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, July 9

blah blah blah

When I was planning on leaving the blog mostly unattended, my original attention had been to dedicate my time to this book that had exploded into my mind all at once. But life has been a big fat piece of hectic shit lately, so mostly I just try to figure out ways to con money out of people so that I can pay just under two-thirds of my bills. I have done nothing except mind outlining thus far on the book, which means I'm like every piece of sad sack shit out there in this world who thinks they have the great american novel in they brain if only they had the free time to put it into a keypad.
I am starting to realize a few things that are probably obvious to those around me. First off, I will never amount to shit. Something is not wired right in my brain, or I wasn't born with that fresh-dipped moonlight on my third eye, or something is wrong. I'm not sure what it is. If I knew, I probably wouldn't be so goddamned doom every three out of four weeks of my life. Nonetheless, it is what it is, which is what common ass people like me tend to say when they realize they are hopelessly fucked, in the moment or the grand scheme of things. It is what it is.
Secondly, I am a creature of retarded habit. Thus it is probably better I write some retarded nonsense every now and then rather than write nothing at all. If I hit a spell like I have lately where I haven't written shit in like ten days and I'm sitting around watching some dumbass fucking movie on the tv at night and I realize I'll go to sleep and wake up when an electronic device yelps at me and go back to a job that does nothing for me other than pay just under two-thirds of my bills, it makes me want to steal a schoolbus, do angel dust, and wreck it off a cliff like a 1978 after school special.
So there will be a thing, that I think will be semi-daily nonsense with a song download in memory of my biological father J.J. Krupert, who died with a gun in his hand. That is all I really feel like sharing with you in this fake ass world right now. (Actually, that sounds more melodramatic than I meant it to be; I just don't want to overload myself with doing dumb shit for nothing because I be broke plus the beard goes white and I feel like I should be dedicating my small windows of free time towards making something up that might get stitched into a book form and then my grandkids can one day be embarrassed to have come from my branch of their family tree.)

1 comment:

D said...

Damn. Shits tough all over. I like how you fit fresh-dipped in there. You're right by the way. "It is what it is" is a fucking cop out phrase to dismiss the dice when they don't roll your way. I loathe that phrase. It seems to have become more popular in the last few years. Perhaps we're worn out as a country from 8 years of forced political anal penetration(you know, subversive & from behind) with another four of what may just be consensual oral. While it might be better, it's still just sucks.
Don't stop believing you can be rich & famous & popular though, that's what keeps the economic machine oiled.