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.

Friday, May 21

(7s) Recent Force Battles For Control Of My Soul #3 - The HAARP Hum-Along vs. Eyeballs That Have Beheld The Pale Horse

Cell phone towers of Babel are everywhere now, urban and rural and all points bulletins in between. Satellite television and radio is shooting from beyond into your immediate vicinity at all times, you just don't may not have paid to subscribe to have the garble get translated electronically for your enjoyment. But it is there. These things are floating everywhere, regardless of how far you try to run. You go out to nowhere where the hills turn to mountains and the buildings turn to cowshit and there's still those towers standing on the clearcut spots with those beam machines that look like Indian drums on the side, and it's shooting all around you. It is there.
At the same time, you can feel like you are "ultra-aware" about all this, having hung out with old people who give you books to read in the hopes of eventually having you be the regional director of information for the John Birch Society, and even though these secret texts were found in surplus copy machines from the Department of Defense, and in all likelihood dreamed up completely by someone who wanted to update the Learned Elders of Zion for the internet age, it still makes sense. How can it not make sense? Have you looked at these guys who do the bill passing and enforcing and judging? If there is no vast conspiracy to profit off of the American Way by a select few who were not so much selected as positioned themselves to benefit. Basically it's like getting a rebound in basketball, except generational, and there are those whose ancestors up the family tree boxed out the opposition and grabbed the gold and fuck passing it to that other asshole who'll just throw it away, they kept it for their self. I cannot fault anyone for that. I would do the same. Yet at the same time, if you are the boxed out type, and if you work hard and are creative and flexible, at the most you'll not have too much debt when you die. It's improbable you could actually get that generational money. And even if you did, you're not trained in how to lead that type of life, and much like NBA/NFL superstars and rap millionaires from the 1990s, you're gonna blow it on stupid shit and end up right where you started, coming around Go for the 3000th time, hoping to land on Community Chest and get $10 for second place in the beauty contest as opposed to landing on Baltic or Mediterranean Avenue, both with hotels, and although they’re the cheapest ones you still can’t afford it.
And that’s the thing. I used to be like, “Fuck this shit man, it’s all bullshit.” But now I got kids and cars that need replacing because they’re fucked up, and I feel the pressure on my insides the stress in my intestines, and I think, “Hey, if I work hard and things break my way and I pay my dues inside this thing, I could own Marvin Gardens and Atlantic and Ventnor Avenue and have hotels on them. I’ll never be Park Place/Broadway big, but I could do that, without a doubt.”
Fucking pipe dreams man, yet I think it because the electromagnetic haze is thick nowadays. Very thick. I don’t even see the pale horse no more. Sometimes, I think I still hear him neighing in the woods back behind all the pine trees falling over from wood disease and thunderstorm, but I look over there and all I see is grass that needs to be cut.

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