SONG OF THE DAY: So Low (kudzu'd)

There's piles of railroad detritus here and there along the tracks. Nice little hills of clasps and spikes and plates, and sometimes you find a great big siding of ragged old ties stacked high, and replaced rail. One time last year, I strapped 38 miles of rail to the top of my Corolla, because I'm building a 1:1 scale replica of an old small town railroad depot in the woods behind my house. I got a big DILLWYN sign too, from when they replaced that the other year, and a friend hipped me to the old one being stashed behind a building before they threw it away. You'd be surprised how much old shit they just throw away. I hope to one day build a whole town, with like 5000 residents, and a small public liberal arts college, in the woods behind my house, all with recycled things found in the trash.

SONG OF THE DAY: I Get Lifted (kudzu'd)

I wanted to write about how much I love Latimore in general, and this song specifically, but then I let the video I made a month back play, from some old ass cartoon, and boy, this one is a banger. I hope somewhere on this expansive Earth, somebody just gets baked as shit and lets the dirtgod’s 45s on 33 channel shuffle on their screen, big and loud as possible. Because I try to be a big and loud as possible, but also small and unassuming. Within my sweetness is a touch of masculinity, and within my masculinity is a touch of sweetness. Like a yin yang, but with untended beard instead.

SONG OF THE DAY: Easy Evil (kudzu'd)

The reason I love slowing down music is because it can take something entirely familiar, and reshape it in your experience. We are three-dimensional creatures (don’t let the “time travel is possible” types try to fool you otherwise), and thus when our notion of those three dimensions is even slightly shifted, it refreshes our attention. Anyways, this is a pretty chill AM soft rock classic, which then becomes even more chill, although maybe ominous, when slowed down. I make all these videos, grabbing clips from the wayback archives of one sort or another, then slapping them together with my favorite slowed down colors, and putting the music over top. Because it technically violates the copyright of the music owner, I don’t get no yakubian youtube play credits – all rights reserved by whoever ripped off the musicians back in the day. But art is not about profit, unless you are a born asshole. Anyways, we live in a great time of easy evil, so I hope you are still fighting the good fight, on all fronts, and in all metaphysical planes. If you have powers beyond the three dimensions, I humbly request you ask the Universe to smile upon me. I know I will encounter a thousand robot skims, at the minimum, before even one set of real eyeballs reads this whole paragraph. And likely millions of web trawlers, scraping the net for data, before an actual bona fide beyond-the-earthly realm power type sees this. But I like to put it out there. I feel fairly blessed in life already, but Universal sunshine is not like abstract human wealth – you can’t hoard it and it doesn’t pile up and become a burden. It’ll be like an extra half ounce of sunshine on an already sunny day. Thank you for your attention to this matter.

SONG OF THE DAY: Los Borrachoes Son Uds. (kudzu'd)

I have a passport now, and really the only thing stopping me from going to Peru and scooping up the dopest cumbia 45s possible to come back and stunt on the haters with is the fact I can’t afford any of that at all. Not only is money the root of all evil, but it’s also the root of all “you ain’t doing that shit” as well. Oh well. I got plenty, so let’s cut it up, and turn the heat up to 63 because we’re feeling froggy, and dance with the cats until they are all freaked out and shit.

By the way, this video is of Diego Maradona, the true all-time greatest footballer ever. I'm very excited for the World Cup to not happen in the United States, even though we'll be denied the comedy of every host match being an away one, because unless the USA is playing like Thailand, it always has more folks supporting the visitors than the USMNT. The US will never be good at soccer, until we embrace socialism, and make reparations to the black and indigenous. Until then it will always be some "white dudes drinking IPAs" cosplay ass shit.

SONG OF THE DAY: I Don't Want to be a Freak (But I Can't Help Myself) (kudzu'd)

In all my slowing down 45s to 33 speed years, never have I come across a song I love as much as this one, that I had no knowledge of at all beforehand. This is a 45 that I’m up to 4 or 5 copies, of varying qualities, and honestly, I can never have too many. I stockpile Dynasty 45s like dry beans for the apocalypse. Anyways, I don’t have anything clever to say today, in fact, my brain has become quite foggy. It’s too cold, or I’m too old, or it’s a time of year that runs me down, or I don’t know. But I know the mantra of this song is still true, and one day this will be our national anthem, played at the wrong speed (which is the correct one), as we realize we don’t need a flag because we don’t have borders that aren’t already present in nature.

