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.

Wednesday, August 1

twitter renga #0718

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

gonna stick-n-poke 
homemade tattoo "freebird 
guitar solo" soon 

probably on my leg, 
but maybe on my forehead 

gripped by loneliness, 
basement apartment full of 
craigslist furniture 

siren song of ethanol 
and opioids sings softly 

not lonely for sex - 
pointless thrashing of bodies 
in physical acts 

it feels so Sisyphean 
sometimes - weak serotonin 

I want the strong shit, 
the never come down shit, the 
"life's but a dream" shit 

desiring oblivion's 
comforting fog yet again 

too many humans 
occupying recurring 
roles in my life's fake 

lost in their own fog, likely, 
projecting their blinds on me 

fake motherfuckers 
in abundance in this late 
capital era 

very few brothers willing 
to get dirty if needed 

I write poetry 
utilizing tradition 
of obscurity 

long history of lost folks 
scribbling words into the void 

oral tales explode 
from voiceless hearts trained by fists 
to silence themselves 

just another piece of shit 
loser writing poetry 

never mastered this 
fine art outside of my own 
daily practices 

illegitimate arts grown 
beyond "real" institutions 

when I die, scatter 
my ashes on Rivanna 
line, mile 69 

let the detritus of me 
leech back into James River 

mixed with creosote, 
through glyphosate-laden corn 
fields, back to essence 

down James floating backwards through 
"western civilization" 

over falls above 
Richmond, where the James widens 
into fat river 

back down to Chesapeake Bay, 
dirtgod ashes now just sand 

reunited with 
primordial ocean, one 
drop in vast expanse 

individual mandate 
to exist finally gone 

what a blessed day to 
be freed from suffocating 
liberty ideals 

this myth blasted into brain 
through ceaseless propaganda 

parades of cosplay 
veterans and various 
police vehicles 

fire trucks throwing candy at 
children, sugar-coating the lies 

free flags and bibles, 
fifty stars, new testament, 
water's two dollars 

fuck this American myth, 
stab these fuckers in the face 

public pool full of 
poor choices in personal 
tattoos and diet 

jiggle ass in abundance - 
late stage capitalism 

love too make poorest 
choices possible; I seem 
gifted at it, too 

scatter my ashes when dead 
across Chinese buffet spread 

dirtgods born to die - 
ritual traditions of 
anonymity 

return essence to sender - 
worthless southern red clay mud 

writing poesy 
on my phone nobody will 
ever read - birdseed 

Columbus discoveries 
require Columbus, not land 

never be no arts 
elite - illegitimate 
like most my cousins 

"real" writers and artists are 
often propped up by own wealth  

love too all losers 
doing art as survival - vast 
galleries of doomed 

our marks never gain value, 
but they heal poison culture 

love too sow words 
in scattered garden plots, real 
life and digital 

whether they blossom or bear 
fruit is up to them, not me 

owning your own thoughts - 
intellectual property - 
that's some weird ass shit 

explosions of nonsense in 
your head can't be colonized 

love too be busy 
exploring territories 
further and wilder 

a universe inside just 
like outside - no time for flags 

copy right or wrong, 
compelled at basic level 
to compose this prose 

can't help it, and in fact feel 
like dying when it's stifled 

digital designed 
to distract innate divine 
desire to create 

chasing outside dopamine 
when it's inside all along 

bought an Alpha Smart 
battery operated 
word processor thing 

no net to trap me, I sit 
on public benches, pecking 

am I "alpha smart"? 
not likely - intelligence 
is a test, a cop 

think of the assholes who say 
"gathering intelligence" 

I'm a simple mark, 
sitting here believing in 
American myths 

"I could still be succesful!" 
I think, when already am 

meritocracy 
mark, politely behaving, 
calling boss "mister" 

also accumulating 
machetes because you know 

guillotine memes shared 
are funny, but how many 
of y'all got the guts? 

when actual heads get lopped 
off, you gonna turn away? 

the human darkness 
we're about to enter will 
not be all for lulz 

the eyes of those who cannot 
unsee what they've seen - piercing 

hyper-awareness, 
every man in passing is 
a possible threat 

weapons stashed throughout daily 
path, identified, reckoned 

machetes, milk crates, 
and tarps - a solid start 
to surviving shit 

I will accumulate all 
three whenever possible 

kukri machete 
currently my favorite, 
but bolo's strong too 

traditional latinx 
version's cheap and abundant 

machetes, milk crates, 
and tarps... machetes, milk crates, 
and tarps - the staples 

set up, organize, defend 
camp, against all invaders 

metaphysical 
invaders are abundant, 
serpents posting hiss 

they apply judgment from their 
comfortable precipice 

serpents slithering, 
wearing manskins, whispering 
promises of more 

I keep my hatchet handy, 
and barefeet away from mouth 

snakes eating own tales 
of merit and hard work and 
so exceptional 

I desire to disappear 
far more than any career 

wanting a bigger 
piece of the pyrite, been tricked 
by devil hisses 

declaring bankruptcy 
of system's morality 

stick and poke circles 
around my gutted torso, 
with stars on my legs 

stick and poke meditations, 
an hour or so every day 

stick and poke the pain 
away with my trash culture 
acupuncture acts 

green splotch codex unfurling 
slowly across wrecked body 

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