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, September 30

Postcard Haiku Blowout!!!

[click the pic or HERE for shop link]

I have slashed prices on the postcard poems by mail I offer on my site, and changed the wording to haiku, until the end of the year.

There are 5 postcard styles available:

  • vintage motel postcards
  • vintage Native American themed postcards
  • vintage railroading postcards
  • Greetings from Greater Appalachia postcards
  • Welcome to Southern Gothicc Futurism postcards

There are also 3 amounts you can get:

  • single haiku postcard (for $5)
  • 5 haiku postcards (for $23)
  • 10 haiku postcards (for $40)

The multi-packs, you can send to one address over time, multiple addresses, or whatever. If sending to someone else, I'll also give you the option of receiving an email picture of what I send before I send it.
I am doing this for a number of reasons. Here are those reasons:
#1: MOST FOLKS MAY NOT REALIZE I DO THIS – because I am a horrible marketer by nature. I attempt half-heartedly at times to point people to my online shop, but both those words “online” and “shop” are two things I do not necessarily have an abundance of love for. So it is like getting psychically double dropkicked by a reality I’d prefer to ignore.
#2: PHYSICAL MAIL IS SOOOO REFRESHING – Look, we are deep into the digital age, to where we no longer get fun mail for the most part. But now we don’t even get fun electronic mail. Our joy has been minimized little by little, as efficiently as possible, without any obvious moments where we had the chance to say, “No, please don’t make it this way.” So this is a small chance to get (or give) physical mail, with no purpose other than to hopefully create a little joy in life.
#3: SURVIVING CAPITALISM – I could use extra money from a part-time job, so I read the advice to dress for the job you’d like. As I sat on the back porch naked, I realized I could write haiku on postcards pretty easily in that chair.
#4: SPREADING WORD ART – We all need more art in our lives. As they try to turn everything into a business investment, it is very important we counter that thinking with things that serve no business interest whatsoever. None of the greatest things about life are business investments. Business has nothing to do with the things we love most, usually (if we are healthy-minded human beings). So hopefully I make a cheap option for you to send something to your friends who you love. (I will include a “compliments of [your name]” on the postcard as well, if you choose.)
#5: PRACTICING RELEASE OF OWNERSHIP – I am pretty good about letting writing go. But I also try at times to share a lot of it. I’m going to practice these as a one and done, not copied down by me anywhere, send out to the world freely version of writing haiku. Surviving capitalism, and hopes of future business successes, tends to cause even us creative type people to archive or track everything we do. This is not a healthy practice on our part (though I fully recognize the economic need it is built upon). So I hope to scribble out haiku, and mail them out, and never think about them again.

I will also half-heartedly make social media posts about this. But please feel free to forward this post, or the shop link to postcard poems, or help let all the weird literary freaks that still exist out there in this world in great abundance, that this exists.

GL0R1F13D J0BB3R W0RK1NG...


glorified jobber working 
class born to loser, but I 
bring a bright stubborn assed shine 

Tuesday, September 29

Sunday, September 27

Saturday, September 26

SP4C3S 4B4ND0N3D BY M4N...


spaces abandoned by man 
quickly reclaimed by the wild 
(which is far more orderly) 

Friday, September 25

Thursday, September 24

Wednesday, September 23

TH3 G4M3 H4S 4LW4YS B33N R1GG3D...


the game has always been rigged, 
since humans first began trading 
one thing for three shiny coins 

Tuesday, September 22

SONG OF THE DAY: Hey Leroy, Your Mama's Callin' You (kudzu'd)


By Wikipedia’s last count, Jimmy Castor has 10 grandchildren by his two sons and two daughters. I hope to all that is good and tricksterly in the Universe that one of his grandchildren is named Leroy. As far as I can tell, there are no bronze statues of Jimmy Castor on this Earth, and that seems fucked up to me. All these localized Burning Man edgy hippie dudes taking naked pictures of naive women all over the country, and running their little arts communities from executive director positions with boards made up of casual co-signers to all sorts of clueless behavior, funding stupid fuckin’ public scupltures all over the place. And nary a single statue for Jimmy Castor.

