RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition who does all types of things, daily. The best place to get it right now is his Patreon or find his books at Amazon.

Monday, December 31

SONG OF THE DAY: Miles from Nowhere



An arbitrary flipping of the calendar boxes happens, where I’m like everybody else – somehow convincing myself this means a difference, that this year will be a new beginning of realizing my artistic ambitions and cultivating a more stable financial life, that last year was a bad anomaly in a long string of reflections of my own outlook, that the fact the calendar resets actually means something magic. Many days, I feel like I’m no closer to where I was dreaming of being than ever, like it’s this unattainable mountain peak, and though I’m not in the same valley I began, I’m just meandering sideways around other paths, avoiding obstacles, finding new ones, and I’m literally just as far as I ever was. And when I think about this naturally as mountain metaphor, of course the myth of Sisyphus comes up again, that I’m pushing these dreams up a hill when they’re just gonna tumble back down again, no matter how right I push them. Fuck it y’all – life life.

RVR4L M1DDL3 CL4SS DR34MS 0F...

rural middle class dreams of
having that backyard RV
for warm weather getaways

Sunday, December 30

N0M4D1C N4TVR3 R3DVC3D...

nomadic nature reduced
to dependence upon foods
engineered and grown like slaves

SONG OF THE DAY: Finding My Way



Watched Trailer Park Boys all the way through current day, which wasn’t easy but I sort of settled into this lowered expectation of what the show should be, and it became enjoyable at that level. But it inadvertently tricked me into listening to Rush more, who I’ve never really liked. I guess maybe I lowered that expectation too? Expectations that shit should be good or fair or just or right is usually what fucks up our perceptions of life. The lower your expectations, the happier you’ll be.

0LD3R, BR0K3N, 4ND M0R3...

older, broken, and more
mangled than ever; and yet
still able to find a match

Saturday, December 29

VT1L1Z1NG S1M14N...

utilizing simian
science to feel more like less
than, because that is our way

SONG OF THE DAY: Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos


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An unlimited war on terror, but never no war on psychic terrordome constructed over top us all like invisible bubble, filtering what information is fed, feed lots of fear and loathing and self-hatred, fattening us with lethargy of spirit, then being told to consume a fresh identity, over and over, rebranding ourselves as if that’s how nature works, as if we aren’t natural beings, as if a new style of clothes corrects the essence of who we are, which we mistakenly believe is flawed in an abnormal way. The welcome to the terrordome sign faded and old, because it’s nothing new at this point. Children having grown up their entirely lives inside the terrordome, to where they say, “you don’t understand, that’s just how it is,” because the notion of there not being a terrordome no longer exists in the human brain. “It is what it is” I say to the mirror, and I wonder if my eyes really are duller than they used to be, or if I’m just seeing things. The terrordome is the full realization of the prison in all metaphysical space. I’ll go back to my feedlot desk next week, after the “holiday”, after a new year where I resolve that somehow it’s all going to be different, but the steel has expanded – there is no great escape on the books in the immediate future. Not that anyone can see. What will spark that moment? What person in the street who just happens to light a fire, perhaps of themselves, immolation of self in final act of frustration, and we all go, “yeah, yes, YES” if we are there in person and see it happen, as the flames dissipate the illusion of all this. And it won’t circulate as viral sensation, because the revolution will not be digitized, the algorithms are pasteurized to conduit you unto the fear and loathing and self-hatred and purchasing of new identities through consumption. But live in real life the moment will flash bang into a tiny grenade of chaos that will begin a trigger like long string of human firecrackers, and a great escape attempt will be made. Might not be successful, at least not for everyone, but we shall see how many dents we can put into this terrordome when it happens.