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, January 21

Friday Love/Hate

I hate not being able to move around and do things normally. I took a heavy blow by slipping off a porch and nearly concussing myself against the edge of steps the other night. It knocked me silly and I was laying outside in the little bit of ice that was there, thinking, “I guess I can’t really lay in the yard.” The kids were in bed and the ol’ lady was in the shower. I sort of crawled back into the house and flopped on the kitchen floor, which smelled entirely of wet dog. My two dogs drove this point home by sniffing at the back of my head as I was sprawled out there, and I shooed them away, and thought, “If I am laying on the floor face down when my wife comes out the shower, she will think I have had some sort of serious injury.” So I got up on my knees, which was painful, and just kinda stayed there until she came out the shower. Of course, she was still like, “What the fuck?” but she at least knew I was not dying. Anyways, I fucked up my neck and my back, and have had to lay in the bed for the most part for the past four days. This does not jibe well with my personality. I thought I would get a bunch of writing work done, but the satellite internet I think has created a HAARP orb over my house that causes me to be stupid. I actually went out to the camper last night, not plugged in, and just sat there in the dark for like half an hour. I can see that becoming a regular occurrence.

I love, however, the fact that I can pretend I am Ezelle from Friday, with my neck and my back hurt. In fact, a couple of times people have seriously asked me if it was my back or my neck, and one time I even said something about settling for fifty cents and a pack of envelopes, and they looked at me like people often look at me when I speak out loud the things that go through my brain.

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