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, May 31

M4NM4D3 TR4NSM1SS10NS FR0M SP4C3...

manmade transmissions from space
competing for control with
Earth tendrils' reclaiming grip

SONG OF THE DAY: ブート



Started vaping a few months back but that just means freestyling chaos southern gothic futuristic styles out loud while driving back and forth from the old home place in rural Fluvanny County, USA, while bumping vaporwave tracks. You see, a guy gave me a 2002 Honda Civic, which is an amazing gift, but even more so because it has a sunroof which of course has to be open at all times it’s not pouring rain, and then when you have that open mind metaphor as your vehicle for transport, and then you trigger this with retrofitted vaporwave tracks which scratch not only at memories from your early degeneracy but also at your current mind which is not nearly as self-destructive, then true ionic treatises start to pour forth from your unconscious flow zones, which you can never truly control because it is more of a tapping into that universally magnetic flow of things than you controlling anything. All of this is why I think intellectual property is bullshit because it’s just capitalist bullshit applied to the pure beauty of creation. Anyways I don’t live out there in Fluvanny no more, living in the small ol’ city, and don’t vape as much because ride the bus instead of driving, and there’s no sunroof on the bus, and also I refuse to wear headphones at this point because I’m trying to stay attuned to the world around me, not separated, but hopefully I’ll find space to vape again, soon.

S4T4N 4LW4YS C4LLS C0LL3CT...

satan always calls collect,
always from pay phone outside
corner store, two piece lake trout

Tuesday, May 29

CHR1STM4S L1GHTS G0T L1TTL3 0VT...

christmas lights got little to
do with christmas any more;
mostly 'bout keeping it light

SONG OF THE DAY: gh0st w4lk (45s on 33)



Ghosts walk all around us, though fear-based poison culture tends to skew our thoughts of ghosts towards malevolent demons attempting to cause chaos and pain to our otherwise orderly lives. Life is never orderly, at least not according to manmade maths. Ghosts guide, and each day is one to be thankful for our ancestors still present, guiding and protecting us, watching over, and giving us another day to live and learn and grow. While I enjoy living life very much right now, I cannot wait to also enjoy being a ghost. It's gonna be sick.

CH34P SPR4Y P41NT DR1P P3RF3CT10N...

cheap spray paint drip perfection,
supernatural fern tag
demarcates nowhere for none

Sunday, May 27

ST3NC1L1NG MY S1GN4TVR3...

stenciling my signature -
purple where situation's
safe, orange where peligroso

SONG OF THE DAY: Blood Sweat Tears (Raw To Survive)





Living in town now, which some folks call city but feels like town. Still though, I hated on Cville a lot of times from commuter perspective out in the country because mostly all you see is the fake ass posturing ass progressive ass elitist ass false ass Cville. But yesterday was kicking it with my teen daughter, figuring out dinner, ain’t feel like cooking, rolled up to Browns for two 3-piece meals, local hip hop radio station had go-go mix going on, there was speakers set up in Belmont Park and somebody was cooking out hard as fuck… it all felt pretty good. I can always tell because I’ve got LOUNGIN’ tattooed on my belly, and it’s connected directly to universal magnetics and it’ll start to tingle and glow when all is right in my entire biosphere. That shit ain’t glowed in years. But as I walked out with a couple 3-pieces, environmental vibes on high, the LOUNGIN’ started tingling hard, vibrating with that good times flow. Keep it bumpin’, world, keep it bumpin’, slowed down funk style.


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X W1TH FL0VR1SH, X W1TH FL41R...

X with flourish, X with flair,
blend X into genetics,
wild style X across order

Saturday, May 26

0NLY W4Y 1'LL C0V3R TH1S...

only way I'll cover this
beautiful body is as
garishly as possible

SONG OF THE DAY: Cumbia en do Menor (Norman Cook Rebajada)



Memorial Day is culturally accepted as the beginning of summertime in the ol’ U.S. of America, which to me means the American continents, fuck white nationalism, fuck barbecues I came up in cookout culture. Still get confused when people say “cookout” for the fast food joint and don’t mean actual cookout in the back yard with spades at the picnic table and horseshoe stobs stobbing and kids running around fighting with sticks and not a single motherfuckin’ store bought pasta salad in sight, except maybe that one cousin, which you forgive because lol he don’t know no better.
Summertime for your boy means the screwed music hits overdrive, slow thick humid southern gothic futuristic heat zones means music warped backwards feels about right. The screw catalog has expanded in all directions (if I had my way) which means immigration (legal or illegal is subject to manmade law not my notion of unified intercontinental Americana) and the internet has helped bring cumbia rebajadas to my ear drum. Shit, immigration meant Colombian cumbia music made it to Mexico in the first place, which ended up in Monterrey and got warped back like you know it would, and then trickled into the rest of the Americas, including southside VA, which now is not southside but sitting at the edge of Cville, in some lime green basketball shorts, bad tattoos bared for the world to see. Fuck it y’all, it’s summer.


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