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, November 21

Jah Joe Krupert November 2017 number eight "vivian at the art basel"


westside gunn is a great guilty pleasure
too bad he got signed to slim shady records or whatever because now the peak is gone
fat bellies don't make hungry music (see yelawolf)
the westside gunn/mf doom song is not that great if we being honest
like if you never heard a westside gunn (like rap dork) you'd be like "oh shit this is nice dude with mf doom on this shit!"
but yawn
the corporate bleaching process has begun
rip hey yo era westside gunn

[Ya know I was firmly against in principle the hipster white version of famous rappers where Droog played Nas & Action Bronson played Ghostface, but I love this fuckin' track, & Droog's hook is in my head all the fuckin' time. In fact I'm getting it tattooed in cursive letters on my shoulder later this week. The guy with the new tattoo gun in town is doing a black friday deal at his apartment.]

PL4NT S1LH0V3TT3 S3T 4G41NST...

plant silhouette set against
grey sky canvas background; rain
holding off, man moving on

Monday, November 20

W1SH1NG T0 B3 L3FT 4L0N3...

wishing to be left alone
like old truck, rusting my way
back into Earth, peacefully

Jenna Jay Krupert November 2017 number seven "auntie maria's crib (neapolitan remix)"


lots of identifying of patriarchal roots of bullshit going on, both at societal level as well as personal for ya boy dirtgod. sad to report that my only knowledge of yvng Nitty Scott is this jam bc it had a remix with Action Bronson's big goofy ass. & Nitty's verse outshines him on this (as it should be... don't be askin' ppl to be on your remix that make you look irrelevant) but further googlebox poking shows me yvng Nitty got a fat discography of seemingly anti-colonial fempowerment tracks. so why is the only one I know the one with Action Bronson? gotta think even further outside the box I guess, until the box ain't even there to be a relative term for how you thinking.
my central child is almost 14, & likes some hip hop that I consider straight trash, which is normal & how it should be at that age (her & me). the local independent jamz station which only picks up in town proper was on in the swaggerless minivan (Town & Country my ass), and MC Lyte came on & I was like "oh shit" & all I got from the passenger seat was eye rolls, hardcore teen drama calisthenics eye rolls. I could put her onto Nitty Scott, but ya know what? poison culture all about that poison to the point non-poison don't get enough corn syrup in it, so all you get is more eye rolls.
"for the culture" been appropriated by poison culture for a lifelong minute though, & ain't nothing my single solitary opinion having ass can do.

Juju Jihadi Krupert November 2017 number six "it ain't easy"


Feeling out of control on every front right now. And my lovely sub-conscious was kind enough to deliver the dreamy goods during toss & turn stressed out half-sleep.
The camper in the field (which I should clarify in dream world my property has had a pipeline or some shit run through it & there's been tons of construction so the immediate environs are altered slightly so the white camper that is at the top of the field IRL is down in the field in dreamscape) had a face peeking out the window, so I had to go down there & see what was up. Turns out a family of old couple and their five kids were trying to stay there bc they had to go to hospital two days from now but couldn't afford hotel.
All the kids were grown and 4 of them were professional looking white types but the oldest son was literally named Stone Cold & def trouble. I told them I'd have to think about it & come back.
When I went back to tell them I guess it'd be ok so long as they didn't fuck anything up bc I could empathize with their need to go to hospital while being broke as fuck, they were already halfway through a case of beer.
The 4 professional type kids were outside, being chill like I'd expect, but Stone Cold and his parents were getting blitzed inside the camper, but also trying to pretend they were chill & thankful for me being so understanding.
I woke up thinking "lol fuck you sub-conscious".

I have never considered myself a religious person (that corny statement of "spiritual but not religious" definitely applies) but recent years have had me exposed to old school sufi texts, & the sort of fluctuating and all-encompassing nature of that Creator seems to heart venn diagram well with what I already believed innately. I'm not convert in any official sense, but I do find solace & peace in shit I never would've expected a few years back.
My life is very much out of control (as is everybody's) & that's some scary shit. So doing a lot of little shit like chanting dhikr or reading old ass Ibn al-Arabi has helped accept the fact that control is a delusion anyways.
With that in mind, Brother Ali has become constant in my eardrums. Been listening to his latest album heavily, & wish there was an entire genre of Islam-infused hip hop like this in English. Or mb I just need to learn Arabic. I can at least control that.
But no doubt, shit ain't easy.