B0RN T0 W4ND3R 41ML3SSLY...


born to wander aimlessly, 
and wonder why we ended 
up settling the way we did 

Monday, September 21

P4TR10T1SM M1SS3D M3...


patriotism missed me 
because all its best myths lacked 
people who lived like I do 

Sunday, September 20

Saturday, September 19

SL1D1NG THR0VGH L1F3 KN0W1NG 1...


sliding through life knowing I 
was born to lose, so I can’t be 
tricked otherwise easily 

Friday, September 18

Thursday, September 17

SONG OF THE DAY: Love is the Way (kudzu'd)


I’d like to imagine one day I could get to a place in life where me and my partner was on vacation in matching tracksuits, preferably Sergio Tacchini, maybe velour but maybe crinkle nylon. They don’t ever really seem to drop purple velour in the shades I’d prefer… too earth toned and not space brained enough. But that’s a serious ass relationship goal there, matching tracksuits, riding the train through like Turkey or Texas or some shit, sitting in the café car casually just enjoying some train coffee and talking with each other, drawing folks in to our bullshit.
I made matching shirts one time, silver iron-on letters, one that said SUPER FREAK and the other said SUPER FREAKY, because it played on that phrase in suggestive ways. I let my girl pick first, to see which way she wanted to go in rocking those. She chose SUPER FREAK, true Leo power bottom style, so I got the SUPER FREAKY. We only wore them out once, to the fuckin’ Barbie movie, which is like the only new release movie I’ve seen since one of the Planet of the Apes reboots, maybe the 2011 one. In other words, I don’t be going to the movie theater all that much.
But my girl don’t even wear that shirt no more. She put it on a mannequin in a rustic studio cabin on her compound, which to be fair, is a big sign of respect. But she don’t ever wear it, and squirrels fuck around in that cabin more than humans do. I pulled my SUPER FREAKY out last night, but it just made me sad. Not because my girlfriend doesn’t wear the matching one, but because they don’t make silver velour that sparkles iridescently that could be made into a really nice tracksuit. All this artificial intelligence bullshit, and pompous cyber-Yakub dipshits with too much money to be scheming, and I still gotta buy tracksuits from 30 years ago off Ebay because the technology and color schemes have gone backwards. Having a society almost entirely run by boring ass wealthy white dudes is a mistake in the all obvious ways, but there’s a vast multitude of overlooked reasons this has failed us all.
I try not to get angry about it in a reactionary way, though. Gotta let my heart lead the way, not my disgruntled brain. It’s hard some days though. But that’s why I put glittery silver and gold iron-on letters onto t-shirts. You can’t wear SUPER FREAKY in sparkle letters and not feel a little bit lighter about the dystopia. Try it. You don’t have to put SUPER FREAKY, but just get you a big box of iron-on letters, and buy up all the half-priced quality cotton t-shirts you can at the Goodwill on the Sunday markdown, and do it up. You’ll feel better. Trust me.

P4R4D1S3 CVLT1V4T3D...


paradise cultivated 
by a feral resistance 
to unnatural order 

Wednesday, September 16

SONG OF THE DAY: Girls, I Got 'Em Locked (kudzu'd)


I’m looking for someone who can airbrush overalls. If you are skilled at airbrushing and already have the equipment, get in touch with me, because I need about 8 pairs of airbrushed overalls. It’ll be a collaborative process, for the right person. No Earth signs (Zodiac) please. I don’t collaborate well with Earth signs.

