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, January 16

SONG OF THE DAY: Versace (Chopped Not Slopped)

Already got my purple urban Versace camouflage all laid out for the big counter to the counter-protest against the anti-something or other thing. So many reactionary reactions like a ping pong with infinite kinetic energy just bouncing around against all the manufactured obstacles and divisions. I can’t wait to have my facial structure scanned by the police state while the fascists who claim to be against the police state but are actually paramilitaries for the police state all yell at me for wearing purple urban Versace camouflage. I mean, if they were yelling at me because I was mismatching them with dark pink suede Pumas, I could accept that, because that would be right, that’s a horrible sense of fashion, even according to the philosophy of stylistic garishness (aka GK AF style, which is a true and living dirtgod aesthetic). But they’ll just be yelling at me because I refuse to get a blue lives matter meme tattooed on my torso just out of public sight if I were wearing a militaristic black t-shirt with angry dork insignia. Get geared up y’all, we gonna have a lot more of this all throughout this election cycle. Secondhand track pants are the revolutionary wave, with Molotov cocktail stains on the legs. Like the marks always say, THIS IS THE MOST IMPORTANT ELECTION EVER, so get ready to angrily react to the angry reactions about the contrarian acts of resisting the something or other.

OVR L4CK 0F GR0VND3D (1N 34RTH)...

our lack of grounded (in Earth)
identity monetized,
embezzling a sense of self

Tuesday, January 14


Man I ain't got shit to say except Nickelus F is a legend, doing it underground for years, and yet also having secret influences within the larger industry itself. "We came up on gas station cuisine… fried everything, sodas, jellybeans." I GUARANTEE YOU NICKELUS F KNOWS ABOUT THEM EAST COAST POTATO WEDGES. ONE THIGH AND A LARGE ORDER OF WEDGES, TAKE ALL THE TEXAS PETE PACKETS YOU CAN.


unseen roots hold all this shit
together; what's visible
ain't even the half of it

Saturday, January 11

SONG OF THE DAY: King of the Swamp Rats

I was at the Goodwill yesterday and there was a quaint Fluvanna County Virginia America family, dad in fascist iconography t-shirt, faux tiny military back pack with American flag in olive green patch on it. The mom was bulging at her leggings, the smiling weasel face of pre-diabetic judgement. And the boy was a monstrous young teen, smiley with dimples, both he and pops wearing Houston Astros hats. They were so perfectly rural suburbs, so perfectly making America great again quietly, but the dad was friendly with the older African-American checkout woman, and the mom said "Bye Shirley!" to the old dusty woman in line behind them, in front of me. The line was long because only the one checkout woman, but a seemingly young gay whiteboy came out and cleared all the hangers off the counter to open the second register, and checked me out. I got a cheap ass Adidas jacket, to sew a baphomet back patch on, plus put DIRT GOD on too. Everybody was friendly, doomed, and trying to find pleasure in a world gone simultaneously mundane but entirely fucked. All our digital opiates were briefly not in the front of our mind, and everything was fine to be honest.
As I drove off I thought a lot about the smiling dimpled teen boy, giant for his age, babyfaced, and such a sweet nature. How do we let people like that remain sweet, and not poison them with all our toxic shit, including the shit that claims it's a reaction to the obvious toxicity? America is fucked at such a deep psychological level a lot more has to happen than just elect a fuckin' socialist wannabe. And I don't have the answers either, never claimed to. Shit, I'm not even all that smart I've come to realize. I've stumbled through life, simple as fuck, blind half the time, and half-blind the rest, and all I want is some peace. For all the transmogrification of idealistic shit into warped corporate oligarchies that America has become at this point, such a young empire so deluded with its own permanence, one of the best that got written likely as propaganda but fuck it remains true is "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." Like every basic foundation to all religion, all nation-statism, all if it just wants those things. Let me be alive, let me feel like I can do some shit, and let me fuckin' be happy. I'd say America right now has me feeling like 1 out of the 3 (life) and since it's only one, that one feels compromised as fuck most days. How must it feel to the young, not the always hyped (for marketing purposes) millennial class, but the younger than that, kids still developing who they are in this constantly buzzing over-"connected" world. Every day I pray/hope/holler at the sky for the buzzing to shut the fuck up and there to be some quiet, and then hopefully peace. Just some simple ass peace and quiet.


no matter where you might find yourself in America,
you've not yet escaped tracking

