RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition. He does have an amazing PATREON, but also *normal* ARTIST WEBSITE too.

Thursday, June 30

45s on 33 – #68: “Puerto de Amor”

I was back at the picnic table when I heard the Space Espanol, so I figured I’d drive to the time tunnels for the fuck of it, by myself. Rey-Rey has such a better sense of direction in that expansive void, I wanted to do a little in real life recon mental mapping on my own. But as I walked through the yard, my youngest boogie chillen was playing by the calf-hutch she’s turned into some sort of self-universe. She was sing-songing some relevant but strange words, too:

“Watch out railroad time, don’t miss the right switch/or find yourself yourself, yourself caught in a glitch.”

“What are you singing?” I asked her.

“Oh, if you hear me talking, it’s just part of my game.” She always said this as she babbled unexplainable prophecies from the oracle of child’s play. “By the way, Ellabell was in the field. She asked where you were?”

“Wait, what? Is that part of your game?” Even my real world tends to be confusing.

“No, of course not. Ellabell really is in the field. I’m not lying.” She never stopped whatever it was she was playing, and shifted right back into sing-songing, “Watch out railroad time, don’t miss the left switch/or find yourself yourself, yourself stuck in a ditch.”

I walked down into the field where my rock altar was, and the magic broken jukebox was plugged into the red maple dirt foundation, and sure enough the lime green orbs were floating like dollar store bubbles. I sat by the rock altar, made sure the orgone generator’s wiry tip was still pointed in the best possible direction, and waited to see if Ellabell was actually there. Quick enough, a bigger, bolder, brighter lime green aura bubble of Other Realmsy realness manifested and enveloped my sensory perceptions. And of course, there was Ellabell. But she looked worried, not chill at all.

“Don’t be distracted by trying to explain all the unexplainable things you are finding out about the larger universe,” she said. “You have a destiny, even within the confusion of destinies that is this larger truth you’ve been exposed to. You’ve been shown all this for the purposes of your destiny. Do not get caught up in sidetracks involving emotion attached to this one realm you call reality.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I don’t mean anything. My words are clear. It is only your filtering of them into understanding that needs clarifying.”

And then the bubble burst. But the Space Espanol was still playing, very low, background noise level, so I jumped in my 4-cylinder 1993 Toyota pick-up inherited indirectly from my grandfather, and pointed that raggedy machine towards Buckingham, specifically Dillwyn, more specifically the playground behind the elementary school, to see if there was access to the time tunnels there, being that’s where Railroad Time had brought us out when he changed into a wolf.

Sadly, this is an uneventful chapter to this ongoing saga, as I stopped off at Ali’s country store on the ride to Dillwyn, wondered if Rey-Rey might show up there by chance, but he didn’t, so I got a styrofoam cup of country store coffee and headed on further south. By the time I got to Dillwyn though, the Space Espanol was gone completely. I poked around at the playground for a few minutes, as there was nobody else there, but honestly the external sense of awareness that I looked weird as fuck, a 43-year-old man staring up a sliding board tunnel at a small town playground, all by myself, that was a little too weird. So I went home. But I stopped at the dollar store that ends up being a grocery store in the future, and bought a bunch of scotch tape for making zines, transparent not invisible, because it is clearer and makes strange diffusions of photocopier light sometimes. Also I got thousands of index cards, because one can never have too many index cards in a reality like mine.

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