D1R3CT10N W3'R3 SVPP0S3D T0...


direction we’re supposed to 
go ain’t always obvious 
when lost in our own darkness 

Tuesday, September 15

Sunday, September 13

Saturday, September 12

R3FL3CT10NS 0N WH4T 1 0NC3...


reflections on what I once 
was remind me of how far 
from true self I used to be 

Thursday, September 10

SONG OF THE DAY: Straight out the Jungle (kudzu'd)


Native Tongues is a legendary hip hop collective crew, which had a supersized influence on later artists, but in actuality had limited full-length releases, despite their cultural popularity. The first actual full-length album dropped by anybody Native Tongues was Straight out the Jungle, by The Jungle Brothers, officially released by Warlock Records on November 8, 1988. It didn’t sell a ton of records, had a pretty rough sound quality compared to major label releases of the time, but still stands as a legendary release.
February 2 of the following year, De La Soul would drop 3 Feet High and Rising, a collaborative effort with producer extraordinaire, Prince Paul, which came out on Tommy Boy Records. It immediately took off, and was certified gold (500,000 units sold) by the end of May. I bought a bootleg copy of it at a truck stop on 360 near Keysville, Virginia, so it obviously moved more than RIAA knew. The “Me, Myself & I” single went gold as well, on DJ Screw day (June 27th, but in the decade before anybody would know who DJ Screw was).
November 7 of 1989, the next two Native Tongues releases would drop on the same day, with the Jungle Brothers’ second album, Done by the Forces of Nature, coming out on Warner Brothers, them having made enough noise to get signed (and getting a little bit of a push from Kool DJ Red Alert, who executive produced the album). And Tommy Boy released Queen Latifah’s All Hail the Queen the same day, the first woman MC representing Native Tongues crew, with both albums getting the aesthetic crew push of De La’s wave of popularity. Both did decent within the conscious hip hop head community, but didn’t break out to bigger mainstream success.
On April 10, 1990, A Tribe Called Quest dropped their debut, People’s Instinctive Travels and the Paths of Rhythm, on Jive Records. Following in the clever conscious playful rebellious nature of their Native Tongues comrades, ATCQ’s first album was an immediate critical success, though the mainstream sales did not immediately follow. On October 30 of 1990, Monie Love became the second Native Tongues female act to debut, with her dropping Down to Earth, on the same Warner Brothers label that had signed the Jungle Brothers. (This one featured some of the earliest production credits of Native Tongues’ associates and honorary members, The Beatnuts.) It, however, did not blow up with the normals (though “Monie In the Middle” remains an all-time banger, and features sample interpolations from songs by Coke Escovedo and salsa superstar Willie Colon, likely showing that early Beatnuts fingerprint on the beat behind the scenes).
A full two years after their debut blew up, on May 14, 1991, De La dropped De La Soul is Dead, again working with Prince Paul, which was owned in a corporate structure that now included both Tommy Boy and Warner Brothers Records. It stayed offbeat compared to mainstream rap, but was a bit darker and heavier than regular folks wanted. They still wanted that old happy ass De La (and still do, to this day, actually). Within two months though, it was certified gold (500,000 units sold) as well.
The fall of 1991 saw three more Native Tongues albums come out. First up, on September 3, was Queen Latifah’s sophomore release, Nature of a Sista’, still on Tommy Boy. All Hail the Queen had almost gone gold (it still sits somewhere in the upper 400 thousands of units sold, so it might get that gold certification if “Ladies First” ever goes viral or gets used prominently in a movie), but the second album only moved about half as much as the first.
September 24, A Tribe Called Quest dropped their sophomore effort, The Low End Theory, still on Jive, which got the ultra elusive 5 Mic rating from The Source. And while it didn’t blow up immediately with the mainstream masses, it was a solid hip hop hit, with a couple standout singles, “Check the Rhime” and “Scenario”. Native Tongues had few posse songs, with “Buddy” off De La’s first album being the notable exception. “Scenario” was another, featuring Leaders of the New School, who – thought not considered full members of Native Tongues – were always associates, and dropped their own first album the July before.