Thursday, January 9


Thought about “going to the ends of the Earth” as a phrase, and how similarly human thought’s always caught up impending end times, and stuck on trying to manage every damn thing. The only reason “the ends of the Earth” mean anything is if you’re trying to map out all the shit, which historically was done as land grab colonizing efforts. Fuck it man, most of us don’t even know the place we live that well, don’t know every street, every step, and we ain’t even gotta get to the end. There’s this dude I follow on social media, Marcher Arrant, and I got some stickers of his on my desk at home to remind me to walk more. How much more? No amount necessary, just more. Walk through the place I live, until I get to places I don’t live and some I never will and others I get bad looks from those afraid I’m coming to take something and then others I get bad looks from those thinking they should take from me. So much world to wander, even within half a mile of where you’re standing. So I’m trying to wander a whole lot more right where I am, every side street and river path, every hidden alley and weird cut through.
I’ve been thinking a lot about how I’m older, softer, don’t move like I used to, slower, shit can be harder than I feel comfortable with some mornings. There’s this triggered anxiety that OH SHIT, MY TIME IS RUNNING SHORT, which is probably magnified in a dude who shares the same name with his father and grandfather, both of whom were already dead at my age. But fuck it, I don’t have any predetermined time – might be another 46 years, might be two weeks – so all I can do is just maximize the moment, stop minimizing 3000 tabs of to-do that don’t mean shit anyways. Sisyphus should’ve sat the fuck down at some point and drank some lemonade looking at the clouds in my opinion. Maybe write a little poem about the clouds if you feel like it, but you ain’t got to. Could just sit there not doing shit.

1T'S 4 TYP3 0F M3D1C1N3...

it's a type of medicine
to culture a space where man
and nature interconnect

Wednesday, January 8


“Capitalism” is such a dogmatic sounding word, that I’m not sure if you’re practicing something so polysyllabic you can do it ethically. But the other day I went to my local Afghan market, and thought about how it’s the type of business I like to support. I had passed by earlier on the bus and saw a dude unloading a bunch of bags of flatbread from the trunk of his car, obviously somebody who made it themselves. That flatbread was looking good as fuck in passing so I figured after I did a couple things, I’d wander my way on foot back by the market.
When I did finally get back, there was another dude in the tight aisles, blocking my path to the half-gallon of mint ayran (a must). Really all I came in for was ayran, dates, and one of them bags of that flatbread. Dude in aisle went to check out, which is just one counter, where the dudes who work there are always giving out of date candy to kids, and an old Afghan dude is generally sitting inside within talking distance of the counter, unless it’s warm, and he might be sitting outside. Dude in front of me asks about paneer, and guy behind the counter says, “No, we only get paneer in on Wednesdays.” I’d asked about goat before and they only get that on Fridays. And obviously it looks like the flatbread bags come in on Monday. I always fuck up and forget to go by on Fridays to get goat though, which bums me out, because I bet some halal goat would recharge my depleted ass.
Once I was checking out, I asked how much the flatbread bags were. (Please understand when I say “bag” I mean large ass turkey size bag with flatbread pieces larger than a pizza.) “$6.90, but there’s ten of them in there.” I had to get that, and have been snacking on them all week long. Hungry as fuck in the middle of the evening? Rip off half a piece of flatbread, grab four or five dates, I’m good. I bought enough shit this particular time I had to use a card, but generally speaking I try to use cash there. And I’ve noticed that as I’ve used cash, usually for single serving mint ayran bottles, the price can fluctuate slightly to your benefit, as both a regular customer and a cash-paying customer.
All of this, as I walked out to catch the bus with my big bag of flatbread, made me realize this is exactly the type of business I feel good about supporting. Cash between hands (hopefully) helps cut out government embezzlement of survival wealth, and a place that is filled in its tiny location, that is content in operating at that filled and functional level, only having goat on Friday, paneer on Wednesday, and flatbread on Monday, is okay by me. We always have this notion that growth should be continual, and that you need larger stores, more franchises, everything should be available at all times. That type of growth is unnatural, and thus likely unethical, no matter how you do it. Natural world is not continuous – you can get some shit sometimes, and other shit other times. It’s not all available around the calendar, at your convenience. Fuck man, life is not convenient. It takes some work and navigation and effort. That’s how it should be. Moving from providing for your life and your family and a few others to where you feel the need to accumulate wealth and control a whole arsenal of marketplaces like that… I don’t know that I think that can ever be ethical. If you’re sitting around in some faraway place contemplating how you can improve profitability (another too many syllables word to ever be simple enough to be ethical) without actually putting your ass in a market, standing around on your feet, breaking down boxes to put in the recycling bin beside the dumpster, or sweeping anything, then I don’t know if you’re thinking with all the heart you need to be thinking with. Ever. Not even on Mondays, when your work week starts, and flatbread is coming in.

3V3N 4S W3 CH4S3 3SC4P3...

