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, April 1

The Doogie Howser - 04/01/11


(a daily thing of some sort, though not necessarily daily and often times not much of a thing)
#1: I am listening
to a lot of DJ Screw mixes lately, because today for example it is spring but cold and rainy. I feel strong but am weak and healing. Screw music fits that because it is gangsta but mellow. Necessary in the now and here because these are very cataclysmic yet seemingly calm times. #2: The world is at all kinds of wars, leaking radioactivity into the Pacific, which will get caught up in the swirl or detritus that has created trash island in the middle somewhere, now irradiated, so the water will glisten not only from decomposed plastic down to microspecks but Cesium and Plutonium as well. #3: There are thousands of letters from children sealed in bottles in the midst of that trash island. I have started a kickstarter project to build a Kon-Tiki style boat and float the fuck out there and gather them from the detritus, collect them, translate to American, and let you read them. Except kickstarter wouldn't accept my bullshit, so you just have to paypal me money. I need $3200 to do it. I figure I'll have to collect like 200 letters to get a good sampling to end up with a nice collection of 50 to 75 translated. So if you give anything, I'll keep you up-to-date with the progress of translation once I get back from trash island, and if you give over $200, I'll give you an original letter from the collection. #4: A dude I used to work for moved to the United Arab Emirates, and he have me an inflatable boat we used to float the river with when we felt like blowing off work. I think at this moment in my mind, nothing makes more sense than floating the damn river as often as possible in 5-hour increments this spring/summer/fall while pumping DJ Screw mixes in some form of Ipod boombox contraption, if such a thing exists. If it does not then I'll just carry a for-real boombox with the bonafide Screw tapes my wife bought me a few years back. I am listening to one right now actually as I plugged in the camper to sit out in the rain and turn on the red light and blast the shit out of my mind. #5: My father Charlie Tuna and my uncle Ricky, we had a tight formative summer for me in a trailer me and my dad lived at. Very formative to what I am as a man, in the ways I think, maybe. I'm not sure really. Both are dead though, and actually on my dad's side, I'm the second oldest dude left in the family at age 38. Uncle Ricky committed suicide behind a pop-up camper. Dad had a massive stroke while smoking a bowl after work at age 46. Or 47. I can never remember. One of those two and my grandfather - his dad - died at the other age. The three of us share the same first name. Hopefully we do not share the same destiny. #6: Both have visited me in dreams. My uncle is stuck in a purgatory where he's frozen with the emotions he had when he did what he did. He's straight with it, because you do things and have to live with the consequences, but he wouldn't have done it that way if he had another shot. At least that's what I got from talking to him. My dad is in hell, but he doesn't know it's hell and it's pretty much what he was doing while alive, so he's cool with it. At least on the surface he seems to be. #7: I have a license plate placard in the camper here that says "American By Birth - Southern By The Grace Of God". I've scribbled graffiti over it that says "Southern By Birth - Raven By The Grace Of God". I don't believe that though... any of it. #8: It feels good out here, separate from the world. No internet or phone reception (thank god) and sometimes I even unplug the laptop from the one power strip everything runs from because I think the electrical cord to the house is an umbilical cord and I don't want where my fingers are poking words to be tapped into right now. #9: The internet and writing stupid shit for stupid people to have stupid good times, it is a thing, but such an ultimate waste of who I am. A parallel would be to be a girl with a pretty smile so I make amateur porn movies. But I guess that's the point of American success stories - to exploit yourself in whatever way you find easiest. Not sure I like this 21st century way of exploiting ourselves for nothing other than brief ego strokes that leave the phone bill unpaid. #10: Oddly enough it's only been in the past year that I've realized that my destiny is not to be paid for anything because anything I could do will never pay well enough to have solid gold rocketships to wreck into the moon for the fuck of it. My destiny is to throw words into the sky. I come from one thing where words are only spoken, never read. When I throw the words at those who actually read words, those are people who basically will do me like they did taking pictures of Indians - stealing souls. So I'm just gonna start (or keep) throwing them up in the air, luchini style, and throw them hard as fuck so that they get cumulonimbus on their edges, and hopefully by the time they come back down, the right folks will be spread out underneath to catch them. Luchini, falling from the sky.

No comments: