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.

Thursday, January 18

JJ Krupert Jan 2018 number two "what if no one's watching"

ideally there'd be no ani difranco here
but I am a man ruled by self-processes
and protocols
thus I can't just willy-nilly make this a list
of 13 jpegmafia songs this month

the self-processes and protocols
made ani difranco be on this list
and without these self-processes and protocols
I am just an idiot floundering
without pretend purpose
woven into stupid projects
by maths
and patterns
and habits
and mundane accumulation of depth
to dumb shit done daily

ideally I am not listening
to no fucking ani difranco right now
it's all jpegmafia
but because of self-processes and protocols
you won't know that
until next month

by then
who the fuck knows
what my dumb ass
shall be

1NT3RN4L J1H4D B3TW33N...

internal jihad between
man with brain poisoned by false
purpose, and pure animal

Wednesday, January 17

L4 1L4H4 1LL4LL4H...

la ilaha illallah -
thee Earth is God property -
la ilaha illallah

Hatsu Basho 2018 Honour Tanka Day Four: KISENOSATO (1-3)

[Kisenosato hears the failure demons] 

what a difference 
a single calendar year 
makes for a man’s life 

Kisenosato’s gone from 
yokozuna to hated 

at Aki basho 
nearly seven years ago, 
he was shukun-sho 

the outstanding performer, 
and rising young superstar 

at Natsu basho 
almost five years back, the young 
lord finished second 

this led to domineering 
run as east ozeki 

at next twenty-two 
basho, he was runner-up 
in half of all them 

a year ago, dominant 
Kisenosato stood tall 

last Hatsu basho, 
Kisenosato sealed his 
destiny with win 

the adoring crowd through seat 
cushions in adoration 

next was official 
promotion ceremonies - 
new yokozuna 

at Haru basho, he won 
again, as yokozuna 

seemed on top of sumo world, 
face of the future 

but destiny can be cruel, 
and fuck your shit up right quick 

the next two basho, 
he toughed it out, not looking 
entirely healthy 

last basho in Tokyo, last 
September, he was absent 

a yokozuna 
sitting out for injury’s 
allowed, but not loved 

last basho, he came back weak, 
finished with losing record 

on this fourth day bout, 
against Kotoshogiku, 
he briefly had shine 

but his fire’s no longer strong, 
he was outlasted, tossed down 

for split second, he 
upon one knee, looked down at 
the sand, bewildered 

the pomp and circumstances 
no longer so wonderful 

the crowd gasped in shock 
at his third loss in four days… 
no dominance left 

voices whisper retirement, 
past his prime at thirty-one 

a yokozuna 
can’t give up kinboshi gold 
star day after day 

a yokozuna can’t be 
a loser regularly 

after the scandal 
which caused Harumafuji’s 
retirement, eyes watch 

first time in forever the 
emperor won’t attend bouts 

Japanese people 
hoping for a bonus for 
Japanese culture 

the only yokozuna 
truly Japanese can’t lose 

sad eyes tell a larger tale, 
one of dreams gone dark 

this humane world eats us all 
up, one by one, day by day

[the full match, should you care to care]


the security lights came
on suddenly; we ran; I
ripped my track pants on barbed wire

Tuesday, January 16

Hatsu Basho 2018 Honour Tanka Day Three: ABI (1-2)

[yung Abi swagger] 

young Abi’s debut 
basho started with two days 
of no victory 

that’s to be expected, bitch; 
top level sumo don’t play 

Abi don’t even 
have wikipedia page… 
that’s how young he is 

Abi’s shiko warm-up stomps 
are the best since Crazy Legs 

day three he faced off 
against that wily old fuck 
called Takekaze 

ahh, aging Takekaze 
a Raven Mack favorite 

his face looks smashed flat 
from too many thick-handed slaps, 
yet still he rises 

Abi able to further 
smack the old man further back 

Takekaze’s age 
no match today for the yung 
gun (of this basho) 

so many yung guns… 
sumo remains unmatched sport 

yung Abi the newcomer 
on your first big win 

little time to celebrate… 
makuuchi’s relentless 

Hatsu Basho 2018 Honour Tanka Day Two: ENDO (2-0)