even as we chase escape,
deep-rooted technologies
beyond man's wisdom still lurk

Monday, January 6

SONG OF THE DAY: Everybody's Hero

World geopolitics got me feeling stressed, but also not really. The constant immediacy of the impending end in the age of the internet causes metaphysical adrenal fatigue eventually. But what’s certain is it seems in many places around the world, the assholes are determined to keep their power by pointing at some other assholes and getting all the people worked up about how they should be afraid of those other assholes. And you can’t get at these assholes, to shut them down the old-fashioned way. Like both in the United States and Iran, right wing assholes who want to blow shit up are using each other to rally people to let them blow shit up. It’s bizarre – it’s like a funhouse mirror of two dogmatic hypocritical bomb-happy cartel of shitheads looking at each other, pretending they’re entirely different. And it’s not like poor people will unify and rise up to overthrow all these oppressors globally because lolol poor people are fucking poor. They’re trying to keep their head above metaphorical economic water if they’re middle class (which is actually generally speaking not middle class, but that whole scale is warped by the extreme upper class anyways), or they’re literally just trying to fucking eat and survive the week if they’re for real poor. How the fuck do you organize that shit? You got a bunch of people out here barely holding their shit together? Some random spark organizes those situations, full of human tinder built from frustration and lack. Anyways, fuck the news, fuck presidents, fuck supreme leaders, fuck senators, fuck candidates, fuck mythologies of the exceptional character of any individual nation-state, whether here or there. Fuck it all. (Which is not a nihilistic “fuck it all” but one that is full of hopes and wishes that humans weren’t so horribly flawed at such grandiose levels all the time.)

B4RB3D W1R3 T3CHN0L0G13S...

barbed wireless technologies
distract me with digital
opiates to join the buzz

Sunday, January 5

SONG OF THE DAY: 1'll T4k3 Y0v Th3r3

I am remarkably bored by life right now. Where I am feels like an anchor, an old rusted weight of an existence that I'm tired of dragging along behind me, or pushing in front of me is probably more realistic. What do I do? Nothing. Distract myself. I mean I guess I did walk step by step about 15 miles this weekend, but all of it looped back where from I started, so I don't know. I get this urge from time to time to walk to the horizon, for days, months. This shit we're living is not satisfying, even for those who have shit it seems. The whole thing needs to go ahead and break down. Whatever fog machines they've had cut on and has been pumping up the fog the past twenty years, I wish it'd go ahead and break, and they don't have a replacement part. Might feel ugly briefly… all these distraction addicts having to quit cold turkey is gonna cause some serious freak outs, probably with lots of fire and bullet wounds. But once we all detox, it'll be better. Right? RIGHT?


letting solar and lunar
sightings exert influence
on mind (where heart and brain meet)

Friday, January 3

SONG OF THE DAY: Bigfakelaugh

Waiting for the shuttle bus this morning, to go between point X and point Y at my Zzzz work, and a prison van showed up, two different guards trying to figure out where to unload the prisoner being transported. They eventually pulled right up beside where I was waiting, driving third guard got out and was fiddling with back door where wheelchair transport lift but with bars was, to take prisoner in for hospital visit of some sort. Radio was blaring Steve Harvey morning show, and Steve was on his shit, hoo-hawing it up with the crew, and I thunk to myself what a strange blessing, to be free from prison for the morning, listening to Steve Harvey in the back of the prison transport van, a little grey tree-lined scenery to mix up the cinderblock existence, even if for hospital visit. I hoped it wasn’t anything too terminal, and wondered how much of what Steve Harvey was babbling about was relevant to this offender against allegedly civilized society? How long had they been in? Do they get to make this trip every six weeks, or is this first time ever?
Then my shuttle bus came, and I got on. The driver bumps old school jams as loud as uptight white people will tolerate generally, and today was no exception. As we got closer to where I was gonna get off, War’s “The World is a Ghetto” hit the playlist, and I don’t know, maybe I’m introspective as fuck today or something, but the lyrics was hitting me hard. Always loved that song, but it struck kinda extra hard this morning. We all got the existential jails we create for ourselves, navigating the system that’s in place all around us, making wrong and right choices, smart and poor ones, boxing ourselves in far more often than opening ourselves up. I thought about just sitting on the shuttle and riding it one more loop, to hear the end of the world being a ghetto, but also just to vibe. Also thunk how the larger parallel to that is riding this earth one more time round the sun, and how we don’t often enough just sit the fuck back and enjoy the ride, always giving ourselves these deadlines and needs to be productive and arbitrary must haves and cut off notices and gotta sees and just a general over fucking load of too much shit that ultimately don’t mean as much as just kicking it, stationary, in one outdoors spot, watching the world spin slowly for a few minutes, hours, days, lifetimes might mean.
Of course, I got off the shuttle though, and went and did my job, like I’m supposed to. But also “supposed to” is some arbitrary ass shit, and completely irrelevant to how my heart feels.


all is interconnected, 
but in far more subversive 
ways than our sciences know 

Thursday, January 2

W0RK1NG T00 MVCH, PVLL3D 1N T00...

working too much, pulled in too 
many directions... feeling 
flat, and wishing for fresh sparks 

Wednesday, January 1


a box full of hours 
many of which squandered 
boxes stored in a page 
booklet full of the pages 
and we got to the end 
no more to X upon 
another ring around heart 
with Xes on our eyes 

we take the booklet full of pages 
full of boxes full of hours 
down off the wall 
and tack up another one 
and tell ourselves 
"this one is different" 
but we're still the same we 
the same me the same you 

I hope your boxes full of hours 
don't feel entirely squandered, and that we all 
fill them boxes full of so much wonderful shit 
that eventually the boxes become useless 


multiple generations 
of tragedy play out while 
the trees just keep on growing