October 22, Black Sheep dropped A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing, considered full-fledged Native Tongues members, on Mercury Records. I was in my first fall semester at VCU, so copped the tape of this at the old Mister Music store on Grace Street (next to where would eventually become Ipanema). I hadn’t yet discovered the wonderfulness of Willie’s downtown yet, so was still learning to expand my circles around Richmond. Black Sheep had Q-Tip on one track, and the kid member of Native Tongue, Chi-Ali, on another. He was next in line anyways.
1992 started strong for Native Tongues. The Low End Theory was certified gold in February, and A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing followed suit in April. In between, on March 24, Chi-Ali dropped The Fabulous Chi-Ali, on Relativity Records, with much of production done by The Beatnuts. The widest reaching posse cut to that point came out on that album, “Let the Horns Blow”, which had Chi Ali, Dres from Black Sheep, Trugoy from De La, Phife Dawg from ATCQ, and Fashion who would eventually be with The Beatnuts. (Actually, the real takeaway from Chi-Ali probably was The Beatnuts getting signed to Relativity as well, and recording their underground classic Intoxicated Demons EP in the months after Chi-Ali’s release came out.)
The crew put nothing else out in 1992, and then Bill Clinton was elected, and the progressive racist Southerner contingent, as led by James Carville, pushed for the suppression of conscious hip hop at Bohemian Grove’s Winter Solstice Bacchanalia towards the end of 1992. And nothing was ever the same, nor as simple. Queen Latifah eventually became a movie star, and Busta Rhymes of Leaders of the New School got a prominent Illuminati push later in the ‘90s, because his delivery style allowed for subliminal layering of suggestive phrases within the song, doubled up by visual triggers in Hype Williams videos. The Low End Theory would become the first Native Tongues release to be certified platinum (a million units sold), in February of 1995. People’s Instinctive… got certified gold the following January. And 3 Feet High and Rising went official platinum in April of 2000, after the Clinton cartel was tagging back out to the Bush cartel to continue the globalization of the American empire through a more militant push, justified by knocking down the twin towers. Chi-Ali ended up in prison for manslaughtering a dude (legally speaking, he was not convicted of murder). And in September of 2021, as Native Tongues had long since rolled through progressive white consciousness, NPR rolled out some nostalgic accolades, which helped push both “Scenario” and “Check the Rhime” to gold status with the RIAA.
But before it all fell apart, before the internal drama of ATCQ, and the record label drama De La Soul felt, to where they now own their own music but it’s released in a different form than it originally artistically was (due to the intellectual property rights holders of some of the samples), before that prescient line in “Check the Rhime” where Q-Tip lays out, “Industry rule number four thousand and eighty / record company people are shady,” there was that first release, way back in 1988. Straight out the Jungle.
And the first song on that was a song of the same title, with both Afrika Baby Bam and Mike Gee dropping a verse, before a recollecting via vocal sample of those classic Melle Mel lines from “The Message” half a decade earlier in time, but decades ago in terms of hip hop aesthetics. “It’s like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder, how I keep from going under,” four times over, and that third verse which lays out the times we still seem to be living in. “The animals and cannibals will do you in. Cut your throat (echo), stab you in the back… the untamed animal just don’t know how to act. It’s unbelievable (echo), uncivilized (echo), and now I’m starting to realize, danger in the jungle, the jungle means danger (echo), tension intense, hearts filled with anger (echo).” This remains the foundational track for the movement, before the bigger record deals came along, before every kid in America started wearing African medallions (including white kids), before truck stops in rural America were bootlegging their releases, with a raw, poorly mastered sound… and there’s something to that phrase. Once you are looped in with the Yakubian bean counters, you become far more mastered. The Jungle Brothers came straight out the jungle, raw as fuck, and this – to me – remains the most Native Tongues track possibly ever made. I hope to play it at Bill Clinton’s grave while I’m pissing on it at some point before I myself die.

