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.

Wednesday, November 30

SONG OF THE DAY: Real Connection

I regret to inform you I have become a “souldies” guy. Maybe it’s because I have a radio show where all I do is play 45s at 33 speed, and the vast bulk of new 45s released are from the rapidly expanding souldies scene. Bobby Oroza is a dude from Finland who dropped Get On The Otherside this year on Big Crown Records, and that shit slams. Sadly, Big Crown Records has not released “Real Connection” on 45 for me to play at 33 speed. The fun thing about souldies is it’s the strangest multicultural scene ever, that has scenes pop up in expected places (like Brooklyn and Northern California) but then Finland. Anyways, I want to start a record label now, with no money and no experience. That’s what happens when you start to listen to too many 45s.

Tuesday, November 29

SONG OF THE DAY: Smother Me With Your Love

A face sitter aficionado’s secret anthem, thus a degenerate classic. I think I’ve convinced my girlfriend that should I ever get old and be on my deathbed to smother me out of my misery in this manner. It’s a shame we don’t live in an actual progressive society which could respect my wishes. Instead, I’ll likely be separated from everybody I love, and kept alive against my will hooked up to a bunch of goddamned machines that will drain whatever meager coins I have saved in my pitiful life right out of the possibility of sliding into my children’s hands once I’m gone. What a disgusting world we’ve built, and I say that as somebody who began this paragraph talking about women sitting on my face, lovingly.

Monday, November 28


Another Cadillac spaceship banger perfect for time traveling because the audio is skewed ever so wonderfully as the 4th dimension recalibrations happen upon re-entry to earthly atmosphere. If you've never experienced it, it's like the sound of having done 17 whip-its all at once, but it doesn't hurt your head and feels like you just dove off a cliff into deep mountain spring. Pretty great, except for the realization that, "Oh fuck, here I am back to my normal base life, back to work, no more playing dominoes with 1971 Pam Grier lookalike in Dayton, Ohio, motel." Hate that shit.

M0ST MY P30PL3'S M3N P4SS3D...

most my people’s men passed 
early - tragedies waiting 
to happen from beginning 

Sunday, November 27

SONG OF THE DAY: Right Place Wrong Time (kudzu'd)

The permutations of place and time are infinite, in fact an infinite number of infinities of them. Infinity can seem way smaller than it actually is because it’s such a simple word full of slender letters. But the infinite permutations of place and time go on and on, and the best you can hope for is to slice a little sliver of your minor infinity into a beautiful snapshot of feel goodness. It’s hard though, because institutions stuff every crack in our infinities with bullshit, trying to misdirect and channel us the wrong way, into some tiny boring ass corner, instead of exploring our infinite place and times of our tiny slice of conscious existence (assuming we’re conscious).


remnants of the roads travelled 
stains cellular memories; 
new practice takes time to take 

Thursday, November 24

SONG OF THE DAY: Don Dada (Hip Hop Remix)

I went to sleep playing this 100% Dynamite! NYC dancehall meets rap compilation the other night, and when I woke up, I had transformed into wearing a light blue and white tracksuit with Polo sneakers on. It was crazy. I guess I got a fairy godfather I didn’t know about.

M4K1NG D0 B3C0M3S 34SY...

making do becomes easy 
if you ain’t got no other 
choice… well-practiced survival 


feel most blessed in the darkness, 
crawling through marginal zones 
which don’t know that much newness 


our untended dimensions 
fall apart easy enough… 
fix what you need, fuck the rest 

Wednesday, November 23

SONG OF THE DAY: Computer Love Part II (kudzu'd)

A solid proof of America's deep and inherent racism is a bunch of people love Bruce Springsteen still, for some reason, but ain't nobody talking about Roger Troutman. Neoliberal bullshit. Also this song should be the internet's theme song, but we blew it. Now libertarian tech dorks own the internet and we're like ten years away from the national anthem getting changed to a pun that 13 year olds think is stupid.


manufactured purpose casts 
long shadows in our culture, 
but I ain’t got to do shit 



lost but still found prophecies are 
never profitable… find 
joy in my own foolishness 

SP34K1NG P03MS T0 G14NT...

speaking poems to giant 
hulks of metal, hovering 
all ‘round my one-man cipher 

Tuesday, November 22

SONG OF THE DAY: La Risada (rebajada)

Slowed music is a lifestyle choice. Slow living prevents slow death, and around the clock digital clockfaces got too many of y'all thinking some RIGHT NOW shit is more urgent than it really is.


binge watching clouds, stretched out in 
the dirt of America’s 
rapidly-declined margins 

M41NT41N1NG 1MM4CVL4T3...

maintaining immaculate 
castles made of sand becomes 
difficult work… we’re lazy 


the brutal architecture 
of displacing natural 
thought with chasing a clock’s face 

Monday, November 21

SONG OF THE DAY: Soul Heart Transplant (kudzu'd)