[like tumbling dice goes the big mens] 

don’t really feel like 
writing, so mostly doing 
this as a time waste 

dramatic sumo finish 
gifs need to be created 

can’t ever watch an 
Endo bout without thinking 
of Craig and Smoky 

Endo? smell more like outdo’” 
says Craig, before shit gets wild 

4B4ND0N3D B0X ST0R3 P0VT1NG...

abandoned box store pouting
out its brick facade lips for
desperate duckface selfie

R04DS1D3 M0T3LS B3TT3R 0FF...

roadside motels better off
passed become week-long bunkers
for low class indulgences

Monday, January 15

Sunday, January 14

Hatsu Basho 2018 Honour Tanka Day One: TAKAKEISHO (1-0)

[the beautiful girthsome ballet of sumo finishes] 

young sumo does well 
now komusubi, thrown to 
yokozuna wolves 

Takakeisho denies bound 
doom verse Kisenosato 

sometimes thrown to wolves 
causes young buck to buck back… 
first day extra pay 

classic forceful sumo at 
dohyo’s edge (as usual) 

weak ass judge gave win 
to Kisenosato - blind 
ass old silk-robed bitch 

decision reversed, the young 
Takakeisho begins strong 

(note to self: begin 
practicing pushing metal 
barrels around yard) 

(fill with cinderblock chunks, call 
it rusted yokozuna) 


sixty nine it reads from ground
but also from other side
flying down from blue heavens


sitting under possible
paradise ev'ry fuckin'
day, but never realize it

Saturday, January 13

Thursday, January 11


lovelorn older dudes talking
mad shit playing dominoes
in gentrified coffee shop


Deep unshakable rootlessness, feel like I lack 
attachment to actual ground, lost without sight, 
wishing for natural fog to turn dark times black 
with numbness, fighting the myth of how living right 

somehow manifests a difference. Still feel doomed, 
still feel damned to downward spiral destinies, still 
stay dumbed down to navigate half-heart world consumed 
with digital fog delights. Writing useless swill 

of scrap words to attempt to find meaning amid 
mundane yet absurd subsistent existence - waste 
of time, waste of space square-locked into power grid 
lacking empowerment. Promise of life debased 

by design into chasing devil math nowhere; 
I'd rather chase the dragon off into dream air. 

1NT3RS3CT10NS 0F M4ST3R3D...

intersections of mastered
gridlock and higher level
atmospheric excursions

Tuesday, January 9


dirtgod bezels of wisdom
not yet unearthed; still bowing
down daily, head touching dirt

JJ Krupert Jan 2018 number one "uncle usi taught me"

inspired by I Self Lord And Master muse that instead of write-up why not sonnet ghazal?

lost in false stream of consciousness, finding my mind
crossed wires cause neuronal hot wire, binding my mind
immersed in woods congress for unwinding my mind
squares built with limited man math, clenching my heart
fares attached to digits to me, wenching my heart
forgotten's how infinite unending my heart
lack of nutritional input, shaking my gut
wack antibiotic bombings, quaking my gut
fact: need to discontinue forsaking my gut
known not by science is location of my soul
shown by innate desire's vocation of my soul
grown through each simple word - notation of my soul
been all art since my birth, wild canvas of this place
fool's museum this earth, filling fully my space


raw fennel transmissions of
deep-seeded unseen knowledge
of ancient feral wizards

Friday, January 5

JJ Krupert Jan 2018 intro

(you are who the fuck you are, new year or not)

