RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition who publishes zines & physical books & electronic books & music & photography & digital art & just generally whatever feels necessary to survive this deluded earth thru Rojonekku Word Fighting Arts survival systems (Version 69, establish 14 Feb 1973). Comments encouraged.

Friday, March 25

Friday Love/Hate

I hate waiting on destiny. I had a vision/dream early on right before my appendicitis of some sort of eastern European vagrant woman, but there were no buildings and cities and stuff. I was against a barbed wire fence - an old one that was not stretched tight, but I was hanging there, and this old lady was walking with a mule pulling a two-wheeled cart, full of trunks and shit, looked like it was painted pimp as fuck in that old world way a few years back, but was faded by this point, and covered in the dust of the roads we were along. I'm not sure where they went, because I kind of fell into the dream. And it was after my fall that gave me whiplash on the side porch, because she looked over at me and said, "You are stiff." I was like, "Yeah, I fell." She said, "That is good. Rapid changes are in your face, and the stiffness will slow it down from being too overwhelming before you are ready. But prepare yourself. A tornado is in the lines around your eyes. And you seem able to ride the tornado, but embrace this stiffness, rest yourself, for the storm that will form around you in April." I was like whatever, then realized it was a dream vision type thing, so woke up. I am always mad at myself for not being able to control my subconscious better and remain in that world to ask more. I've read books I've written in that world and get so excited by the pages I'm turning that I realize it's a dream and it's my future and I wake up without trying to memorize the gist of the stories in my hand. It is the larger universe speaking at me, and I've not learned how to listen as well as I should yet. But I'm still young - only 38, and far from a Learned Elder. But I can feel it bubbling up on the periphery of my life at times now, the boil is just starting to percolate a little. It will be boiling here soon. I am excited for the journey.

I love my Bird Tribe. No doubt about it. My ol' lady is rock solid and a complement to my ways, and as crazy as me, and as tortured by visions and stifled creativity and on a similar path, just different. It is interesting over time that from an initial attraction and relationship, you really don't know how it will unfold. But we were driven together by forces larger than us - there are many instances where this was shown to us, beyond our belief at times, because I certainly did what I could to fuck it all up at one time or another - and we are supposed to be together. I've not met a woman elsewhere who could not only tolerate the whirlwind chaos of my aura, but know how beautiful it is. And the kids we are bringing up in this wacked out world where Bill Gates is secretly perpetuating eugenics programs on the poor through charitable trusts, they are going to be fucking warrior goddesses, no doubt about it. It is almost scary at times, because the powers seem to be magnified in them, at an earlier age, and we just have to try to teach them how to unlock it and not be overwhelmed by it. That's a tough lesson to teach, especially when I'm still having to learn it myself. But hey, Bird Tribe Glide with Pride, like I scribbled on the old Nissan truck hood that is strapped to two posts as the gate to my pigpen.

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