian overlords plan
for perfect boxes, but wild
minds blemish their purity