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.

Sunday, September 6

45s on 33 – #2: “Fly Like An Eagle”

There was an eastern snapping turtle on the side of the road that my ol’ lady saw on her way out to somewhere else today, so she called me and told me to go get it. We found one on the side of the road a few years back and buried it to save the shell and claws but forgot to mark where we buried it so I’m pretty sure it’s somewhere underneath my back art camper, probably infusing it with snapping turtle energy.
When I got to this one, it started moving when I grabbed its tail, which freaked me out because it should’ve been dead, so I returned Fast & Furious to the Redbox at the Dollar General in Fork Union, except the Redbox wasn’t working so I didn’t actually return and now I’m gonna have to pay another dollar-and-a-half for ironic viewing enjoyment of a ridiculous movie with horrible writing but lots of dumb car shit involving souped-up Honda Civics (which should be funny to you but maybe isn’t). When I came back it wasn’t moving anymore so I brought it home, took it back to my farm use truck bed and cut off the feet for the claws, put them in a yogurt container with water (because the internet suggested this), and then was gonna try to remove as much of the turtle as I could before leaving the shell somewhere to finish cleaning itself with nature’s maggotry, but that shit was not really jibing with my desires. I got sidetracked on vibing on the scaly snapping turtle, and wondering how old it was. It had some serious elder energies going on, and I felt bad for just a touch that I had hacked off its feet with a buck knife, but then also it is raw universal energy rejoining the universe hopefully, and it would probably appreciate some people enjoying its claws more than just rotting in the ditch. Then again I don’t know, maybe a dying snapping turtle would think, “Man, fuck humans,” and not want anything to do with us even in death, and also maybe it would think “Turtle, fuck humans,” instead of “man” but I don’t know to be honest.
Even when I cut off its feet it started moving a little and apparently the nerves continue to make movement hours after death. (The internet told me this too. It’s weird how I know I can’t trust the internet but yet it will tell me some shit like this and I’m naïve enough to be like, “Oh okay internet,” and believe that lying ass bitch.)
I rigged up the carcass in a way that I think will allow the small wormy creatures of earth to decompose the roadside snapping turtle while not allowing larger woodlands animals to jack that carcass. Strangely enough, the meat on the snapping turtle looked good as fuck, and I can see why somebody thought at some point, “Hey, we should eat this thing,” because it’s big and full of good looking meat. But I didn’t have it in me; I was too vibed on the old eastern snapping turtle life energies being expelled to think about chopping it up into flesh chunks to soak in salt water then bread and fry.

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