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.

Saturday, June 12

SONG OF THE DAY: El Tren (rebajada)

Walking slowly through the yard when the veil between day and night is thinnest, with kudzu creeping in from one side and gentrification from the other. Hadn't gotten to the point the worrisome gentrifiers call the cops on footsteps in the yard, but they don't like making eye contact from their side of the wrought iron fence, pretending I don't exist, a rough-edged blackberry bearded man wandering through the last remnants of industrial revolution's detritus at the fringes of late capitalism imaginary empire of eternity. Their ways are far less sustainable than mine, even as my beard turns grey this remains true.
I mark my various prayers on the steel carcasses, already well-tattooed with the prayers of others like me, from across this old mycelium network of rails. Some of these vandalous saints of the yards have practiced their devotion, and developed full-color master peaces, and others like myself are esoteric minimalists with a more primordial traditions, scribbling our hopes into unmarked corners. All of it is just cries against the foolishness of being a productive member of an industrial society, and also yet somehow more attuned to that than the blossoming townhouses and pastel-colored homes renovated beyond affordability or practicality for regular folk. They have their full-color murals on that side of the fence too, but it's not done by saints of the late American yards, instead professional artists are imported from affluent families to bedazzle these neighborhoods with giant visuals hearkening back to a past that has been stomped on by poverty and bleached from actual representation in the neighborhood itself.
Thinking about this, I write "just another mark" on a CSX hopper, tucked in between two pieces by Moms Worthless Sons crew members. We are all just marks here at the dying American carnival of the 21st century... it's just some of us have deeper pockets to pretend the kayfabed mythologies are real. Others of us have always known it's all a fucking lie, no matter how often they switch the barkers around between booths. Fuck America, I am a god of destruction.

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