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 28

45s on 33 – #13: “It Ain’t No Use”

Got that dilapidated camper love style, hiding out with extension cords running seventeen miles from your ex-mom’s house down back roads through logging trails mostly so you can keep your stereo plugged in and play them old Z.Z. Hill jams with exactly 36 tea candles lit up keeping it bright. Then maybe something gets kicked loose along the strand, or somebody unplugs it because let’s face it human beings are real dicks, and the lights go out so the music stops, but you still got all those tea candles, and you’re still in the dilapidated camper and everybody smelling like lavender oil, and that’s all good while things are active. But eventually you’re gonna be laying there on that weird plywood with mattress on top of stretch that also makes two bench seats and has the table that folds out because of dilapidated camper engineering, and you’re laying there thinking, “fuck man, my alarm’s not gonna go off now” because of the extension cord being unplugged. Sure, cybertron people got robot space phones with alarms that blast retro computer sounds at melodious irony level so you wake up with snarky smile on your face. But dilapidated camper motherfuckers like you ain’t got robot space phones – you’re using a fucking burner like season three of The Wire, which is ancient history, and in fact you still know where the three pay phones that are left are located because sometimes you use the one by the truck stop on 15 South to call people, not really because you need to since you actually do have your season three of The Wire burner by Tracfone, but because it’s cool to get three dollars worth of quarters and make some phone calls while people drive past and you smell fried chicken from the E.W. Thomas, so fuck it.
But eventually the tea candles burn out, and you’re laying there naked with another naked and you realize fuck getting up, fuck alarms, fuck extension cords full of electricity, fuck all this other shit that gets in the way of laying around naked. Not nearly enough laying around naked in our so-called civilization.

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