R3STL3SS B3D L3FT D1STR3SS3D 1N...

restless bed left distressed in
middle of night for dropper
of motherwort in kitchen

Sunday, November 19

G00G0LW4TTS 0F R4W D4T4...

googolwatts of raw data
transported discreetly to
map human dispositions

Junebug Junior Krupert November 2017 number five "master of sparks"


yesteday saw cop (like a copperhead) sitting at end of our road
rural road nothing but farms & trump signs mostly
so odd to see cop ever
much less the state troop that was the one I saw
so I actually stopped for first time ever (sitting right there)
dirty eyed their presence, and went on
BUT OF COURSE
one of the kids forgot something & had to come back 5 mins later
no cop (copperhead) any more
slithered off to entrap someone else
just like a snake my thinking went
wondering where they went off too
perhaps down this road now
perhaps at my house
sorting thru stuff while knowing I’m out
bc social media is serious bizness to somebody on the other end of the data mines

why the fuck sitting on my road, or any road really?
the former family farm they sat at is now agri-farm
put biosolids (human shit) on the land couple times over
transco pipeline which essentially is the 1950s atlantic coast pipeline
runs thru same field they was sitting at too
they did all types of discreet building/repair shit this past year
why? and what? I couldn’t find out shit from nobody

but that cop, that shitty ass state troop was sitting there
making sure I didn’t have a cracked windshield
or stopped enough not a rolling stop like what makes sense
if no one is coming
which mostly no one is
BC IT’S THE MIDDLE OF FUCKING NOWHERE

but they gotta write tickets
generate revenue
even though tax bills trying to get made which make revenue worse
so more cracked windshields gonna get written up
more “didn’t come to a complete stop” conversations gonna happen
more interactions between struggling ass ppl barely holding their financial world together
& shitty fucking piece of shit cops
who look down on us from first word
who got guns & not afraid to use them (obv)

a disparity is obvious
a metaphysical boot has been pushing down for 30-plus years, likely since the beginning
but definitely been in downward stompjectory since Reagan Era
& just bc some only noticed the boot since last Nov
that fuckin boot been stomping the whole time y’all
trying to squash spirits (the irony of using “squash” an important plant in pre-gridlock culture)
they just not trying to hide it now
or not as good at pretending (definitely not as good at pretending)
(if you think of souls as a spectrum, T Kaine not too far from D Trump on that spectrum, though the American political system is designed to highlight and expand this one dark edge of the spectrum & declare the differences between a T Kaine and D Trump to be enormously obvious)
(from other end of spectrum where life is real & ppl actually exist, not so obv)

they trying to stamp out all potential fires before they happen
but guess what?
such errant stamping is the master of sparks
and y’all can’t stomp everywhere
and sparks bounce
and you’ve made a lot of cultural detritus with your always new psychology
and sparks land
and sparks spark
and you can’t stomp it all out
you’re barely holding it together now
the seams will strain as you try to choke us all at once
& wait until we’re sitting at the end of your road
& you’re trying to creep past without us noticing

just wait

Friday, November 17

H4VNT3D BY TH4T M3RR1LY...

haunted by that "merrily,
merrily, merrily" song,
"life is but a dream" refrain

Jesse James Krupert November 2017 number four "blue ridge mountains"

[actually been bumpin the Sunshine Sessions more stripped down demo version of this song but the internet failed in having youtube copy of that, so in its guise is the studio version, more engineered to feel less authentic]

