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, December 6

SONG OF THE DAY: Pop Duke


I had a mid-life crisis and bought a car… a really fucking boring basic ass Corolla, but new. This is the most basic cheap ass Toyota you could possibly buy, and yet somehow due to my familial conditioning I feel like I’ve completely fucked up. We were raised to think people who had things were lesser, or people who bought new cars were fucked up humans, even a simple ass no frills Corolla. And I guess this is my mid-life crisis. Not a convertible, not a fancy car, a budget ass hopefully reliable and not breaking down all the fucking time tiny sedan. And somehow I feel fucked up about it because of the way my family is.
This generation is the first in the American Empire’s history to have less than the one before it. The concept of generational wealth has come up a lot in my goings on lately, in how some have access to down payments for cars, or access to family money to start a business or go back to school, or to fund their dreams and wishes. And while I lack that, I also recognize how good I have it too. As I was riding the bus to Pantops to walk from the Roses to the Toyota dealer to start the process of being ripped off by capitalist greed, I thought about how this was a week in my life without a car, instead of constant reality, juggling bus schedules (and bus passes) and slowing your day down to get around without a fast way to get around. I have a steady job which allows me the numerical data that financial overlords are willing to squeeze more blood out of me, because more is still there to be squeezed, until the cards all fall and they begin fighting with each other to see who gets the last remaining drops of my blood. But the American mythology of “working hard and saving up and retiring” is not a reality any more. I’m lucky enough to work, but there’s no saving and there’s no retirement. And I’m actually pretty far up the giant pyramid scam that is American economics, meaning there’s a lot of people who have it worse than me, far worse.
I feel old. This is a fucked up system we live in, and it’s going to break. I am starting to feel too old to do the physical work of participating in the violence that is ahead, but I’ll likely have to, to protect those who have importance to me, both those I know and those I don’t know. What I’m doing personally, and we’re doing collectively is not sustainable, and in fact that lack of sustainability is creating violent reactions from the nature of things itself. It’s gonna get ugly. But also it’s gonna get beautiful afterwards. And like I always tell my children when they freak out about the future, even if the population of the Earth cataclysmically shrunk where 90% of humans died in the next three decades, that’s still like 750 million humans still alive, making new things happen. Why not you? The whole foundation of generations is generating, continuing, surviving. So fuck it. Blow my fake number cards over, repo everything and throw me into the streets. I’ll still be alive, perhaps even more so in some ways. This shit’s all fake and unsustainable and it makes us stress out in ways that aren’t helpful for survival or our intestinal health. So fuck it.

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