TH3 LVR1D M3NT4L1TY...


the lurid mentality 
of my youth has long faded, 
but I’m wild in other ways 

Wednesday, September 9

SONG OF THE DAY: Rock It (kudzu'd)


We don’t have enough funky assed people involved in building robots anymore. It’s all assholes nowadays. Fascist police robots, tricky salesmen robots, neurologically manipulative sex robots… it’s all bad stuff. Where are the chill robot dreamers, who’s heart still has that ancient boom bap of the ultimate goal being so that we can kick back and fuckin’ enjoy ourselves, all together… not just manipulate everybody else? Makes me pretty sad, to be honest. The dystopia is so cheap and gaudy and all stone façades and resin spray painted gold, and there’s never any barrel fires or twinkle-eyed revolutionary love interests or even ally robots who have their microchips of artificial intelligence based on empathy and love instead of the coding of the grifter con artist. Oh well, fuck it. More copper to steal and sell to the junkman one day, I guess.

R1CH3S 4LW4YS D4NGL1NG JVST...


riches always dangling just 
beyond my reach; like a mark, 
I sit, waiting for windfall 

Tuesday, September 8

Monday, September 7

SONG OF THE DAY: The One Who's Hurting Is You (kudzu'd)


Been listening to a lot of DJ Screw lately, probably a symptom of swimming through so much mental mud. But then also I thought about how "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd is such an absolutely perfect song for certain feelings like when you are swimming through mental mud all the time but also living in a poorly-run dystopia during the dying era of a self-important empire. And then I remember string theory and know that somewhere, an alien version of myself is driving an old shitbox while bumping a DJ Screw tape where he's done a 14-minute extended chop of "Wish You Were Here" that blends into Master P's "Miss My Homies", with Lil Randy somehow shouting out DJ Screw and giving him an RIP on DJ Screw's own mixtape. I wish I could download that grey tape, but I lost my dial-up connection to the Space Archives, so I can't currently get shit out of the multiverse. And you can forget about finding anything like that on a bullshit ass streaming service. Streaming of conscious will always be stronger than streaming service. And the only cost of the former is being forced to focus on your own fucked-up thinking.

N4V1G4T1NG W0RLD FVLL 0F...


navigating world full of 
life toys, who never learned how 
to be halfway functional 

Sunday, September 6

SL1P SL1D1NG 4L0NG TH3 L0NG...


slip sliding along the long 
way around Easy Street’s flock 
of judgmental normalcy 

Saturday, September 5

Friday, September 4

Thursday, September 3

SONG OF THE DAY: Time (kudzu'd)


I formed a band with the bullfrogs down behind the house in the woods called Los Loungers. We’re an acapella doo-wop group that sings soul versions of old bluegrass ballads. I dream of singing bass, but let’s be real, singing with a pack of bullfrogs in the primordial wasteland of a small Blue Ridge creek running through an old industrial site… my bass ain’t got nothing on them boys! If I was in a purely human group, I’d probably be mid-range, baritone or something, but being it’s just bullfrogs and me (and a couple peepers when they ain’t fuckin’ off), I do tenor. We don’t have a lead singer, because we’re socialist doo-wop, and all of us have equal parts. I’ve been trying to find other humans to get involved, but honestly, I don’t like showing real live humans my secret magical spots. So I’ve been leaving offerings out to the spirits, and trying to go back there and sing with the bullfrogs at twilight, when the veil is thin and lightning bugs are making twinkle flickers. I’ve sensed some spirits coming closer, and the offerings tend to be gone, usually chicken leg quarters because I buy so many when they’re on markdown, I’ve got plenty to spare for the aether. But so far, no spirits have joined our little doo-wop group in the woods back by Ivy Creek. If you happen to be wandering through that area, to one of the swimming quarries, and you hear a ghostly “I’ll Fly Away”, don’t be afraid, that’s just me and the boys making some noise. Doo-wop is underrated though. I see it making a comeback one day once civilization decays a little more and we’re not so extremely online. It’s always been a top notch standing around a burn barrel musical genre.

