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.

Monday, June 29

SONG OF THE DAY: Shaky On The Phone

Sovthern Gothicc Fvtvrism is way different than old dystopian movies foretold. No hovercrafts or spaceships or teleportation. We’ve got abandoned power plants being reclaimed by mimosa trees and honeysuckle vines, and we’re just setting up autonomous compounds of communal lounge along the old Richmond and Alleghany Railroad line. The James River subdivision and Rivanna subdivisions are about the midway point between the Clifton Forge to Richmond railway, and this past weekend we had our big once a year soccer match like we always do the Saturday/Sunday closest to June 27th, with “goals” set up at Clifton Forge and Richmond (69 points each), and at Natural Bridge and Columbia (13 points each), and we kick it off with two teams, western and eastern, and play to 69, starting at the Gladstone yard, where we have a giant cookout the whole weekend long. Nobody down there gives a fuck anymore, as the town is crumbling back into the river little by little. They tried to save a community center to make it an actual community center but CSX just demolished it instead to save themselves the liability. The Natural Bridge and Columbia goals are only 60 miles from the kickoff, but it takes five of those to break the 69 point total you need. Going the full 100-plus miles to the outer goals in Clifton Forge and Richmond ends the game with one goal. I was there for the opening kickoff, at noon on Saturday, and played all the way through Sunday night about 7:30 pm, before I had to come home for work today. I might call in sick tomorrow and join the game again, wherever it’s at. I slept along the river Saturday night, with a dude who called himself “Gee”, but said it didn’t stand for anything. We were talking about what was going on in Richmond, and playing a bunch of Fly Anakin & Big Kahuna OG on my iphone before the battery died. The river was just rolling along, like always. Not sure where the ball was when we woke up – seems like it had moved further west with other people playing, but my phone was dead so I didn’t know, and Gee was involved in some sort of argument with his cousin via Signal text. I love these annual soccer games, which usually last maybe a week or two before the last people quit. I don’t think anybody’s ever actually gotten 69 points as far as I know, but I’m on furlough next week from work, plus the 4th of July holiday being Friday, so I’m gonna figure out where the ball is Thursday night, and fuck it, gonna spend my furlough week kicking that fuckin’ soccer ball along the railroad tracks all the way to the Clifton Forge goal. I figure if I can do ten miles a day, I should be able to make it. Hopefully everybody on the western team has given up so I can actually do that ten miles a day goal. You’d be surprised how difficult it is to dribble a soccer ball on railroad tracks, while somebody is trying to take it away. But it might be the first time in the history of Sovthern Gothicc Fvtvrism somebody actually wins our annual Sovthern Gothicc Fvtvristic Super Cup 69.

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