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.
Showing posts with label J.J. Krupert ipodz. Show all posts
Showing posts with label J.J. Krupert ipodz. Show all posts
NO SONNETS THIS MONTH MARCH ROARS WITH A FRESH BLOSSOM OF DIGITAL BOREDOMS PLZ ALLOW THE DIRTGOD RAVEN MACK TO SHARE POINTLESS MUSICAL OPINES INTO THIS EMPTY VOID OF INHUMANE CONNECTION WE CALL THE ENTER NET
[this is the introduction to the march jj krupert listing of songs I play a lot while driving back and forth to work or doing kettlebell swings in the back yard underneath the vast universe far too great
[pre-traditional traditions are probably going to be the way to go;
American history which our culture worships is
only small part of the history;
pre-Columbian studies available
in the woods everywhere]
Loosen shit, with resistance for minds like machines, intuition thick with (by science) unexplained inputs; science is a trick, as man intervenes in matters not his, it's justified by big-brained self-referential platitudes, good follows bad, over the edge of earth flattened by stripped minds inclined to engineer demise - complicated and mad confused as intelligence; simple mud refined into brick walls built as most civilized facade of progress and benevolence - I steal back breaks in mundane days to sit there scribbling down my odd internal banter on notecards, until time shakes me back into work routines, staring at flat screens... another year alive, wondering what it means.
[the month is gone but the heroic crown ain't done nor did I post up all 13 tracks; fuck borders, even self-made]
Keep middle fingers wiggling in ev’ry loose brick, sick to my gut intuition about living in western decline’s doomed shadows - let it fall quick; people that’s been through struggle are more forgiving, though many days feel like barely breathing; still strive to strike with spark to keep heart lit like solar facts; choking on Yakubian tricks but still alive so gots to create these illegitimate acts of anti-heroic artistic existence; trapped inside digital labyrinth of zeroes and ones but try to create ripples with persistence - marginalized outsiders long been my heroes, breaking down walls necessary, by any means; loosen shit, with resistance for minds like machines.
The easiest way to get free is to just git, always choose the margins - I don't even write real poetry or do real art, just simplified shit unrefined thus never "fine" nor found; but genteel shine is pyrite promise, I'd rather pirate away days looking lazy and out of place beyond good grace of inside system's so-called safe space; y'all give praise to a Freedom that's brand-name only, which shineface voting bases both right and left still slurping; I'd rather not become absorbed by or with facade of exceptional life realized (lies), steering wide of y'all's beaten path of devil math; it's dirtgod jihad, internal/external, freebird mystic skidding along outskirts, laughing with lunar tic.
Getting real freedom means letting go what you clutch, don't give a fuck about much too superficial, with the metaphysical try to stay in touch, man is judgemental but universe judicial; and quick to straighten shit out; underneath crows' prose beside James River flows I compose cryptic marks upon industrial carcasses where freight slows to stop, where dirtgod heart makes ripples and sparks which spiral wherever - no plan, just man compelled beyond control to explode with creation; despite power grid imposed, big bang's still upheld by getting live, cultivating constellation of self-science and arts to guide self through this shit - the easiest way to get free is to just git.
Returning to the mud, getting lost in the weeds; soy un payaso estupido por creer en la meritocracia; forced english feeds perpetuate clown thought - necesito leer mas Galeano, mas Vasconcelos, plantar pensamientos de raza cosmica en mi cabeza (y mi corazon), levantar filosofias de Sumak Kawsay; and then once payaso del diablo blanco conquest of false progress utopian thinking's been hacked with metaphysical machete, achieve blessed state of less stress, less mess, plus more natural fact simplicity as universal good life touch, getting real freedom means letting go what you clutch.
As possible, attempting to feel real world's touch, on this continent named America despite pre-Columbian presence lacking western clutch desperate for wealth; the Earth can always make right what's gone wrong, don't let fear entirely commandeer all probable futures - truly exceptional checks and balances super natural, austere to dominion-minded brain, forcing sectional thinking where holistic existed; Land of Free press release and advance publicity lacking in substance to back the hype; back to simple me, attempting to live more (less) simply as can be in overpolished world with myriad of greeds, returning to the mud, getting lost in the weeds.