JVST 4N0TH3R GL0R1F13D...


just another glorified 
jobber laying down when told, 
hoping not to upset marks 

Wednesday, September 2

SONG OF THE DAY: Sound System (kudzu'd)


Today, I was eating chick peas straight out the fuckin’ can, and all the cats were nervously circulating around where I was sitting because the can opening sounds made them think it was wet food time. The whole scene was kinda pitiful, them and me, and I don’t know, I’m just sharing it here so that is there is a heaven with a giant book of all our deeds to answer for in life, but they’ve made some sort of artificial intelligence integration into the book by now, I wanna make sure my data shows I readily admit my flaws. I know I ain’t perfect lol.

TH3 R04D G03S 0N F0R3V3R...


the road goes on forever 
and the party never ends... 
until life blows out a tire 

Tuesday, September 1

Monday, August 31

Sunday, August 30

4 WH1RL1G1G SVN D14L...


a whirligig sun dial 
sittin’ sideways, appalled walls 
was built all eight directions 

Saturday, August 29

Friday, August 28

TH3 D3V1L T34S3S VS W1TH...


the devil teases us with 
dreams lit with an unreal shine... 
my twinkle is stained by smoke 

Thursday, August 27

3NT4NGL3D 1N V4R10VS...


entangled in various 
madnesses, hoping to build 
beauty out of my damned mess 

Wednesday, August 26

TH3 R34P3R'S BL4D3 C0M3S F0R 4LL...


the reaper’s blade comes for all 
our throats one day... still gotta 
keep pecking for happiness 

Tuesday, August 25

Monday, August 24

SONG OF THE DAY: Diamonds & Pearls (kudzu'd)


I have a ghost in my house that either just loves music or used to be a DJ or some shit, and they (I don’t know the gender of ghosts) sing in this low pitch sweet melodious voice that sounds like an angel from a dragging record. And it used to be the ghost was outside my head when they were singing, but somehow, being a ethereal spirit, they seem to be partially inside my head when they sing now, but only when I’m in the house, like they’ve got a sound system (furthering my “they used to be a DJ” theory) and they wired my skull into the system, but when I’m not here, I’m not connected. This is probably more common than people realize, as the whole “ear worm” theory is akin to this, and I made that connection because I thought I had gotten the Grateful Dead’s “Loser” as an ear worm, where I was always singing it or hearing it my head. But then I realized it was the probably a DJ ghost who got it in my head, because they’re always singing, “I can tell the Queen of Diamonds by the way she shines.” It just plays in the house and my head all the time, throughout the day, and when they hit that warble singing they do, the way it bounces around the far corners of upstairs on the opposite side of the house while simultaneously playing inside my head, I don’t know man, it’s a type of stereophonic that we ain’t made audiophile equipment to replicate yet.

SVM4C B3RR13S V0LVNT33R...


sumac berries volunteer 
to watch over old hotel 
full of abandoned vagrants 

Sunday, August 23

SONG OF THE DAY: Sitting in the Park (kudzu'd)


