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

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - March '11 #3: "Living On The Run" by David Allan Coe


Running from my self most of the time, as I am my own worst enemy. Needing to feel the outside, needing to feel the mothball smell of North Carolina flea markets, needing to hear shitty Mexicans talk shitty Spanish in paint-speckled blue jeans. Need to smell the grass cut for the first time, with the violets and wild onions up in the mix. Need to fix the riding mower. Need to fix the truck. Need to drive the truck to Indiana. Need to run, not so much away from anything but just because running causes circulation. There is stagnant energy and when you run, even if all you do is run away for four hours, then run back for five, taking longer on the way back because you are confident enough in the path to stop and get a bite to eat at some fucked up looking restaurant, just to see what it looks like inside, that running causes circulation - of energy of blood of spinal fluid of brain waves of everything. I have not done any running for a couple months, not of the physical variety or real variety or any. As I walked back into work after the meditative health-related break, I realized what a false world it was I was in the middle of. Brick facades and false auras propped up on paper, not backed by physical power nor spiritual energy. Vast swaths or our lives now are frantic strolls through engineered environments, where you never once step on a blade of grass, and many times even if you do it is a pesticided out Aryan lawn, complete with the militaristic crewcut. Sadly, we can run through that world all day every day, and never get anywhere, not in a spiritual sense, financial sense, or even stir up any of the stagnant energy. Sedimentary lifestyle, even at full-speed twelve-hours a day, about to get a ticket to help drum up revenue for local governments.
As soon as I'm better, I'm going to that abandoned roadside pull-off right near Shannon Hill off I-64, where the underground access to the tunnels that stretch underneath the Blue Ridge up into West Virginia and back over to the District of Columbia. I know about it. I heard a trucker tell of entering there, going for five hours, dropping off, and then being escorted back out for another few hours, and coming out somewhere near Staunton. It's under there. Seed banks and subterranean worlds. You think they give a fuck about poisoning the Pacific with radiation or dropping depleted uranium munitions all throughout the Holy Lands of the major good/evil dichotomy three religions of our current days? Hell no. Those who can already have the access birthrighted to them to go underground till it all blows over, grows over, and starts over. Regenesis. Old ass people been talking about Armageddon and Rapture and thinking of flying off into the sky, looking up at the sunshine, and when it really happens, the real rapture is going to be disappearing into the ground while we all standing up here burning to death.
STEAL "Living On The Run"
NEXT:
Music that makes me think of having sex, even though I never had sex to it!

1 comment:

Russell Mac said...

Every now and then there is some weird shit where write something about the same themes that have been tumbling around in my head. This is one of those times.
Awesome post.
Russell