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.

Monday, March 24

PP: Part Nineteen

If you have a pimp ass bronze toned Brougham with wire wheels, and some fuck-up plows into it fucking it all up and ruining it beyond your financial means to repair it, the best thing to do is just park it by the road for everyone to see. It's kind of like a drunk driving warning, except this one warns you to not be an unlounging asshole.

This is the one picture I was most glad for this project for thus far. I was at the demolition derby in Harrisonburg, and was walking around trying to not be too suspicious, taking pictures of cars in the pits, and I walked over to a dude at this truck and asked if I could snap a Polaroid. He said sure, and then told me the story behind the truck, which he was afraid he wasn't going to be able to run since there were only two other trucks and the promoters said there had to be at least four for them to run a truck class. The truck's original owner was a guy who had a wife and two kids, and they got in a car wreck and the guy and one kid died, and the mom was crippled, and only the little girl came out of it okay. The dad had wanted to run the truck in a demo derby before he died, so this other guy finished the project for him, and the handprints all over it were the little girl's, helping paint her dead father's truck for it to fulfill its destiny and his dream. On the back was R.I.P.s with the dad and brother's names in small paint I didn't notice at first. Unfortunately, I had to cut out early to make my daughter's ballet recital, but on my way out of the place, I saw two more trucks being hauled in for the derby, so I knew the guy was gonna get the chance to wreck up the truck for his dead buddy and his little girl.

I am proud to live in a part of the country where you might take a back road to the grocery store and pass a brick rancher with a homestyle armored troop carrier sitting in front of it. It is only a matter of months before the local barter system starts printing its own money and the sporting goods store (meaning gun shop) accepts it and I can paint barns for pistols.

I think I went through a spell where I saw like 15 old Scouts in a row, so there might be a few more of these fuckers coming up. I dig Scouts, but I have problems with dudes who are collectors of Scouts. I never understood car fetishes where you were in machine love with one type of car. There's so many beautiful sexy cars out there of all shapes and colors and manufacturers... why would you settle for just one?

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