I come from the foothills
not the mountains themselves
(at least not this lifetime)
(but multiple generations back up the line got mountain goat tendencies)
(multiple continents)

the foothills are perfect launching pad
bc we know how to disappear into the mountains
like mystic guerrillas (I Self Lord And Master)
but also got knowledge of oceanic (re)baptism
(re)charging those depleted metaphysical ions

last summer we was at the ocean
& I sandbarred my ass out
& all these herons started swooping all around me
& ppl on shore were looking & pointing
but I was ducking down to allow herons to swoop in close
energy was crazy (ocean+large bird knowledge+primordial connections)
but then a jetski-bro mechanically progressed into the scene
& caused nature to flee from man's idiocy as much as possible

when I got back on shore
fam asked "did you see the dolphins?"
& I hadn't (no glasses makes aging dirtgod a more-blind seer)
but there was dolphins all up behind my ducked down ass
staring at the herons

my dead father used to say
piedmont Va (southside VA) was the best
bc you wasn't far from the ocean
wasn't far from the mountains
blue waters to nature-baptize ya self
blue ridge to camouflage away from man's idiocy as much as possible

PL34S3 M0R3 C0NT3MP0R4RY...

please, more contemporary
native art in museums,
plus less ill-got artifacts

Thursday, November 16

Jahida Jihadah Krupert November 2017 number three "saqi sharab de de"

[Munni Begum is famous sanger of ghazals,
so I writ a ghazal fa y'all]

sitting inside these boxes, slowly losing my mind
soaking up nutritionless information, self-abusing my mind
memes trigger lols (but not IRL), amusing my mind
manufacturing more "social" data, further binding my heart
so that disconnected connections begin confusing my mind

furies and broken psychologies, blinding my heart
worries and anxieties, grinding my heart
disappearing into the woods, finding my heart
neighborhoods of civilized living disgusting my gut
focused on surviving, minding my heart

glyphosate mind-state, rusting my gut
refined sugar plantation dose rate busting my gut
fermenting resistance, re-adjusting my gut
intestinal congresses refusing my mind
forgetting what I know, trusting my gut

TH3 B3ST 4DV1C3 D3V1L 0N...

the best advice devil on
shoulder ever gave me is
still "burn all bridges you can"

Wednesday, November 15

4TM W1THDR4W4L F0R...

ATM withdrawal for
four-day disappearance to
recharge depleted heartfire

Jebediah Jenkins Krupert November 2017 number two "piece of wood and steel"


building art from the constant detritus that is life
nothing is stable, all is built upon faultlines we don't see
human existence is a wreck (waiting to happen)
we plow ahead, secure in our entered state, oblivious to the wreckage which always lurks
lost in thought lost in sought lost in ought to bought (lost in naught?)
and then in one loose second we lose our imagined control
BLAMM
wreckage

[insert personal visual of scattered debris, including piece of wood and steel at this part, to tie triggering song to rambling prose]

and after the shock
after making sure still alive
we gather up what is still usable
make art from the more beautiful scraps
and leave the rest of the rubble and wreckage behind

to exist is to survive
to continue to imagine stability
despite no historical evidence in support of that psychology
to attempt to pretend everything is okay
"You tried to tell me what was right, and I told you what was real"
right and wrong have little to do with survival
the myth of stability we tell our children
to give them the confidence to learn survival
before the real world closes in on them

the space to play
"I just thank the lord for hands to play..."
before work closes in

VNSVST41N4BL3 HVM4N...

unsustainable human
leisure guaranteed to one
day be reclaimed by nature

Monday, November 13

3SC4P3 T0 TH3 C4MP3R...

escape to the camper,
freestyling southern gothic
futuristic oral myths

Junior Johnson Krupert November 2017 number one "instrumental"


I've done disappeared into every dilapidated corner & crevice of Virginia
born & bred (& taking that thoreau at walden thing about a couple square inches to heart)
easy to slip off to eastern shore's 1970s freeze frame
or wander the Blue Ridge landscape, chasing the clouds (sometimes in hydrocodone fog)
or slide back thru my homeland/wasteland of southside VA - that venn diagram of what used to be 804 but is now 434

[Did you know that if you divide 434 by 14, as if you were making a sonnet, you get 31? And that if you choose to count syllables in syllable-ass counting style, the two stanza haiku/tanka form is 31 syllables? So if you compose a 5-7-5 haiku with a 7-7 tanka, and then do 14 of them in a sonnet, it is 434 syllables? And that if you are born & bred Southside Virginia wanderlust wildbird poet who might think of doing such things in handwritten style on a notebook so that the 14 tanka stretch across pages so that the sonnet is entirely impossible to actually type in any readable by printed matter ways, it's a beautiful yet unknown poetic combination form called The 434?]

