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.

Sunday, April 15

Friday, April 13

M3CH4N1C4L FL1GHT B3TW33N...

mechanical flight between
two points has always felt like
epidural of travel

RIVER ELVEN CYCLE OF 69 SONNETS SERIES: NUMBER TWO


FREELY FROM COLONIAL MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, 
NATION KNOWN AS MONACAN HAD BEEN EXISTING 
FOR MANY NEW MOONS, BUT THEN SETTLERS ARRIVED THERE 
AND STOMPED THE OLD WAYS INTO OPPRESSION, TWISTING 

A CONTINENT'S STORY INTO DEMOCRACY 
MYTH. BUT EVEN THAT SIMPLE BINARY GOOD/BAD 
DICHOTOMY IS BUILT UPON HYPOCRISY 
BECAUSE PRESENT AMIDST "NEW" WORLD SETTLERS GONE MAD 

WITH GREED AND INDIGENOUS PEEPS FORCED TOWARDS SUNSET 
WAS PIEDMONT WOODSLAND ELVEN CONGREGATIONS TUCKED 
LIKE MUSHROOMS INTO UNDERBRUSH, FERTILE SOIL WET 
WITH RIVER VEIN LIFE FORCE STILL PRIMORDIALLY MUCKED 

ENOUGH TO SUPPORT LIVES BUILT WITH MAGIC IN HEARTS... 
WITH THESE UNREAL PEOPLE IS WHERE OUR STORY STARTS.

Thursday, April 12

TH3Y R41S3D 4 TH1RTY F00T BY...

they raised a thirty foot by
fifty foot confederate
flag nearby; we should burn it

RIVER ELVEN CYCLE OF 69 SONNETS SERIES: NUMBER ONE


WHILE WANDERING THE RIVER NAMED JAMES BY NEW WHITES 
BUT KNOWN AS POWHATAN BEFORE, ALONG RAILROAD 
TRACKS WHICH COAL CARS ROLL THROUGH UPON, FOLLOWING LIGHTS 
UNEXPLAINABLE ON RIVER ISLANDS WHICH GLOWED 

AT NIGHTS, I STUMBLED UPON (DID NOT "DISCOVER") 
WELL-CONCEALED VILLAGE OF TINY MAGICAL FOLK, 
MAYBE ELVES MAYBE GNOMES, WHO KNOWS? BEING LOVER 
OF EPIC MYTHOLOGIES, I SHALL NOW INVOKE 

RHYMING SONNETS TO TELL THE TALE (WITH PERMISSION) 
OF THESE WILD PEOPLE MOSTLY UKNOWN TO ALL Y'ALL, 
WHO HAVE GIVEN ME MUCH, UNDER ONE CONDITION 
YOU (READER) KNOW THIS STORY IS NOT MINE AT ALL, 

BUT ONE WHICH, IN THESE PEOPLE'S SPIRIT, I SHALL SHARE 
FREELY FROM COLONIAL MIDDLE OF NOWHERE. 

R3CT4NGVL4R BL0CKS BV1LD1NG...

rectangular blocks building
rectangular buildings left
to mold as progress passed on

Thursday, April 5

Tuesday, April 3

M3SM3R1Z3D BY TH3 N30N...

mesmerized by the neon,
Raven sits in parking lot,
staring at rims, but he broke

twitter renga #0318

[twitter renga done one tanka at a time
at my @rojonekku twit acct, monthly] 

failure demons spring
forth from dysfunctional mind
steeped in hopelessness

sown seeds decades, still no fruit;
perhaps my path is poison

the horizon keeps
moving further and further
away; and I'm tired

"sleep is the cousin of death"
cursive letter chest tattoo

futile swiping right
on dating apps for cursive
letter chest tattoos

love women who's making poor
choices at lifetime level

"only god can judge
me" - not even then though, we're
both consensual

priceline express deal hotel
room smelling like feral love

rental car smelling
like fried chicken gizzards from
random country store

contemplating bad tattoos
together - a crow dragon

ended up getting
"CURSIVE WRITING" but done in
old English letters

on my neck line from behind,
can be covered by collar

she got "OLDE ENGLISH"
in cursive writing tattooed
on fleshy left breast

obviously, I'm in love;
guess we'll drive further westward

wild and wonderful
promise of deep southern West
Virginia awaits

let us disappear, and build
fresh chaos, elsewhere, for now

responsible life
has death grip around my throat...
struggling, but choking

the right thing is a shackle
which keeps me in line, like corn

psychic slavery
born from meritocracy
myths sown early on

justice remains a social
construct, never seen in wild

social bankruptcy - 
I declare myself free from
these devils with fire

the smell of burning bridges
makes my dick hard to this day

perhaps not enough
burned bridges to be honest; 
bitches closing in

sulfur keeps fake asses at
psychic arm's length, maybe more

most people fake as
fuck, selfish, yet personal
brand as most righteous

fuck y'all fake motherfuckers
FUCK Y'ALL FAKE MOTHERFUCKERS

no love for dirtgod - 
my natural shine given
nothing but skidmarks

folks who think the world's gone to
shit must be new to losing

laid in hotel room
half the day, afraid to leave,
afraid to still live

went for walk tonight - so much
wealth... where does it all come from?

they've enslaved palm trees
down here, forced into single
file between wide lanes

the grass manicured tightly
as proud cop's shitty haircut

back home, they've enslaved
spirit, planting wild dirtgod
in cubicle bed

or perhaps cubicle grave...
"work sets you free" it's been said

Monday afternoon
just before 2 - first thoughts of
"my job sucks" this week

no progress to be made, just
looping through same old circles

meetings to discuss
meetings where we'll finally
decide what to do

decisions tabled for now
'til further meetings are held

working within this
immense bureaucracy like
building sandcastles

artistic purpose ignored
for "being responsible"

fuck all your fake ass
responsibility fears - 
it's a goddamned lie

my dumb ass gonna be dead
one day, wasted most my life

send psilocybin, 
fat asses in stretch pants, tape
decks banging that Screw

send sunshine and bad tattoos,
please send the Power of Lounge

warm day with promise
of spring, promise of rebirth,
promise of real lounge

this life I'm in feels like trap,
gamecock confined to a cage

domesticated
beyond the abilities
of my genetics

too feral for sitting still,
too wild to not burn bridges

sitting in sedan
air freshener crisp, but hands
smell like gasoline

open the sunroof and let
all fucks given blow away

ya boy the dirtgod
tired of a lotta people's
bullshit fake ass ways

surrounded by these human
facades, pretending they real

the algorithm
ignores "real recognize real"
self-meditations

people think algorithms
are as real as rain today

within limited
scope of this electronic
power gridlock? sure

but there's a much larger world
where data metrics don't help

I'm not no fucking
machine; I'm not no fucking
computer either

perfectly imperfect man,
stumbling through shit existence