SONG OF THE DAY: More Bounce to The Ounce Part 1 (kudzu'd)

A friend was sharing videos from a Myanmar field sound system, and I'm always looking at the homemade futuristic hyper DJ set-ups from Africa. It's weird how we have access to all this shit as Americans, but nobody builds a fuckin' sound system like that. I guess it's because you spend all this money, and you're afraid of your abstract wealth getting stolen, so you lock it all up in your house, rather than have a mobile giant ass sound system. I think about this a lot with regards to Roger Troutman vocals, too, because everybody will think autotune or vocoder, but nah man, he had a talkbox rigged to a keyboard. I feel complicit in this because I google how to build shit sometimes, but like my dad's friend Tank used to say about auto repair manuals, "If you need a manual, then you don't know how to do it." You can't google how to build a mobile sound system out of scraps; you just have to know how to do it, by the life you've lived. We've lost so much with our cluttered blessings of Americanness.

SONG OF THE DAY: Super Freak (Part 1) (kudzu'd)

We seemed to have lost our cultural pride in freakiness. This bums me out, mostly because I’m freaky as hell. And also there’s a sort of collective performative quirkiness that’s don’t feel like authentic freakiness. Like, really weird appearing people who are basic and, to be honest, somewhat bland. The truly freaky have often looked normal enough, which is helpful, because you can’t be freaky in the weirdest places possible if somebody identifies you as “freaky looking” before you get there. Gotta have a little freak camouflage, to not call attention to yourself. Anyways, please feel free to be freakier, and take militant pride in your freakiness. Don’t let nobody tell you what you shouldn’t be doing. They don’t know you.

SONG OF THE DAY: Mundian To Bach Ke (kudzu'd)

I have compiled 99 Problems With Jay-Z (because I am a bitch), and one of them is the remix of this song which Jay-Z polluted with weak ass ad-libs and his lethargic “clever guy who had a stroke” lyricism. He was always a biter of styles, and then later a co-opter of flavors, which of course makes sense he would become a billionaire capitalist for exploiting the creative labor of others into his own impossibly vast abstract wealth. Please note, he did not become a billionaire for his own record sales, so don’t act like pointing out a wack ass throwback jam or two from your younger days is meritocratic proof of his billionairessness. If that was the case, Big Daddy Kane would be rich as Musk right now.
Anyways, with this song specifically, it’s good to have the 45 to play slow, because even crawling, this beat is bonkers. And Panjabi MC rides it appropriately, like on a barely holding together motorbike, pushing the limits of the throttle, but slowing down for dirt road curves, sliding into the next stretch… there is a psychology to this shit that Jay-Z missed entirely. He was just excited to stumble down the same beat and pretend he had something to do with it, like all fat pocketed empty soul successful capitalists. You know this motherfucker has a Basquiat painting nobody ever saw, and he bragged about it? Why would you brag about that shit? I hope the ghost of Rammellzee torments him every night in this sleep, and has him seeing the Shadow People hovering over his triple king bed.

SONG OF THE DAY: If You Wanna Get To Heaven (kudzu'd)

My wishes are to be cremated, and have my ashes stored in a Timberlands box which is accidentally donated to the thrift store, as has been the way of my people since the beginning of time.

TH3 P4TH W3 C0LL3CT1V3LY...

the path we collectively 
walk never ends with one; we 
build a future together 

0VR PR1M0RD14L D3S1R3...

our primordial desire 
to walk our way to better 
tomorrows cannot be damned 

TH3 D14SP0R4 0F H0P3...

the diaspora of hope 
sows itself in untended 
margins, for future harvest 

SONG OF THE DAY: Oye Como Va (kudzu'd)

We shall dance on the ashes of ICE to cumbia rebajadas. 