but where to go once all the local going is gone, & no longer make the blood fill your metaphysical penis?
disappear into the world? it seems impossible
I'm just a simple countryboy with skynyrd lyrics in my children's names, not meant to walk the streets of Istanbul (or Konya)
or walk through the Maghreb or Sarajevo (or Tirana)
or chase my wanderlust where no one talks the way I do

or mb the impossibility is the psychic fences put up, the same ones that cause ppl weaker than me
to think nationalist frenzied thoughts & to believe this place truly is an exception
rather than just another place where ppl do what ppl do
like everywhere else on Earth

maybe I am meant to be in Kabul
not flying under the radar
(because the literal implications of such a phrase in that place are wretched)
off the radar, not flying, idling
as unseen as possible
(& mb it is not possible to disappear there, please do not internet me with explanations of the realities of places we are not at because of things we have read about things which we do not know firsthand. this age of know-it-all dominance of knowledge is not one I believe in philosophically. if I cannot get it's dirt on my hands, I do not accept it as pure known truth. this is a dirtgod theory, that there must be microbiome & rhizome tendril connection to KNOW. sterile stainless steel white background wiki-knowledge does not infuse depth of realness.)
{but even if it is not possible to disappear to Kabul for example, there are so many corners and crevices on this giant Earth planet to do so, where even as whatever it is about me that makes me stick out I can blend in and disappear. where is my destiny? I don't know for certain, but I do not feel like I have walked through that place as of yet in my life.}

[Ahmad Zahir only lived for a prophet-like 33 years, who only spent about a decade in the 1970s actively fucking shit up with music, but cranked out over 30 albums in that brief period, feeling the muses deeply. It doesn't take long when you're truly tapped into that creative microbiome/rhizome/universal flow zone of Creation.]

Jerome Jack Krupert Nov 2017 intro

(manufacturing drama manufacturing busy manufacturing falseness)

the muse was once a sensuous siren serenading me away from daily doldrums
out to see of nonsense gibberish
endless expanse of words words words words images nonsense
I couldn't navigate it all, ever (still can't)
but it was always there

now the muse feels choked, silenced by microscopic digital nanoparticles
branded as progress, clogging my every thought with unnecessary distractions
hijacked consciousness contemplating commercial tangents
personal trajectory depressed
heartbeat of anxiety, wondering for what the blood pumps
hyper-pulse towards holographic horizon never more than one right swipe away

digital nanoparticles manufacture data
which devils mine for details (keys) to gain access to our psychology (neurology)
and implant their fear-based metaphysical fetal position syndrome technologies
into our minds

the gut is a chorus (kin to the muses) saying "NOOOOOOOO!"
in that indiscernible tingle linguistics way science has yet to decipher fully (foolishly)

the heart is the frontline, where gut's resistance to brain's ignorance is held at bay
hopefully (hope foolishly)
but how to trigger the muse? can brain force the gut to talk more often (or at all)?

I have disappeared into music since the beginning
Sunday mornings with albums playing loud as parents navigated hangovers (or dad was still drunk?)
were the most peaceful memories of back in the day
eggs & sausage cooking, stability in the moment
soundtrack loud enough plenty of room to run wild with play
music always been the muse caller
thus hoping to pierce the fucking nanoparticle veil again

all of this of course means nothing too. digital publication of words is no longer exercises in true nonsense gibberish because the nanoparticles have polluted us all to believe everything is important, all must be curated, share every piece of info openly. we have been trained to self-snitch and aid freely (without pay) in the manufacturing of data, to be mined by the devils, to access our metaphysical spaces. still though, fuck it. I’ll share these shards of fogged out hope stabbing through the invisible net that has entrapped me, stifled me, slowed me down to where false concerns occupy more of my grey matter than ever before. the bots have gotten to me, and sometimes they even seem sexier than the real thing. that’s why the sensuous siren song of the muse is gone – I am digitally domesticated, trapped inside an electromagnetized fence, afraid to escape because of all the predators they have told me await just on the other side of lolololol meme.


this is november 2017 jerome jack krupert

SP1R1T W4RR10R D3PL3T10N...

spirit warrior depletion
hard to stop since digital
nanoparticles so thick

Monday, November 6