RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition. He does have an amazing PATREON, but also *normal* ARTIST WEBSITE too.

Thursday, February 28


silhouettes of industry
casting ominous shadows
over collective future

SONG OF THE DAY: High 'n Dry

county fair cocaine mirrors
quiet riot pyromania
kill ‘em all let god sort ‘em out t-shirt
young & ignorant dreaming of a carney life
escaping the inescapable
thirty years later here I sit
still not dead, I guess alive
but damn if it ain’t boring af most days

34CH S1MPL3 H0M3 Y0V P4SS BY...

each simple home you pass by
full of real lives exploding
with life-or-death emotion

Wednesday, February 27


industrial plants sprouting
along riverbanks, smoky
clusters of man's faux progress


So hey, I took some weed gummies while I was out west last fall, and I’ll be honest I don’t even like getting high like that any more. My mind races too much and I just turn into metaphysical fetal position thought swirls which don’t stop, not even bad just constant, like a washing machine stuck on super spin cycle and it’s just spinning and spinning and spinning and fuck man, I’m constantly busy where there’s no down time. I don’t want to spin harder. They even told me the one kind was great for anxiety but it’s not even anxiety just constant brain/mind crunch of the demands of self-expression (which I never have enough time to do all the shit I want to work on) and obligations (fuckin’ real life is an asshole) and then to have mind spinning super fast while body is in bumble bumble mode, it’s more like torture than joy. Give me the fog, the deep heavenly grandmother quilted fog that wraps around your whole body and shuts down all sensation of pain and frustration and feels like you were reborn in clouds, floating on the couch, watching South American futbol, hoping for a riot that inadvertently triggers global order collapse.

Monday, February 25

S0VTHS1D3 V1RG1N14 B4CK R04DS...

Southside Virginia back roads -
red bricks hewn from tobacco
profits, now gone back to seed

SONG OF THE DAY: Amherst Station

More happy nihilism from the Griselda Crew. We are all for the most part doomed, so might as well enjoy the ride.

4N 1M4G1N3D CH4R4CT3R...

an imagined character
born from junk store bargain bin,
because toys have unreal lives

Sunday, February 24


Death Wish 69, starring Charles Monsoon, mild-mannered man crushed to metaphysical death beneath the weight of the world straddling his face and not recognizing his safe word of “fuck”.

N4K3D 1N TH3 W00DS 4G41N...

naked in the woods again,
laying on the ground, looking
at sun, hoping for release

Saturday, February 23

W0RK3RS M3CH4N1Z3D 1NT0...

workers mechanized into
oblivion before they
could demand their proper share

SONG OF THE DAY: Wait a Minute

Love too listen to the old school soul on the slow weekend where attempts to regain breath in relentless bullshit world have brief windows to happen. Love too cut on the red light at night and fill the air with passionate stank. Love too wake up Sunday morning, hook up the turkey sausage and over lounger eggs, and keep it slow as lincoln continental plate tectonic drift for as long as possible, before the bullshit world starts bloop blooping at you first thing in the morning once again. Fuck work fuck cops fuck politics fuck walls fuck borders salaam.