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 Mexican wrestling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mexican wrestling. Show all posts

Monday, July 6

SONG OF THE DAY: El Diario de un Borracho


YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE TO TALK LOUDER
I AM WEARING NOTHING BUT MESH BOXER BRIEFS AND TRYING 
TO DO KETTLEBELL SWINGS IN MY BASEMENT APARTMENT 
LIVING ROOM WHILE WATCHING LUCHA LIBRE 
BUT BLASTING NORTEÑO MUSIC LOUD AS FUCK 
BECAUSE AMERICA HAS TOO MANY LAME ASS 
NEIGHBORS; I SHOULD BE BACK IN THE 
COUNTRY BUT NOBODY CAN AFFORD 
ANYTHING IN THIS PLACE AND
NOW NOBODY CAN LEAVE BECAUSE 
WE'VE FUCKED UP THE PANDEMIC BETTER THAN 
ANYBODY ELSE. AMERICAN EXCEPTIONALISM 
HAS LEFT US MORE DOOMED THAN EVER 
OH WELL, KEEP SWINGING THIS KETTLEBELL 
STUDYING THE TECHNIQUES OF FABY APACHE 
AND THE IMPECCABLE FASHION OF MAXIMO 
AND KEEP TRYING TO GET STRONGER 
AND STUPIDER AND GROW A LONGER BEARD 
AND AVOID DEATH FOR AT LEAST 
ANOTHER 69 HOURS 

Wednesday, May 11

"lucha libre" means "freestyle"; 
"dirtgod" means "god of dirt birth, 
worthless in pyramid eyes”

Friday, April 8

El Super Destructor stands
amidst flea market garbage
people, feeling sense of peace

Sunday, March 13

Friday, March 4

lucha mask made of millions
of miles of random cables
and wires wrapped around fat head

Thursday, January 8

TOP TEN PSYCHIC TV CHAMPIONS OF PARTS UNKNOWN

#1: The Grappler wrestles/with right-wrong each nightly fight/ - that’s whymasks are worn
#2: The Assassin knows/his purpose is cold-blooded/ - that’s why masks are worn
#3: The Destroyer hears/foreign curses constantly/ - that’s why masks are worn
#4: The Spoiler struggles/with not knowing how it ends/ - that’s why masks are worn
#5: El Santo protects/a million lost souls exposed/ - that’s why masks are worn
#6: Love Machine's heel heart/loves beyond statute's limit/ - that's why masks are worn
#7: The American/Dragon has much syllable/ - that’s why masks are worn
#8: The Masked Superstar/works intelligence’s marks/ - that’s why masks are worn
#9: Dr. Wagner Jr.'s/degree's in pain management/ - that's why masks are worn
#10: La Parka works for/pinches gringos pendejos/ - that’s why masks are worn

