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.

Tuesday, May 31

45s on 33 – #98: “Paradise City”

As I got close enough to the glowing orb of this Heart Star super nature ass thing floating in the bottom of the field behind my house, I could start to make out the warbled sounds of singing. Unlike earth animals, afraid of human assumed superiority, it didn’t bolt as I got closer. Instead, it sort of enveloped my head, like a colored fog swallowing the entirety of my skull, neck, upper shoulders and internal organs entrapped inside the rib cage.

I’m not sure how to describe what I was seeing, because I’m not sure if it was a vision from elsewhere, or if it was the real physical world I know on daily basis being filtered through something else, or if it was just pure mental illness hallucination. I am not above suggesting that as a possibility. Logical mind and critical thinking tells me what I was seeing is not scientifically seen, so I’m not sure how to square it all within the expanding realm of what we call “real”. But there was a bright green grass, a color my earth brain has been trained to associate with toxic, a neon ultra-bright green that seemed unnatural, although in this context it didn’t look toxic or chemical or “day-glow” at all but more the color of greens in those pictures where people say they took Polaroids of their aura. The grass was an exciting , almost dick hard stimulating aura green, waving in the breeze. The contour of the grasses was like my actual field, sort of how when you have dreams that the geography of dream you later realize was based off actual maps of your every day life, just altered by dreamy subconscious. This had that feel – it was really my field, leading down to my rock altar, but altered by this Heart Star orb fog. 

I looked up the sky was perfect light blue, but as if a million layers deep. Clouds, all of them wisps and puffs and balls of organic cloud, not a single straight line to be seen, blotted the unblemished blue. I do not believe in god and shit like that, but the whole scene had a heavenly feel in stereotypical heaven sense in that I felt completely calm, and completely safe, as if wrapped up in psychic grandmother’s quilt.

Then I noticed the girls – beautiful, pretty little girls, fields of them, not crowded but clustered with plenty of space, even though there together, cartwheeling in spirals, skipping over rocks, picking at daisies and black-eyed susans – just the prettiest purest girls I’d ever seen, other than my own children when they were still young enough to not know about the larger manmade world enough to have that shine of the eyes stained with fear.

One of the girls cartwheeled my direction, with a large glowing purple rock sitting where my actual rock altar in my actual real life field would be, sort of occupying that parallel space, sitting between me and all the children. This one girl cartwheeled closer, landed on her feet near the glowing purple rock, dashed up it in one leaping step, and did a flip in the air, landing right in front of me. I never even flinched, though in my mind it was fairly startling, but nothing ever felt threatening about it. The girl stared at me, through me really, for the longest split second I’ve ever known – her blue-green eyes piercing into my own, channeling up my optical nerves right into my brain. A chill went down my spine, shivering my to my guts, and my heart skipped a beat. The girl said, “Hi, I’m Ellabell.”


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