[couldn't really find full version of Princess Nokia's "Excellent" song, which had me contemplating uploading it, but then I wondered if maybe she didn't cease & desist all the copies of it online because maybe she doesn't like it; why should I force it back into the internet if that's the case; also the only video that does show up is this one with her nieces, and knowing little girls with house full of daughters, I could imagine her nieces being like "what if we could be famous on youtube?" and then Nokia was like "okay, let's put this video of y'all up on youtube and I'll make it so that's the only version of the video that shows up" and then that's what happened and the views keep going up and those nieces are stoked; who am I to deny that either? so I'm just running with this video even though it doesn't fit my desires as a dumbass person with a website project about music every month, what the fuck do I matter?]
Because the gridlock's plots don't address my real needs, ambitions and accolades practiced from within, cheffin' in the kitchen, always cooking with weeds, calculate with intuition, guts without sin because that gut flora morality goes deep, goes ancient, goes excellent, goes ever-present; it's never pleasant to separate toxic seep into my conscience from poison culture; peasant beginnings within this pyramid scam, yet no doubt, still blessed with privilege at the same damn time; my future likely robotic, with pharma flow forced into bloodstream if I let them; dirtgod grime resists shineface power structures applied as much as possible, attempting to feel real world's touch.
[I'll be honest, what ppl try to convince me Sturgill Simpson is, I already got Malcolm Holcombe for, and Malcolm's not a cop]
Getting too easily lost in consciousness stream, struggling for space to breath easy but trapped in place that don't feel like home no more; fuck it, reframe dreams into singlewide, take pride in natural grimeface existence, never one to shine with perfection, I'm a lounge in progress (fuck work), stacking milk crates too high with piecemeal second-handed possession; once I got spot to spread raven wings without weights of what really ain't, my illegitimate art will grow like dandelion and kudzu vine, climb through the cracks in concrete, extending dirtgod heart into larger world more fully, like fool, full-time around-the-clock don't stop explosion of thought weeds, because the gridlock's plots don't address my real needs.
[DJ 1000 Featherz exclusive 45s on 33 jam! s4m st0n3 from the 7-inch collection in the white camper trailer, slowed down as far as wrong speed + 10% pitch modulation on USB turntable will allow; HOW LONG BEFORE I OPEN ONE OF THESE TABLES UP & MAKE THE THING SPIN SLOWER THRU INTERNAL SCIENTIFICS? (also, had to make my own video for this since it was a vinyl rip I did at abnormal but more appropriate speed... if you used to listen to Solaris Earth Pipeline perhaps you recognize this speed because it was used as "Trapped Inside Clouds")]
Raven Mack refraining from living life with fear, a voiding of addiction protocols, transplant poison ivy genetics into path more clear, not sure whether career or careen, and just can't seem to dream; there's a hole in daddy's life where all the money comes from, but gone before Monday's dawn; thankful the fog's lifted but struggle with this stall in direction lost when not reckless - broke ass spawn escaped hopeless perspective, but not enough stone in my life, too many abstractions just as bad as medicated blurs at making falseness known as truth; so I here I sit, stone cold sober dad struggling to do right while still holding onto dream, getting too easily lost in unconscious stream.
Biggie’s voice echoing with “it was all a dream...” Deck laying out "Earth no different from a cell..." Method Man explicating capitalized "C.R.E.A.M."... "it's like a jungle sometimes" booms gruff Melle Mel, "makes me wonder how I keep from going under"; grounded by my early boom baptism, pounding forties and blunts, 'til my upright was asunder, from '73 'til infinity, sounding furiously; "Signifying Rapper" Schoolly schooled young mack to other mythologies, moralizing me beyond white western propaganda well-hung but easily made impotent since disguising old masters' plans; small town mind gone by world premiere... Raven Mack refraining from living life with fear.