B0X1NG 0VRS3LV3S 1NT0 TH3...

boxing ourselves into the 
reality built around 
us does not lead to escape 

SONG OF THE DAY: El Brujo (kudzu'd)

Last year, I bought a few hundred machetes, in bulk, from a strange bearded man in a purple cape at a flea market somewhere between Huntington and Charleston, West Virginia. He also had milk crates full of Easyriders magazines for a dollar each, and these cool walking sticks with pool balls as the handle. The ol’ boy didn’t say he was a wizard outright, but he had that vibe. I picked out a few Easyriders, and wanted a walking stick, but couldn’t afford it after spending all my cash money on a PT Cruiser’s rear end amount of machetes. (You’d be surprised how many secret wizards drive PT Cruisers, which I never would’ve expected. But we all have to find ways to thrive in the world we’re condemned to, even wizards.) As I was waiting to talk to the guy, some other dude was low-balling him on one of the walking sticks, and he sort of was pissing me off vicariously. When he finally gave up and waddled off in his Trump hat, I told the ol’ dude, “That guy was kind of an asshole.” The old guy looked at me and said, “Yeah, I was gonna curse him, but let’s be honest… he’s already cursed, by his own thinking.”
This was how my Machetes For Poets program began, as I’d like to consider myself a budding wizard, though I know I’ve got a long ways to go. I’ve been working with familiars a lot lately, and realizing the limitations of even an awesome cat familiar, like I have with Ponyo, because cats only cover a certain amount of land. I definitely see the practical benefits in shapeshifters. Also, in working with familiars, I’ve really come to think less of dogs. They’re so ruled by their own biases and desires, and are useless to magic. Don’t get me wrong, they’re still great for just regular ol’ pet type shit, and having this goofy animal that is dependent on you in comedic ways (especially hounds). But this post is not about cultivating relationships with familiars, or even politics, but about my Machetes For Poets initiative to help me in my budding wizardry. I figure giving machetes to poets is symbolically great (“the pen is mightier than the sword, but I got both motherfucker!), and also cultivates linguistic familiars out there for me. Having hundreds of poets think of you in the positive context of, “Oh, he’s that weird old bearded poet freak who gave me a machete!” This is helping lay the groundwork for the type of life I want to be leading when I’m in my 140s (Earth years).

M4NVF4CTVR3D D1V1S10NS...

manufactured divisions 
easily poison weak brains, 
so seek out the true-hearted 

SONG OF THE DAY: Scorpio (kudzu'd)

As I’ve come to dabble in cartomancy, two of the closest people to me in my life are both 5 of Diamonds. It’s a Pisces and a Leo, so I wonder about the other 5 of Diamonds out there. Scorpio 5 of Diamonds would be born on November 2, but I can’t think of anybody with that birth date. Of course, since I quit Facebook, I don’t know nobody’s birthdays. Facebook was only good for two things – remembering people’s birthdays, and destroying western civilization via propagandizing people lacking in digital critical thinking skills. As society has gotten more destroyed, I worry less about remembering folks birthdays. But it’d be great to know if Scorpio 5 of Diamonds could also be part of my apocalypse team or not.

THE 4DM1N1STR4T1V3 W31GHT...

the administrative weight 
of repression moves slowly; 
collectively, we're nimble 

C0NTR0L 1S N3V3R M41NT41N3D...

control is never maintained 
around the clock, even in 
digital surveillance age 

F1LL1NG 4LL 4V41L4BL3...

filling all available 
cracks in our days' routines with 
a creative resistance 

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

This song goes out to all organic thomas crooks out there. Not the sports entertainment ones, but the real ones. Do it for my boy Larry King.

B3D4ZZL1NG 4 C4M0VFL4G3...

bedazzling a camouflage 
around ourselves to survive 
the onslaught of black and white 

S3RP3NTS, W1S3 1N D3C31TFVL...

serpents, wise in deceitful 
ways, tread upon us, slithering 
to top of pyramid scheme 

SONG OF THE DAY: We Funk The Best (kudzu'd)

Earlier today, I posted elsewhere in one of our social media silos, “You can’t spell fascism without AI.” My homie DJ Disco Cat replied with, “No AI slop for me please, I prefer my slop cosmic.” So this is your Friday reminder to get funky, however you can. Funk not only moves, it removes.

