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, July 1

heroic crown web traffic audience interaction INTER! ACTION! thing

UPDATE #9: Nobody sent further suggestions, then it got buried in the ENDLESS DIGITAL MAELSTROM, so I just went ahead and finished it this week at work:
picking up pieces of existence in blindspots,
them low-regarded crows swagger with confidence
through both woodsland and gridlock, avoiding buckshots
by backlot persistence, unseen but evidence
of their presence punches the air everywhere,
punctuating caw caw of "fuck y'all", no manmade
good/evil notions of damn given, grabbing spare
scraps left and right, hovering above from green shade
of remaining tree canopy overlooking
man's artisanal madness, mundane makerspace
of undertaking fake tasks forever; rooking
from black crow always takes white knighting human face
and makes it look arrogant, self-important, fake,
true freedom's just laying around, ready to take

true freedom's just laying around, ready to take
whatever comes one's way, born to bum beneath shade
tree for eternity, but gridlock demands make
me turn left or right where direction has waylaid
natural intention; I'm not made of stiff squares
and close-cropped hairs - I am wild as thousand feathers
riding whirlwind creation beyond vacant stares
of undeveloped selves; civil get-togethers
far too confining, I'd rather wine and dine chance
underneath stars shining; no ON/OFF control switch
when for-real feral spirals begin happenstance
yin-yang dance of fine chaos, no amount of rich
can escape unscaped land encroaching well-planned plots,
down systems designed not realizing all wood rots

down systems designed not realizing all wood rots
tried to millwork the past into fine mantelpiece
detail, but fire cleanses all transgressions, tight knots
of cloverleaf genius unraveled by release
of furious earth element, reclaiming through
rust and rubble simple elegance of untouched
raw existence; amidst this mess, little cuckoo
whistles song of rebirth, free from monkey-fist clutched
too tightly to self-ordained might and eminent
domain over all eight directions, from the waste
grows off-the-grid fractals, not full of arrogant
pride; and fool cuckoo continues with its fast-paced
freestyle mocking disgraced man, who - for heaven's sake
made overly organized mess mostly mistake

made overly organized mess, mostly mistake
more than progress, but lucky for large biosphere
mankind can't fly away, only bulldoze and take
pieces they have access to; thus, nature takes care
to initiate safe spaces in strange places
man's deranged basis for decisions is missing -
corners of existence where lazy breeze chases
sunlight across the days, fertile greens sprung kissing
blue skies, and vast conference of birds whistling words
of purest prayer, blessing endless time's parade
with heavenly symphonic sounds; no stomping herds
of stubborn people to buzzsaw away the shade,
or resist the loose fractals with which most things grow -
missing from true paradise is fist forcing flow

missing from true paradise is fist forcing flow,
exporting know-it-all god syndrome in all ways,
sentient energies becoming tornado
of supreme destruction, possessing spaceward gaze
yet unable to escape wayward phase of mind,
defined too deeply by "mine", not inclined to share
beyond survival of self needs, been known to grind
mountains down to dust, creating species despair;
and yet spaces are still out there, lacking brain fat
with dominion myths, where all can still live within
grazing distance of each other, arriving at
balanced state lacking classified stations, akin
to planetary family, letting earth show
there ain't no heaven except space where men won't go

little birds confusing direction of man’s walk
man could never know true not knowing treetop perch
deeper truths come from strange tongues medicinal talk
high up in old oaks, red maples, dead pines, white birch;
bitches only believing in over-explained
ways, losing track of self-owned path The Man gridlocks;
accept universal tendrils can’t be contained
unleashing potential promised by planet rocks
picking up pieces of existence in blindspots,
true freedom's just laying around, ready to take
down systems designed not realizing all wood rots
made overly-organized mess mostly mistake,
missing from true paradise is fist forcing flow;
there ain’t no heaven except space where men won’t go




