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, August 12

Friday Love/Hate

Not a hate bone in my heart, though I've done a lot of behind-the-curtain bitching about situations inside the confines of the compound, where only myself and my ol' lady can hear. There are lots of secret dramas going on, both in my personal life and in this publicly manufactured financial calamity. But on both accounts, it just seems so obvious to me, as I sit under the moon at night, that worst case scenarios usually end up being for the best in the long run. Sure, the short-term pain can be tough at times, but man, we are a weak humanity right now, stuck on technological tethers, more cattle-like in our accepted, legalized, and engineered diets than ever before, and there's no real care. I think some bare feet stepping across the coals of scorched earth zones would probably do us some good.

I love, to be specific rather than cryptic and general for once, me some Chinese poetry. Really been digging into the Red Pine translations this past week, at night, and actually writing long-form poetry again for the first time in years. I think it's my duty to the wretched people (I say that lovingly, as in that The Wretched of the Earth book) of southside Virginia to become as insane and wild-haired and cult-like a poet/writer that I can be. Hell, most of the country's going to be the same drug-ravaged, mostly rural wasteland we've been for a couple decades now in the next couple decades, so for once, I feel like we're trendsetters. It is my calling to bring these scarred emotional survival techniques to the world, not for financial exploitation, but so we can have more vikings and pirates. There's not enough fucking vikings or pirates of the mind anymore, just pimps and prostitutes. I prefer the old ways, the ancient ways. They make more sense to the man in me, though the consumer in me knows there's less value in that path. Oh well. Your path is your path.

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