The ceremonial dumping of the old calendar box booklet and replacing it with a new one is a capitalist-hijacked metaphor for New Me (You) which usually is tied to weight loss gimmicks, gym memberships, probably a new jacket or some shit like that. But understand nothing is different, at least not any more than usual when you wake up the sun is on a different day than when you closed your eyes. There is no New You (Me) just because it’s a new four digit number at the end of your direct deposited paycheck (if you’re lucky… thoughts with the economically unstable in these trying times). But we like to pretend, and we pretend even harder now than ever before because this is The Era of Falseness. We have fake leaders using misinformation to fear-monger us, on all sides. Even the progressives are fucking scumfuck landlords Air BnBing cutesy fucking Airstream trailers to inherited wealth assholes who think unfiltered water is a blessing. Each one of us at our core has always been what we are, and the day to day infinitesimal changes compound that. We can break cycles and inherited traumas, but fuck, that’s hard work, and most of those who are privileged are lazy of spirit. And many of those with True Spirit Warrior status are so fucking predator droned at psychic level on constant basis that life is more about survival than thrival. But at our core we are who we are, and this Era of Falseness hijacks that into notions of the work being easy, or giving us false identities where a change in identity means we are completely entirely different person, without remembering our core is our core. (And ultimately I’d like to believe the core of being human is the same for all of us, and that in fact is connected to that primordial muck that all things come from, and of course after a sentence like that one must say la ilaha illallah).
Myself, I have come to a point where I contemplate where all my knives and machetes are. I am just about fucking done to be honest. My sanity has slipped to a dark place a couple times, and my patience for these fake motherfuckers is growing thin. The obvious fake motherfuckers (president, national politicians, billionaire class, techlords) set aside as a given, I grow tired of the localized fake motherfuckers, who attempt to launder their own complicity in how entirely fucked everything is utilizing the Lesser of Two Evil arguments, that they are not as bad as the aforementioned obvious fake motherfuckers. Guess what? Not being Donald Trump doesn’t make you a good person. Fuck you.
Anyways, class war hasn’t started yet, and due to my professional growth which has not been easy, I will likely be suspected of being a snitch and killed, but it is my hopes that I get to use all my blades thoroughly before this happens once United States societal collapse happens inevitably. And I’d be glad to be killed myself in the name of this shit system crumbling back into the Earth.

This month’s JJ Krupert listing of 13-most heavily played songs in recent commuter ipod rotation (complemented by heavy headphone listens hiding from the world’s horrible realities in my terribly cold bed, wishing to survive this current period of navigation towards some undefined future happiness) is dedicated to machetes, and kabar knives, and other assorted implements of sharp destruction, scattered everywhere, buried, hidden, stashed, tucked away, and waiting. At some point perhaps soon perhaps 37 years from now a fire will shine a light bright enough that this Era of Falseness will all of a sudden so obviously appear to be as false as it is, and those who survive or are able to focus their screen-strained eyes through the digital and opioid fogs will think, “lolol well fuck, why didn’t I see that already?” But they always did. You fake motherfuckers can’t ever get woke. (Also you don’t even read this but I am planting inside these cyber-fields anyways, in my 2018 geocities page of obscure nothing thoughts, and letting it ferment however it ferments. Meanwhile, I have almost perfected flash drive shanks… probably just need four or five days of above-40 weather out in the yard to figure it out. Once that’s done…

FR0M WH4T 0V3RH34D 4NGL3...

from what overhead angle
does this madness start to make
enough sense to continue?

Tuesday, January 2


still got fatback requiring
rendering at bottom of
front porch freezer - country blessed

twitter renga #1217

(twitter is my preferred antisocial media @rojonekku)

newness, never nothing old...
"can't miss" got me lost

late capitalism life - 
filling psyche with trinkets

trinkets overflow
into "underwater" tomb
chock full of clutter

sort through the useless piles when
not wasting away at work

a life insured to
barely cover debt acquired
(if lucky) when done

not all allowed the freedom
to "realize" or "accomplish"

life is fucking work;
the beneficiary's
not gonna be you

to think otherwise would be
to give yourself false promise

feed me opioids
plz; upward mobility
has entirely failed

allow me the freedom to
embrace this downward spiral

human rootlessness
dangerous psychology
to have in winter

dark environs external
dark environs internal

Gods of Dirt survive...
praying at mycelium
mosques, head bowed to Earth

from shit, fresh events blossom...
this is Universal Law

overdosing on
reality - thinking too
much will cause problems

infinite words won't sort out
tangled mess of existence

can't help but think of
"Institutionalized" - folks
asking Mikey shit

"you'll probably feel a lot
better if..." LEAVE ME ALONE

opposite of left
alone is being immersed
in humanity

I love people, don't feel same
about civilization

flipping of arbitrary
calendar boxes

resolutions to be more
or less better or worster


enjoy sunrise's front end
much better than when it was
just long drunken yesterdays