UPDATE #8: I AIN'T FORGOT ABOUT THIS! The down-the-back-road-holmes CK had requested sonnetizing for the tufted titmouse, thus this is the next part of this process called bird nerd heroic crowning thing-a-mahjong:
unleashing potential promised by planet rocks,
with deep dedication to Bambaataa's vision
comes little tufted titmouse, forming voltron flocks
to ride out winter's bleak cold weather condition;
black-or-white truths rejected behind grey mohawk
brain, tiny titmice subsist off insects, hiding
out in tree cavities, with sweet song lacking squawk
of larger bird; keeping it stealth while abiding
communal laws handed down from above - perhaps
natural example of bird world bureaucrat,
surviving off bottom of pyramid scheme's scraps,
but never born to be bigger than three plums fat;
too small to fall victim to ballistic birdshots,
picking up pieces of existence in blindspots

UPDATE #7: Finally up to date, and back on the freestyle sonnetry pattern more regularly. There's still six slots to request nonsense to this thing, so get in where you fit in (if you'd like). Basically, send me a bird and a thing you think sucks about civilization, and I guess I'll work together some sort of freestyle sonnet that covers that (kinda) while also weaving into the larger over-arching heroic crown tale of a spread of woods where there aren't really men.
This has been sitting on the back burner for a long minute, so much so I got three requests unanswered since last time I updated, so gonna do all three right here, but in reverse order to match the reverse order of the heroic crown. That might not make any sense to you BUT IT PROBABLY WILL TO THE FOUR PEOPLE WHO MATTER.
Friend #3 had requested splendid fairy wren and money:

bitches only believing in over-explained,
trained to think so by The Man - the sad creation
of a power mad abomination; bird-brained
civilization lacks a "The Bird" type station,
no chirping for The Bird happens, even with small
noisy magpie congregation - intelligence
deep as any creature - them little fuckers squall
without fear of any over-bearin presence
of "The Bird", forcing them to work against own will,
forcing them out of ownership of their own days;
birds know power corrupts, they know predators kill,
so predatory forces get side-skipped, all praise
given to wing-leg-leg-wing-head supreme congress, blocks
ways losing track of self-owned path The Man gridlocks

Friend #2 had said tree swallows and concern for body hair (which I kinda stumbled with, but working all this nonsense together while wasting - or more likely improving - moments at work sometimes requires more than 14 lines I think:

ways losing track of self-owned path, the Man gridlocks
as much as possible, but even within grid
mapped far beyond natural chance, shadow boondocks
exist to subsist outside sight; nest boxes hid
in architectural crevices or other
manmade corners occupied by small tree swallow,
composed of twigs, grass, feathers by bird-brained mother
(which is not meant to insinuate of hollow
intelligence), and species thrives, shadow dwelling;
similarly, in these woods outside the Man's known
realm, still exists actual men, wild-haired, smelling
of woodsmoke, remaining way woke to lessons shown
by natural fractals - chaotic, unexplained;
accept universal tendrils can't be contained

And friend #1 had suggested magpies and working for the man:

accept universal tendrils can't be contained
and you will excel/accelerate through heart space;
example: the splendid fairy wren's life sustained
flashing magic turquoise colors despite home base
in southern Australia wilds (and developed lands),
facing Darwinistic threats with unparalleled
visual flair, brighter than any gold stone men's hands
clutch at with self-justified logic; men excelled
always at worshipping abstract value more than
bright blue ass feathers - but ass feathers real as fuck,
no doubt, despite contrarian thinking by man,
manufacturing wealth from raw mineral muck,
but fairy wren got splendid not through living stocks,
unleashing potential promised by planet rocks 

UPDATE #6: Moa and humanity in general (scroll to the bottom for explanation... or whatever).
high up in old oaks, red maples, dead pines, white birch,
still chirps the small avians who've survived men;
in the woods below the flightless lumbering lurch
of the bulky moa still stomps - extinct for ten
eras amongst fickle humanity, but still
exists mightily deep in these woods, standing tall
as two men, but with aura ten times greater, chill
in demeanor concealed from predatory call
of capital; aboriginal creatures like
moa (and dragons and elves and wild shit like that)
will continue to breed alternate world dark hike
too deep into natural for people gone fat
with regard for own (owned) creation - chubby-brained
bitches only believing in over-explained


