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.

Wednesday, February 20

February the Four

I went to buy a laptop for my kid's birthday at the Best Buy today but then what I had seen for sale yesterday wasn't there today, and I asked the dude about it and he was like, "Yeah. You know, you COULD'VE ordered it online to pick up, and it'd be here now, or we would have saved one for you." I looked at him and said, "Yeah. You know you could raise your own chickens for eggs and hogs for meat, because it ain't hard. But you don't, because that type of life ain't your's. Fuck your online ordering bullshit," and I walked off, but not before perusing their TV show DVDs to see what was new out that was worth pirating from inside the internet. Thing is I knew the laptop wasn't there any more because the internet had told me, but I couldn't believe it so went to go see it in person and be mad at Best Buy and really mad at everything. What the fuck man?
I started two new writing projects today. I kinda hate people giving a fuck about what they do, like writers thinking every fucking thing they think is worth documenting and harvesting like we're feeding humanity with our twitter jokes or some bullshit, so I started adding rambling paragraphs to random listings on my Workingman etsy page. I hope people start buying that shit because I think it's awesome, but I'm also gonna maybe bury nonsense in the listings because what the fuck is the internet for other than to randomly disperse madness (which is actually goodness)? The more things become ordered and curated the more we all need to work to clusterfuck it up more and make it crazier and harder. (Also, I like being difficult I guess. I don't fucking know man. But scope out the hanging tree listing. That's one I remember changing out of the ones I changed.)
I also have decided to do flash fiction, which for me I am pretending there is a guy named Charlie Milwaukee who writes stories for Easyriders magazine in the 1970s, but he only does it on a yellow legal pad with a pen, and each story is one page. Once he gets to the end of the page, he has to wrap that motherfucker up in the margin or he has failed the entire purpose of old Charlie Milwaukee.

So that's what I did today. Also I wasted another fat chunk of gristle of my life at a job. Go America! Go straight to hell America.

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