of course Your Ol’ Droog is the Big Lots Nas for
Williamsburg Brooklyn tinkersmith hackerspace *working* class types WITH
AUTHENTIC WORKING CLASS ROOTS LIKE A GRANDFATHER WHO OWNED A FARM to be cool
with. it pairs well with the Action Bronson Big Lots Ghostface model. [plz
note: I don’t diss either of these acts necessarily, as obviously I am
listening to Your Ol’ Droog if he shows up here, and it’s hard to really find
too much fault with Action Bronson because he seems to just genuinely be
enjoying himself, although then again I almost typed it as “AB” which could
mean Aryan Brotherhood too so mb this whole slew of clever sort of sounds like
rappers is a giant White Supremacist conspiracy to funnel hip hop into a darker
direction.] [obviously I just used “darker” in terms of psycho social
implications, not skin tone; plz update your stereotypical frame of references
accordingly]
Not sure how I feel about Vinnie Paz/Ill Bill heavy
metal themed rap project. Vinnie Paz always occupies this psychic territory for
me that I’m like really into it, but also highly skeptical at the same time. So
for now, I have been enjoying some of the Heavy Metal Kings library, because I
too am a hip hop head with dirtweed metalhead juvenile delinquency roots, but I
don’t know man, I just don’t know. I might disavow this shit at any point.
Still though, sick video. Any time King Diamond
and hip hop come together I will at least arbitrarily be like “oh okay cool.”
We got two cats a while back, one yellow from the shelter, as requested by my
fam, but I also got this little all black runt kitten because I was like “damn,
ain’t nobody gonna take that fucked up little runt ass black cat with the splotchy
hair and shit.” I wanted to name him King Diamond. This was nixed by my
household because I am the only former metalhead there. So instead I named him
Lounger, and as a kitten he slept on top of LPs in a crate and now he kills all
the fuckin’ mice, which is a benefit in an old farmhouse like the one we try to
call home. Anyways, he kills so much shit because he’s supposed to be named
King Diamond. Also he is a cat. Cats are murderous as fuck.
Back in the day, I didn’t get into Townes Van Zandt
a whole lot, because of the too hip know-it-all shineface types that was hyping
him to me through the smoke and blurs. Contrarianism will deny you some good
shit sometimes. Luckily for myself, I came around, and though shitty Townes Van
Zandt is really shitty (which is to be expected of artists steeped in addiction
tbh), the good TVZ is some of the most solid psychic shit. “Mr. Mudd and Mr.
Gold” for example has manifested in my life into an entire outlaw jack of
diamonds philosophy.
Wino I never didn’t get into but I did overlook
for a while, because his dirtweed metalhead stage of public greatness (albeit
along the margins… always choose marginalization as my man T-2 Billion said)
came later than my retirement from teen dirtweed metalhead and I had moved onto
whatever I was onto next in my stumbling path of personal growth from white
trash to dirtgod. But Wino has never not been great to some extent (despite
being steeped in addiction).
Many metalheads and punks when aging go the acoustic
route as an artistic contrarian act, and much of it is super-pretentious and
unnecessary. It’s basically “hahaha this guy used to scream about crazy shit
and now he’s singing softly about crazy shit, isn’t this great?” No, much of
the time it is not. In fact, this song is off an album of that type of shit by three dudes. The other two guys (don't even know who they are, some sort of punks or metalheads or some shit) are mostly throwaway tracks.
Such is not the case with Wino though. His
acoustic catalog now rivals his old shit in pure hugeness of amazement. So of
course if you throw a TVZ song into the Wino garble acoustic flim-flam process,
it’s likely to be great. Guess what? It is. Last I heard about Wino he got busted in Scandinavia for possession of crystal meth while on tour, which means he's still balancing the addict/artist process. That's a fine line to walk, and I don't condemn anyone for doing it because the world needs arts born from addictions to escape the horrible pain that is existence. That shit will eat you up (either the art side or addiction side) so metapsychic daps to Wino for having successfully navigated that madness for so long.