One creepy thing (done by slow creep) that has happened over the course of the past decade, at an accelerated rate the past couple, is the loss of public spaces. At a federal level, this is done out of pure greed (exploitation of natural resources being considered more important than everyday motherfuckers enjoying collective space). And at the localized level, this is done as reactionary fear of homelessness, and rather than helping people that ain’t got houses have some houses, getting mad at them for not having houses and ending up somewhere out in the open, together, as the human has always tended to gather. Charlottesville, which I live near, is about to clear out a homeless encampment by Free Bridge because it got too out in the open with itself, rather than hiding in the margins. Local business owners complained, and like that federal level shit I mentioned before, the rights of dollar bills are always gonna trump the rights of human beings in what America has become (where it thinks somehow that a Creator of All Things in The Universe has specifically blown a kiss at us, which is some weird ass shit to believe when you consider the immensity of the Universe, and how long even the Earth has had people and governments and civilizations and how young the United States still is).
But I’m writing these thoughts on a Sunday afternoon (word to A Lighter Shade of Brown), and I ain’t trying to complain about *waves hands around at the current cultural vibes* All This. Let’s keep it positive, and practical. There’s still public spaces – parks that are local, state, federal, and even spaces that are abandoned by the industrially minded propped up by their dollar bill stacks, and all these spaces are perfect for occupying with lounge. To occupy with lounge is to take your asses there and be leisurely about it, rather than confrontational, where you’re cooking out or throwing horseshoes or walking on a walk path or practicing free throws on a basketball goal of various conditions. Get a pick-up game of soccer going, or really, cooking out is underrated as fuck. Cooking food in public, having sides spread out on picnic tables, folks gathering to eat and talk and enjoy some time out in the randomness of public… it instills good feelings in your soul. And in fact, I’d suggest maybe we need to be militantly leisurely, still keeping it non-confrontational (because the assholes who have poisoned everything with their Culture Wars love a confrontation), and just cook out all the fuckin’ time, everywhere. Old soul is great for the Bluetooth, but I ain’t gonna be mad at different choices, because a public gathering with food really puts a genre to the real test. Cumbia, reggaeton, classic country, old school… all that shit sounds GREAT in that type of environment. Pop country, viral rap, radio pop… all that type of stuff feels way out of place in an open and leisurely public space, because all those genres are manipulated and engineered and massagers of mental algorithms.
Damn, I got sidetracked complaining about the vast conspiracy of interwoven yakubian tricks again. Suffice it to say I suggest we all just go sit in the park, and try to get our Park Time data (which we’ll have to guesstimate since no data is captured) up to our Screen Time stats, and then beyond. I truly believe when we’re all sitting around at the park more than we’re sitting around on our phones, then everything will be better. Of course, you might be scrolling your phone at the park, so that Venn diagram starts to overlap, but still… build up the Park Time minutes, cut back on the Screen Time minutes, cause grills to make good smells floating through the air, and we all get to practice making large batches of our favorite sides more, too. Shit man, it’s win win win. And on top of all that, we’re all already gonna be in those spaces, so the assholes will think twice about kicking everybody out and privatizing it all into a metaphysical wood chipper that spits out dollar bills, but only for a small handful of greedy bastards. I bet them motherfuckers don’t even know how to grill up leg quarters on a firepit. Those useless fucks.

TH3 P30PL3'S DR34MS FLY1NG 4T...


the people’s dreams flying at 
half staff, in deference to 
the red and blue whitefaces 

Saturday, August 22

Friday, August 21

Thursday, August 20

SONG OF THE DAY: Evolution (kudzu'd)


I was walking yesterday in a place I barely knew by car, and hardly by foot at all, and it was hot enough that I was sweating from the inside out before I even hit the outside with 50 steps. There was plenty of human developed concrete gridlocks, but also still plenty of greenery to various stages of wilding out mixed in, and man them southern humidity cicadas were KICKING. That is a sound and a half right there, one that sampling and programmed beats according to time metrics just can’t really recreate well because it has that innate as fuck crescendo and descent back into momentary silence before popping back up little by little. I always wonder about the psychology of the different parts of the cicada chorus. Are there little bugs bound to start that chirp up early as fuck, and the ones who bring it back out of silence first? Why does it go down? What disruptors cause the collective volume to drop like that? I was thinking about all this as I walked through, when really I wanted to sit down there, in the shadiest but still too damn hot spot I could find, and just vibe out for three to four generations, and acquire more understanding of the how and why of cicada knowledge. I don’t speak their language so I assume it would take at least one generation just to begin comprehending their sounds at a basic elementary level. Then again, what the fuck do I know? I’m just a self-ordained primate polluted by egotism of false individuality.