TH3 C1ND3RBL0CK L4BYR1NTH...

the cinderblock labyrinth 
we've built for ourselves to get 
lost within ain't made from stars 

SONG OF THE DAY: You Bring Out The Freak In Me (kudzu'd)

When you read the actual U.S. Declaration of Independence, it lists out 27 specific grievances the colonists had against the King of England at the time. Many of them outright describe things that the Trump regime is doing now. "He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harass our people, and eat out their substance." Obviously, the language is dated, but I'd say he's infracted well over half of these historical infractions that caused an American revolution. And yet, the last grievance was, "He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us," which sure, he's still in on this one. But that one goes on to say, "and has endeavored to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions," which sounds a good bit like something I'd expect J.D. Vance to be saying on a podcast tomorrow. All this is to say that yes, things are looking bleak. But I'd say the time of talking about what is isn't constitutional is probably over, because this system was flawed from the beginning. And obviously, we now have a menagerie of half-witted authoritarian wannabes trying to do it, in the most bumbling, shoot themselves in the foot way. We are actually lucky for that, because if a next time is allowed to happen (assuming we survive this time), that authoritarian wannabe may end up be far more intelligently evil. Nonetheless, it's time for a reboot, a new constitutional congress. I'd suggest we're fine with the geographical House of Representatives, but I'd switch the Senate into representation by wealth - divide the whole population up according to net wealth, split it into 100 equal groups, and each one gets one Senator. Imagine a chamber of Congress with economic representation, and how different things would be. Plus term limits, you can repeat one time as Representative, one time as Senator (except all the Senators would move to different groups due to being a Senator, and couldn't run again for like the bottom 80% of the economic strata), and one time as President. Also there should be three Vice Presidents, from the three most popular (vote getting) political parties. And anyone who identifies as an Indian savage should be able to fight the President, one on one, no weapons, naked, in Lafayette Park on Saturday afternoons. And if that savage can pin the President's shoulders to the dirt, for three strikes of the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court's gavel, then that savage becomes President, and the former President takes over the Vice President spot of his political party. The former Vice President is forced to fuck off forever. And that is the platform I am running for fake Congress on, in Old Virginia's 67th District. So be sure to write in "fuck all y'all!" this November! Because "y'all" means "all"!

B3L13F 0F 4RT1F1C14L...

belief of artificial 
delineations only 
confounds actual spirit 

M1CR0SC0P1C V1S10NS F41L...

microscopic visions fail 
to capture feral science 
of accidental "oh shit"s 

Monday Night Rumble of The Discourse - Winter 2026 - Week 1

Just wanted to give a head's up that last night, a project called Monday Night Rumble of The Discourse returned, for a new 7-week series. We've had a few seasons of these before, but the last one was in the Spring of 2024. This project takes place in an abandoned concrete factory at the edge of town near where I live, and 27 different characters from across the political spectrum come and fight each other, to control The Discourse. For the first 6 weeks, they battle to accumulate points, to be entered into the season finale in Week 7. So we should have one of these every Monday night for the next 6 weeks as well. This is one of the bizarre things supported by my Southern Gothicc Futurism Patreon.

0R4L 4RC 0F VN1V3RS3...

oral arc of universe 
follows the trickster's forked tongue, 
full of cunning linguistics 

M4NVF4CTVR1NG W1LD SP1R1TS...

manufacturing "wild" spirits 
through industrial process 
only drunkens basic norms 

W0RDS B3C0M3 0V3RWH3LM1NG...

words become overwhelming 
when the voices inside feel 
ignored by the outside world 

L3TT3RS M4N1PVL4T3D...

letters manipulated 
beyond their square foundation... 
fractal reflections of space 

SONG OF THE DAY: Waiting on the Sidelines (kudzu'd)

