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.

Saturday, June 4

45s on 33 – #94: “Buscarte Para Que”

The camera I have was in my hands as I walked down into the field the first time I remember hearing the Space Espanol. It was twilight, which is a great time for the camera I have because I put it on baby mode (no flash) and it still sucks up strange rays of between day and night, giving everything a foggy glow, just like my eyeballs see a lot of times. The rock altar was there, and I have a few tiny unpolished pieces of amethyst scattered in it, including one at the top pedestal next to the homemade orgone coil of lounge generation. That piece of amethyst was glowing bright lavender in the twilit sky. And the Space Espanol was playing. I’m still not clear if the Space Espanol had started and drew me down to the field where the rock altar and broken jukebox were, or if it started as I got closer, or what – the specificity of memory is sometimes blurred in important moments like that. But by the time my memory catches up to what happened, I know for sure I was there, with the camera I have, and the amethyst was glowing bright, and the Space Espanol music was playing. I tried snapping some pictures of the amethyst but it kept fogging out, camera unable to catch it right, like a sky or full moon.

As I said in the beginning, “Space Espanol” seems like a stupid term for what was making sounds but it’s appropriate. It didn’t sound like Spanish I knew from jobsites, but was similar, perhaps based on the same basic structures. But it felt non-earthly, which again, none of this makes logical sense. I really struggle with that, because the demons inside start piping up with their voices, “You are stupid, these things aren’t real, what the fuck is wrong with you?” And I start to want to distance myself from believing what I know I’m experiencing.

After wasting about 69 blurry pictures on my SD card, I stopped trying to take pictures of the glowing amethyst, and walked over to the jukebox. It was on F8, and every time I’d gone to it, I’d bumped it up one, so I put it to F9. Now understand my broken jukebox sits underneath a red maple and the power cord for it is plugged into the dirt near the red maple’s base. I could feel a burst at the base underneath, in the ground, and light purple glow, similar to the unpolished amethyst, traveled up the cord, disappeared into the jukebox machine, where I could hear some gears springing and pings ponging and old machinery undoing itself, and then with a visual boom (but little additional sound) a watermelon-sized purple orb came out the front speaker cabinet of the ragged jukebox. This was full of natural seeds, full-sized watermelon, not tiny seedless transmogrification sized. The orb was similar to the Heart Star I had previously seen, which Ellabell had been inside of, but this one was darker. It floated around, solar flare like, where I couldn’t focus on it but it was definitely there, then just like the Heart Star, it surrounded my head.

Look, despite all this babble, I am a logical person, with fairly decent critical thinking skills, so I knew the previous time this happened the glowing orb was full of bouncing happy girls, I expected the same. And there were small people-ish shapes in there, somersaulting and back flipping and running hoo-hahaing in excited spirals, but they had dark shaggy hair, the color of ancient sand, and appeared to be boys, not girls. One floated right to the front of the images I thought I was seeing (but am not sure, obviously) and though his mouth never moved, it certainly felt like he said, “What up? I'm Rey-Rey.”

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