F1ND1NG C0MF0RT 1N SH4D0WS...


finding comfort in shadows, 
letting disappearance hide 
my actual existence 

Wednesday, August 19

N4TVR4L B0RN L0S3RS KN0W...


natural born losers know 
how to bluff their way into 
those long dark nights of the soul 

Tuesday, August 18

SONG OF THE DAY: Riding High (kudzu'd)


This track was a Top Ten R&B track in 1978, and the title song off Faze-O’s debut album, and came to my consciousness because it was one of them old school funk songs that DJ Screw loved to throw on a grey tape from time to time. As the internet digitized all those old grey tapes, it got mistakenly labeled as Rick James, not Faze-O, so for years, when I bumped this on an old eyephone turned into retro eyepod due to it being obsolete as a smart phone already, the yakubian data contained therein always acted like it was Rick James playing this song. At some point somewhere over the past decade of my life, I came across a 45 copy of the Faze-O original, I grabbed the fuck out of it. A clean copy, too. Since then, Galaxy Sound issued an “edit” which is new-fangled talk for bootleg, and I got that too, but I still play the original whenever I’m doing a slowed down set of Screw’s favorite old funk jams, like this, “Don’t Stop the Music” by Yarborough & Peoples, “I’m Comin’ Out” by Diana Ross, and others I ain’t thinking about right now, I go with the old dusty original, always. I’m pretty old and dusty myself, and ain’t nobody making no edits of me. But this song is such a sweet banger of a track slowed down.
FYI, whenever I write about one of these 45s I’ve ripped, I find some old ass footage somewhere to make a video for the background, rather than using automated bullshit. This is just some old history cartoon I found on archive.org, and I always pink/purple neon out the color aesthetic, and throw that Southern Gothicc Futurism tag at the bottom. Layers upon layers of nonsense processes, that nobody ever sees or knows about, just like Screw slowing down his 4-track recordings into a Maxell dub deck. I love a good chaos agent of creative bullshit. And even in the age of artificial intelligence, us chaos agents will always keep riding on a higher vibration than the minimalist predictable output that comes out one of those things. To create fucked up shit is to be godly; to type prompts into a computer is to be a reactionary dullard. You might love how some of the shit you’re throwing at the wall is sticking, but you’re still just throwing shit at the wall.

4NG3LS W41T1NG F0R N0TH1NG...


angels waiting for nothing, 
banished to back streets while the 
devils click at abaci 

Monday, August 17

SONG OF THE DAY: Wild Style Theme Rap No. 1 (kudzu'd)


The power went out the other day, right at 5:30 or so, after a big thunderstorm blew through. As it got twilight, I laid on the screened in back porch bed and vibed to the quiet. No riding mowers buzzing around, no compounded hums from the electrical wires buzzing in all our homes and overhead… just a deep, chill, settled down quiet. The folks two doors down got a generator and generally they get it fired up, but for whatever reason, they hadn’t yet. And being all the shit in the fridge was gonna be okay for a little while, made me wish we had deep quiet like that every now and then. My house is never that quiet when power’s running to it.
Of course, by the next morning, them folks had their generator running, and so did someone else, and people had begun panicking to get back to normal. I liked it still (still). It was true wild. Often times, we as humans use “wild” to mean out of order, or lacking the expected order, so we assume that means chaotic and bad. But this wild was just a deeply peaceful silence. And other times, shit we call “wild” is just seeking joy or happiness or living human lives by a different set of inspirations and motivators than what is considered “normal”, which honestly ain’t even normal so much as what we’re collectively trained to think like. Wild style ain’t necessarily bad, or chaotic; it’s just different than the established order to things, and usually unwanted by those in control of the established order. But them power dudes got the vast system of glorified extension cords humming again, and I could quickly enough poison my wild stream of consciousness with trending algorithms and flat world realities again. I was wondering about how my stream of consciousness would flow in true wild, not tethered to or trained by all this bullshit my whole goddamn life.
I guess we’ll never know. Or we already do and don’t like the answer. Or aren’t allowed to accept it.

TRVTH SCR1BBL3D 3V3RYWH3R3...


truth scribbled everywhere, 
but people have forgotten 
how to read what’s obvious 

Saturday, August 15

M0ST M3N B3 F0RG3TT1NG TH3Y'R3...


most men be forgetting they’re 
primarily primates, with 
a lack of self-awareness 

Friday, August 14