I hate American football's artificial intelligentsia of a game of slamming human heads together exploitatively to move a weird shaped ball forward or not. What started as an aberration of unassociated football, with a weird ball, that was simply 11 dudes on each side, has morphed into this weird phenomenon that has squads of like 50 or more to fill those eleven slots in increasingly specialized ways, with a support coaching staff of almost one person per player at times, where the top coaches in the staff have overvalued their own genius in figuring out deceptive ways to concuss the less fortunate. And then all the dudes on the TV screen talking about are wearing suits, as if going to a football game is something important like arguing a case before the Supreme Court or some shit. Nonetheless, as with all cultures, whether poisonous or not, I do enjoy certain fringe parts of this. And in the over-specialized era of postmodern American football, there is nothing I love more than the Long Snapper. This is a guy who has somehow figured out how to be good at chucking the football between his legs in a highly consistent manner, to hands awaiting 25 to 45 feet behind him, depending on the stupid "special teams" play involved. And in the NFL, most teams have one guy who is the designated long snapper, to where that's all that dude does, maybe a half dozen to two dozen (on busy days) times per game. And the NFL minimum salary for a guy with one year professional experience, is over a million dollars. So these dudes are just standing around, waiting on the sidelines, and might long snap a football around 250 times a year, which averages out to a rough minimum of $4000 a long snap. Even in a sport that is scientifically proven to diminish mental cognizance, at a position that mostly just dives forward and downward into the other dude's abdomen most of the time, that's a fairly good risk vs reward ratio in the last dying gasps of capitalism. And in this mundane dystopian state of affairs we're in now, who doesn't want a little chronic traumatic encephalopathy, to take the edge off things?

HVM4N L4NGV4G3 BV1LT W1TH ST1CKS...

human language built with sticks 
to give meaning to all of 
the unspeakable truths known 

SONG OF THE DAY: Super Duper Love - Part 1 (kudzu'd)

As an impracticing Greater Appalachian Unorthodox Priest of Southern Gothicc Futurism, I refuse to acknowledge the legitimacy of the Gregorian calendar, which has only been in full effect for less than half a millennium. Relatedly, its papal predecessor, the Julian calendar, was instituted by Julius Ceasar in 46 BC. But how did he know it was gonna be BC? It is still only December 19 in the Julian calendar, which is still used by many Orthodox churches, which is why them bearded ass dudes don’t have Christmas until later in January. Anyways, time isn’t real; I have a broken clock on my living room which says this – TIME ISN’T REAL – and it’s only wrong twice a day.
Nevertheless, this mark ass “new” year is still a great excuse to let love (thinking with the heart) rule your life a little more. There are those who would tell you this is weakness, because they think with their brain, which is so poisoned with misinformation that it behaves in predatory ways, even to ourselves. So I do suggest letting love from your heart, enter your mind. One of the basic tenets (or “dirtgod theory”) of Southern Gothicc Futurism is that our Mind is a studio wrestling ring where Heart, Brain, and Gut have a three-way melee for control of our being. Heart is ruled by Love, Gut is ruled by Ancient Knowledge Beyond Conscious Comprehension, and Brain is our Well of Consciousness, which is constantly polluted by the information our external census consumes. For me, I find it helpful to sneak into the ringside area regularly (five times a day, ideally), and when the referee is not looking, nail Brain with an unprotected steel chair shot to the head, to let Love have the advantage. In mark thinking, this is against the rules, and I am cheating against Brain (or Logic and Reason), but lolol have you looked at twitter lately? There is no way wielders of Logic and Reason are not the heels. And sometimes heels must be bashed in the head with a concussive chair shot, even if only metaphysically.
Anyways, if you celebrate the arbitrary prisons of calendar boxes, I hope you have a lovely new year, and may it never lose its zest, even when it becomes last year, replaced by the unsustainable newness our poison culture so desperately cultivates, to leave us all feeling lost.

0R0G3N0VS Z0N3S VPL1FT...

orogenous zones uplift 
the Earth closer to heaven; 
within this space, spirits sage