UPDATE #5: Crows and cubicles.
deeper truths come from strange tongues medicinal talk,
caw of the crows from ancient oak congress above
abandoned forest moves in spirals, gridlocked walk
and gait hasn't yet gated; raw elements love
natural spirals, perfect cubes only exist
inside madnesses, the gated cubes of humane
productivity make little sense to resist
once trapped inside - working labyrinth half-insane,
half-downright devilish; but crows have blue-black wings
forever escaping the organized confines
divined by master planners mad about all things
still controlled by natural impulse not designs,
but no man can plan the chorus from wild bird perch
high up in old oaks, red maples, dead pines, white birch

UPDATE #4: A friend emailed suggesting eastern diamondback snakes and Brahma, so I went with it.
man could never know true not knowing treetop perch,
trusting his five senses without four directions
of gaze; deep in this forest, a congress of birch
trees with all-seeing eyes protect inner sections
of this land untouched by manmade master planning,
often called snake, except here where massive slate
stones poking through surface, histories spanning
millions of years, within these nooks and crannies, great
true snakes (not metaphor) explore being alive,
large eastern diamondbacks with rattle warning all
that poisons are present, in order to survive
one must navigate poisonous path despite fall
into dark pits of self threatened each step of walk,
deeper truths come from strange tongues medicinal talk

UPDATE #3: Hoping to finish freestyle sonnet project in next two months so sent the link to a bird nerd friend, who suggested red-tailed hawk as the bird, and politics as the useless people thing...

man could never know true not knowing treetop perch,
trusting his five senses without four directions
of gaze; deep in this forest, a congress of birch
trees with all-seeing eyes protect inner sections
of this land untouched by manmade master planning,
often called snake, except here where massive slate
stones poking through surface, histories spanning
millions of years, within these nooks and crannies, great
true snakes (not metaphor) explore being alive,
large eastern diamondbacks with rattle warning all
that poisons are present, in order to survive
one must navigate poisonous path despite fall
into dark pits of self threatened each step of walk,
deeper truths come from strange tongues medicinal talk

UPDATE #2: I think the internet is different now & people don't look at websites any more other than cell phone things. Or I suck. I don't know, maybe both.

UPDATE #1: got an email suggesting starlings as birds and money as aspect of people that's not so important...
there ain’t no heaven except space where men won’t go
with trees along the edges grown hundred feet tall
populated by commoner starlings with flow
of incessant mimicking songs for border stall
against men’s advance; starling understands man’s words
better than most birds, thus can make distracting babble
to keep these heavenly woods free from people herds
and their possessive philosophies which grabble
after every resource, attaching abstract
value of man-papers pressed from tree flesh;
these papers don’t make nests well, and in fact detract
from all others’ quality of life, and enmesh
man’s thinking into larger psychic nest, thus squawk
little birds confusing direction of man’s walk
Perhaps you know I’ve been writing a huge amount of sonnets. Perhaps you don’t. Perhaps you know I have a love/hate (mostly hate) relationship with social media. Perhaps you don’t. Perhaps you know my email address. Perhaps you don’t. (It is raven mack at the gmail, if you are a don’t.) Perhaps you are seeing this actual website page still. Perhaps you are not. Let’s combine these things. Send me an email saying who you are, and what is the most important bird to you, and what is the least important part of human civilization to you, and I will freestyle a sonnet about those things. If you've already emailed, please leave it for someone else (in the off chance someone else actually exists). If this post is up, it means I ain’t got no email. (It will disappear as I am working on some sonnet.) Once we have a full heroic crown of 15 sonnets, then this will be done, until next time.



5 comments:

Anonymous said...

I love these.
~A

Anonymous said...

Boom! Splendid Fairy Wren!

Anonymous said...

I still love this project.

John said...

Frigate Bird and corruption

Anonymous said...

Love it.