[Been out of practice of writing blurbs for songs, so just whipped out a freestyle sonnet for today...] 
The ebbs and flows of brain and heart... Information 
consumed often containing poisons, polluting 
thinking with fear or hate, raw manipulation 
of reactionary types quick to be shooting 
off "just asking questions" digressions of discourse. 
Meanwhile, natural rights and wrongs known (or divined) 
at heart level from birth, which manmade laws enforce 
according to our mythology; but you'll find 
aberrations from heartfelt path, men using math 
chasing pyramids of numbers rather than shared 
goodness of existence, before bloodletting bath 
between divisions. Mind is where the two are paired - 
brain and heart - coming together, and back apart. 
I always hope that spirited thought's seen as smart. 


assigning ourselves purpose 
where none needed to exist… 
fuck it, I’ll be in the woods 


universal detritus… 
us human beings born from 
wild stardust (allegedly) 

Saturday, November 12

Friday, November 11

Thursday, November 10

SONG OF THE DAY: Pull My String (kudzu'd)

This is a perfect example of how a song I’d barely noticed in my lifetime suddenly becomes amazing when slowed down. I have a hard time not playing “Ring My Bell” by Anita Ward followed by this all the time on my radio show.

Wednesday, November 9

SONG OF THE DAY: Butt In The Meantime (kudzu'd)

Way back in the day when I was buying up all the new tapes and making dual tape deck mixtapes for anybody who gave a fuck, I absolutely loved to start the B-side of a tape with “The Bridge is Over” by Boogie Down Productions with this song second. The two beats are very complementary. Hadn’t found the 7” 45 of “The Bridge is Over” yet at an affordable to me price to recreate that magic on the “45 era Raven” turntables at a slower speed, but we’re halfway there.


children inheriting our 
destructive psychologies, 
nature and nurture the same 


modern living girdles us 
to productive consumption 
(and consumptive production) 

Tuesday, November 8

SONG OF THE DAY: I Don't Want Your Love

I mostly listen to soul oldies now, and also wear tracksuits more than I used to. I had to promise my man DJ Brilliant though that I wasn’t gonna start using beard oil (outside of natural ones resulting from giving oral sex).


the urge to run remains strong, 
but we convince ourselves to 
ignore heart’s desperate pleas 

Monday, November 7

Sunday, November 6

Saturday, November 5

Friday, November 4

Thursday, November 3


Just a great song, nothing to write here, other than this, which is actually nothing, but I feel like words are supposed to go here. Do people still do music blogs anymore? Why am I here? What is the purpose of this?

F33L L1K3 1'M F4D1NG 4W4Y...

feel like I’m fading away 
many days, my daily ways 
running round downward spirals 


“heart of gold” metaphors miss 
the mark, but brains are poisoned 
with relentless lust for wealth 

Wednesday, November 2

SONG OF THE DAY: Alive Ain't Always Living

I follow the Islamic calendar for a couple art projects, and prayer times as well, because it helps me be in tune with the natural cycles of the universe, and I can better place myself in the context of that universe keeping in mind the new and full moons. When I scribble on trains, I follow the tradition set before with monikers of including a date reference/time stamp, but I’ve always done the Islamic year. When 1444 came around a few months back, I got excited to switch from 1443s to 1444s, and the first Sunday after the new year, I was up before sunrise to hit a couple of my favorite nearby yards that required that type of early morning stealth. I like day time in yards better than night, but day is when workers are there, and workers don’t like people fucking up their jobsite with their presence, especially not in train yards. So it’s gotta be the right day of the week at the right time, and Sundays at sunrise are just about perfect (and always have been, my whole life). I was bumping Quelle Chris’s latest album, especially “Alive Ain’t Always Living”, so I ended up writing that a bunch of times on hoppers in the yards that day. Scribbling on trains is sort of like writing little prayer poems, and the combination of phrase/year definitely creates ties for me to where I was, both physically but spiritually/emotionally. “Alive Ain’t Always Living” was also a perfect meditation to scribble onto giant industrial hunks as a reminder/manifestation for the new year, signed with the 1444 to make it real for the whole ride around the sun. That song, and sentiment, is completely wrapped up with this whole rest of the new year in my heart, which doesn’t match the Gregorian calendar that’s more commonly known and accepted as the norm. The whole thing is esoteric, strange, but completely obvious, and not weird at all. It’s just doing things to make life more magic and less fucked feeling. That’s all prayer is, or poetry, or being alive to be honest.


yesterday’s golden glimmer 
fades into tomorrow’s rust - 
natural character arc 

Tuesday, November 1

SONG OF THE DAY: The Way You Look Tonight

A lot of record collectors are way too precious about their shit, acting like their living room Ikea shelf is a museum archive. I take care of my records, but also beyond the actual record, I don’t stress it. One of my great joys in getting old 45s is the label and sleeve ephemera – people writing notes or names or weird codes or who the fuck knows what it means. Because of this, I’ve been practicing scribbling little notes or words on the sleeves and labels, especially when I use a 45 for my radio show. I’m not permanent, nor is my collection, and it’s gonna scatter like my own ashes at some point, so having a Conway Twitty 45 with “dirtgod theme” written on the label is most likely gonna be some interesting shit to somebody somewhere down the road.


fearful shadows of groupthink 
cast an ominous pall 
over otherwise blue skies