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 28

Friday Love/Hate

I hate having been busted up the past couple weeks. I do not do well with idle time and being a street person, need to walk amongst street peoples to feel at ease within my own soul. My soul has been very congested, and I do not know if it is how off-kilter my skeletal shape has become in the past year, or if it is the muscle relaxers, but really I have not been in a positive mode to where I want to enjoy myself. I think a big part of it is I’ve probably watched more TV in the past two weeks than I have in the past two years, and that can be very mind-crushing. I’ve been trying to mix in some short stories from alleged masters as part of a future project on this blog, and to get me rolling on a short fiction collection I’ve been outlining (which for me means jotting things down on notecards, which get held together by rubber bands or hair ties, and shuffled and reordered and marked up or crossed out or flipped over and reused… my method for outlining really anything more than stream of conscious that I write is kind of like what they taught you to do for taking research paper notes in public schools in 1988, but all zipped out on ritalin). I hate that I’ve had two weeks out of work but have not cranked out a novel, even though I could not find a comfortable way to sit upright and type until like this past Monday, and my laptop battery has been burning my pajama-concealed dick. I hear that makes you sterile, which is fine by me because even with insurance I can’t afford a vasectomy.

I love the fact there are wild mutant boars and wolves roaming the Ukrainian countryside in the blocked zone from the Chernobyl accident. They’re apparently gonna let tourists start seeing the city of Chernobyl now, which is crazy because in certain parts the radioactivity level is still insane, and the sarcophagus they encased the cracked reactor inside of is apparently predicted to fall apart as well. There are also giant dead zones in neighboring Belarus, who bore the wind-blown effects of the radiation pretty heavily, and there’s abandoned cities and villages all throughout that area. And really that’s the ultimate effect of a so-called dirty bomb – not the immediate death, because if you set off a dirty bomb in Manhattan, it would only kill maybe a couple thousand people immediately, if you were lucky. But the entire area for like thirty miles radius would be contaminated, and you couldn’t clean it up. The radiation would have to be allowed to decay at it’s normal half-life, which means basically New York City would be rendered uninhabitable. Of course, if you vacated it completely, you’d still have people moving back – the homeless and elderly and vagrants – who would occupy this dead zone in cancerous states of communal anarchy. But the mutant boars and wolves of the Chernobyl region are very intriguing to me, because I remember the post-Chernobyl pics in Time magazine of pigs without eyes or horses with five legs and shit (seriously), and you have to figure a species that is now running wild in this location, including the dead woods where men are not allowed to go because five minutes inside would cause you to glow in the dark that evening (again, seriously), they’ve had twenty years to genetically adjust themselves. Not to mention with no men around to prey upon them or run them off, they lack the natural fear response most animals feel towards the presence of man. I kinda hope rather than dirty bombs, there are like some next level anarcho-eco-terrorists who want to unleash a pack of nuclear wolves on downtown Berlin or mutant boars into the middle of like Detroit or Cleveland. Terrorist are so fucking boring, probably because so many of them are fundamentalists. Fundamentalists are always boring as fuck, unless they are snake handlers. I ain’t much of a church-goer, but if I do feel compelled, you best believe I make the drive over to the Church of Lord Jesus with Signs Following over in Victoria, not too far from where my dad lived before he passed.

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