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.

Sunday, January 23

Universal Prayer

Universe, hollered be your name, this world keep spinning. Give unto me as is necessary my daily frybread, and let my soul not get dried out by lack of nourishment. And try to shine on me so I ain’t so damn judgmental about others even though they live their lives in ways that seem plastic or faux organic or too much like they puttin’ on airs, whatever that means. That’s some old school hill talk, and though I’m not from the actual deep hills with shadows to dwell in and caves to crawl inside and scribble the scriptures that you shoot into my brain whether I am ready to receive it or not, that hill talk jibes with me, probably because my bloodline is foothill weekend warriors from four or five generations back, so far as we all can see up our weather-beaten family tree. We are southside Virginia – SS Va. – which no one in their right mind would consider God’s country or a shining blessing the Universe has put upon the surface of this Earth rock. But hey, who amongst us chooses where we are born, thus creating geographical loyalties purely by happenstance.
We are coming up on my 38th ride around the sun since I came outside to see its rays at Southside Community Hospital in Farmville, Virginia, and I know I am living the second spiral of the Two Spiral Lesson you shot into my head during the vision on the goat pen oak stump three years back. And I am thankful for it, because I was afflicted with the same twisted philosophy that went up that family tree I mentioned, where no one could see themselves too far beyond 50, and if they did there was no happiness – just pain and misery inside of that mind’s sight. I am thankful for the redirection of mine own sights, and now I can realize those wise old ages where my body will not be able to do what it once did, but that is the cycle. It will be time to shoot that mental energy back out into the Universe as strongly as I can. If they try to condemn me with mental illnesses like they do many of our Learned Elders, I will fight it, to whatever point necessary. If I end up on the streets, carving the scripture you shoot at me into scraps of cardboard, so be it.
Even though I have felt physical frustration this past week as I knocked myself decrepit and have been forced to fuck around lay around and do not much with my body, I appreciate the lesson of redirecting my mind, especially amidst the constant barrage of electronic distractions that man has made on his errant path towards what he thinks is Universal Knowledge. Of course we don’t know nothing much better than we ever did, and in fact probably know a whole lot less being we have our limited intellect spread so thin amongst 30 million memes, most of which have no relevance to our immediate life.
I am aware that I have my own offspring who are growing up with the shifted norms of the electronic distractions, to where apps and chats are every day affairs, and “friend” is more verb than noun at times. I understand that I have to push them into the outside, and force them to fox walk through the fields, and teach them that the fox walk skill is one that can be applied in the city as well, amongst the cinderblocks and civilization. And they can fox walk through the electronic purgatory as well.
I don’t understand why when we look out to the Universe, we only see a magnified dream or nightmare of our direction – beings who are further along with their electronic gadgets and traveling machines made of metal and coated copper wires and tesla coils. We chasing Joneses that we don’t even know are there, at least not the way we think they are there.
Give me my daily frybread, to keep me from choking out on the organic self-righteousness. Keep junk cars in my roadside travels, and chicken gizzards at the gas station, and make it warm every now and then on Fridays going into the weekend so that women wear tank tops, nice feminine tank tops that would make an Easyriders magazine from 1979 feel comfortable. I am still not drinking, but keep my mind drunk with nonsense, and don’t let the bastards and their silent weapons for quiet wars paralyze my mind completely. I feel it at times, and have been taking the yarrow tincture to try and shield myself from the effects. And feel free to crush this Earth’s technobabble from time to time, to remind everyone of what’s real. Or more likely, they will all freak out and hide until they think they are starved of things to do when it will actually just be the process of the poison leaving their body.
Give me freight train horns in the distance, and give me shining eyes in my children’s faces. I know it is a struggle for them as well, being born with the magic genetics they are born with from both sides. It is a hard thing to understand at a young age, and if it can drive me crazy in the start of my second spiral, I know it’s tough to handle early on in their first spiral of life. Let me be their daily frybread, and teach them that when it feels terrible all around like black clouds cobra clutching your body from the inside out, the best thing to do is put music on real loud and see what kind of tapdancing you can do off the top of your head on the hardwood kitchen floor. You don’t need to know how to do things to do them. There are things inside us all we don’t even try to unlock, never even think about beyond a cursory glance at a pulp catalog. Let me be the daily frybread that hopefully enables my offspring to unlock themselves further than I’ve unlocked from my own penned up parents. None of us can help where we were born – it just happens. And there’s a Universe to unlock right there where we land, regardless of wandering to farther corners. So let me get to it.


Anonymous said...

Me again. I don't getconnected here often no matter the size of my gadget screen mastery a cell is not a computer screen. I am currently flushing the poison well put. 18 yrs ago I was lost just me and my jeep and my dog. And twice that hence I am parallel lost in a forward fashion different jeep different dog and different me and I have a little me that sometimes gets the essence of the ride.

Anonymous said...

And oorah on the drinking. My technique for such matches the way I learned to drive a stick. Its getting that clutch engaged smoothly. Until you do its a jerky ride. That's beyond corny but it suits