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.

Monday, April 30

Thursday, April 26

SVND4Y M0RN1NG C0VNTRY B4CK...

Sunday morning country back
road fogged the fuck out; stone cold
sober brain seeing clearly

freestyle sonnet #101: A SONNET ENDORSING METAPHYSIC CLASS WAR


lesser of two evils sequel after sequel 
diminishing returns, as the world (crashes) burns 
fossilized remnants, civilized life inequal 
in quality, the rich kids not sharing turns 

with the rest of us, the wretched of us earth folk 
falsely awake to woke marketing angles from 
obtuse directions, choking on digital smoke 
screens, unscrolling intelligence that's hella dumb 

trusting data metrics DNA to devils 
calculating how to skim blood from stoned souls lost 
in techno (ill) logical fog without bezels 
of wisdom to help guide, suffering from exhaust 

because squeezed until can't breathe, then squeezed a bit more 
a sonnet endorsing metaphysic class war 

4B4ND0N3D F4RMH0VS3 W1TH 0LD

abandoned farmhouse with old
wood actual two by four
skeleton frame, left to rot

Wednesday, April 25

Monday, April 23

Sunday, April 15

CH1LDR3N 4R3 R3S1L13NT...

"children are resilient"
is what grown folks say when they
can't do shit to help children

25-Man Metaphysical Roster: Burnley F.C.


[Lego Turf Moor]

[25-Man Metaphysical Roster is a football dork methodology meant to establish a listing of players who have been most active for English Premier League teams in their past 100 non-friendly matches. Essentially, it is calculated by minutes played, but weighted towards most recent games. The end result is a listing of the 25 players in a team’s recent history who have had the largest hand on their metaphysical sporting trajectory. The English Premier League was chosen because it is the highest level of football played in an English speaking country, and I speak English. Also, it is what comes on TV here in the USA, where I fucking live. And yet still I should clarify I hate English, and also America. Thus maybe I hate myself. Should I not fail in maintaining my unpaid deadline, a new 25-Man Metaphysical Roster will appear on the 1st and 15th of every month.]

I don’t really know how to feel about Burnley, but they remain a club in the EPL, firmly so actually. Weirdly, though nobody knows them in America, they are the top team not in the Big 6, and actually threatening to take that number 6 spot, which would be great, because fuck the Big 6 Clubs. No blurbs.

#1: Ben Mee (up from #3 last time Burnley was 25-Manned on 15-Jun-2017)
#2: Stephen Ward (up from #5 last time)
#3: Jeff Hendrick (up from #11 last time)
#4: Matthew Lowton (up from #6 last time)
#5: Ashley Barnes (up from #12 last time)
#6: Nick Pope (up from #25 last time)
#7: Jack Cork (previously #12 for Swansea City on 15-Jan-2018)
#8: Johann Gudmundsson (up from #17 last time)
#9: James Tarkowski (up from #16 last time)
#10: Scott Arfield (down from #8 last time)
#11: Steven Defour (up from #15 last time)
#12: Sam Vokes (down from #9 last time)
#13: Tom Heaton (down from #2 last time)
#14: Michael Keane (down from #1 last time)
#15: George Boyd (down from #4 last time)
#16: Robbie Brady (up from #19 last time)
#17: Kevin Long (up from #24 last time)
#18: Andre Gray (down from #7 last time, also previously #16 for Watford on 01-Mar-2018)
#19: Ashley Westwood (up from #20 last time)
#20: Chris Wood
#21: Phil Bardsley (previously #16 for Stoke City on 01-Jul-2017)
#22: Charlie Taylor
#23: Joey Barton (down from #10 last time)
#24: Aaron Lennon (previously #15 for Everton on 15-Aug-2017)
#25: Dean Marney (down from #13 last time)

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