Tuesday, August 31

L.E.o.R. - Fall ’10 - 80 to 40 - 3 of 5

JIMMY VALIANT vs. OX BAKER
I am going to blaze through this group of eight match-ups, because I feel like blazing. This is a pair of wrestlers who were awesome when I was a kid. Jimmy Valiant was the greatest wrestler ever because he looked and talked and acted like one of the dudes that would be getting drunk and stoned with my dad, playing poker on Friday and Saturday nights. Ox Baker was the biggest, scariest dude ever.
As it stands, Jimmy Valiant is still a crazy dude, has a wrestling school in southwest Virginia, and drives weird bengali striped stationwagons, plus still rocks long hair, plus has ridiculous tattoos like pink roses in his ear and "COME TO PAPA" on his belly. Shit man, there's too many pluses to even list. For most of my life, if you could pick a famous person to be your fake dad, Jimmy Valiant would be my choice.
Advantage: Jimmy Valiant.
JOHN WATERS vs. ROBERT CRUMB
A pair of artistic freaky-dekes. I do not like John Waters' movies too much, because they are either shocking just to be shocking, or slightly pretentious. But I have never really seen anything John Waters has cosigned that hasn't been at least worth my while. Robert Crumb is a perverted old comic strip maker, born from the '60s, but pretty up-to-date with modern fetishes throughout his time putting ink to paper. If I was picking a guy to lead a tour of retarded shit scattered throughout a strange city on a bus tour, it'd be Waters. But if I was going to pick a guy to kick it in the minds of my teenage Rojonekku trainees for the rest of their lives, I'd want Robert Crumb's thumbprint in there.
Advantage: Robert Crumb.
AFRIKA BAMBAATAA vs. KOOL DJ HERC
Two of the three founding fathers Fly Trinity of hip hop (along with Grandmaster Flash), yet two very different dudes. Kool DJ Herc was a guy that liked it loud, carrying a big ass Jamaican-inspired sound system in his late model convertible to blast cats with back in the early days. He was a party rocker. Meanwhile, Afrika Bambaataa was on some other shit, somehow morphing from gang leader back when NYC still had old school The Warriors-style gangs into a space commander making strange danceable cybertronic musics from the future. And really for me, it all boils down to the fact that Herc, though a pioneer, lacks the post-pioneer days resume of retarded shit that Bambaataa has, starting the Zulu Nation (of which you can fill out an application form online, though their website is like a geocities website or some shit), and leading the charge to turn the housing projects he lived in and used to rock jams in the basement of into a historic marker and a sort of temple to hip hop, although most likely it will be torn down and turned into a condominium like the rest of New York City.
Advantage: Afrika Bambaataa.
BILL MURRAY vs. ROBERT DUVAL
A pair of actors, neither of which I imagine will make it even close to the Final 5. Bill Murray has always been one funny motherfucker, and still regularly does wacky shit like get DUIs while driving a golf cart. Robert Duval is a great actor, but more of a serious business actor. Plus, I'm watching Lonesome Dove the last couple nights, and the special effects on that thing are so goddamned stupid looking, it's actually leaving a bad taste in my mouth for all the actors involved, regardless of how good they are. Also, so far as I know, Duval never did a movie with Rodney Dangerfield.
Advantage: Bill Murray.
DAVID MANN vs. SONNY BARGER
This is a battle between American outlaw biker influences. David Mann is the artist who drew all the crazy white trash centerfolds that were in Easyriders magazine throughout the '70s and '80s. Sonny Barger was President of the Hell's Angels. Having had an uncle who rode in the Pagans back in the day, plus all the crazy fuckers my old man knew, who would actually have Easyriders laying around for me to just thumb through when no one was looking, biker shit is a small thread in the bizarre fabric of my life. I actually remember seeing David Mann centerfolds stapled to walls back in the day. And the drawings are so goofy, like it raining on a biker dude and his old lady taking off for the road to catch a ride with a trucker, or a giant close-up of a pair of freaked out eyeballs in a sideview mirror with four burly motorcycle dudes riding up behind him. Quality art.
Meanwhile Sonny Barger took outlaw biker and made it sort of corporate, although still criminal. And as much as I enjoy the whole sub-culture of proud dirtbags on motorcycles, I am more for the shitty yet wonderful art that would come from such a sub-culture than the intellectual property ownership or whatever stupid shit has happened ever since the Hells Angels trademarked and copyrighted all their shit. That does not mean I want you guys to fuck me up though, because I know there's crazy biker shit going on in Virginia right now. My uncle was called Littlejohn. I also spent a week in the hospital with a dude named Smurf who knows you guys too. We both got our faces caved in at the same time fifteen years ago or so, mine by a concrete stairwell after a gallon of wine, his by a 2x4 after a riverside bonfire party fight.
Advantage: David Mann.
ATSUSHI ONITA vs. EL HIJO DEL SANTO
More wrestling bullshit, but of an international variety. Atsushi Onita is a Japanese hardcore legend who got blowed up, wrapped in barbed wire, and generally mangled for years, and long before anybody else did it to quite the extent he did it. Also he became a successful politician in Japan, and wrestled in Afghanistan after 9/11, for the children. He truly is an amazing human being.
El Hijo Del Santo is the offspring of the most famous Mexican wrestler ever, and has carried that tradition on almost exactly, except just not quite so much. I don't think 100,000 people will line the streets of Mexico City when he dies like they did his father. Yet lucha libre is one of the most bizarre and wonderful sub-cultures on this blessed Earth. Still though, El Hijo Del Santo never got elected to Mexican Congress.
Advantage: Atsushi Onita.
COLONEL BO GRITZ vs. TED KACZYNSKI
Ahh, yes, a pair of anti-American influences, from the right and left wings. Colonel Bo Gritz was involved in trying to go back to Vietnam and recover POWs, and it is said the character of Hannibal on the A-Team was based on him (although he sold the rights to his life story to William Shatner back in the '80s). He was the go-to man when it was negotiation time with Randy Weaver or the Montana Freemen, and I think he ran for President a couple of times. He was connected to Ross Perot somehow. And the best thing is he was never even an actual colonel.
Ted Kaczynski is the infamous Unabomber, a super smart Ivy League genius who wanted to disappear into the wilds of Montana to live a simple and unseen life. But motherfuckers had to go and start building shit into the wilderness, and just generally wreak their "let's make order out of all the chaos with our dominion over the earth" bullshit on everything. We destroy everything. So he started mailing bombs to select motherfuckers.
Now I do not endorse killing motherfuckers, not at all, but I do endorse abandoning society completely and getting pissed at them if they won't let you alone and growing your beard long and hair shaggy and writing long-winded explanations about everything that's happened to have ready once the authorities finally close in on you.
Advantage: Ted Kaczynski.
BILLY JOE SHAVER vs. WILLIE NELSON
In the process of filling out the field of 80, just like with March Madness, there's going to be some mismatches in the beginning. Billy Joe Shaver is a crazy fucker, and an outlaw country original, and shot his wife like so many country people dream about doing. But he is not Willie Nelson.
Advantage: Willie Nelson.

Friday, June 18

m a s k a


yesterday's glitter, faded
and molded and forgotten;
datsun rusting back to earth

Wednesday, April 28

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - April '10 #6: "Be Forewarned" by Pentagram


Look, I can't speak enough upon this song, or this group. Basically, if Jesco White of The Dancin' Outlaw and the kids from the Heavy Metal Parking Lot documentary had children together (oddly enough, first time I saw both of those was on a mixtape 8 hour VHS from my man Tony Erba in Ohio, which also included Wham! Bam! Thank You Spaceman!, which I'd love to get on copy again) and they grew up to make the musics. Pentagram is a retarded ass metal band from northern Virginia's 1970s that I never heard of at all until I went to North Carolina and crashed out at my boy Boomer's house after watching authentic lucha libre wrestling where the Mexicans all did the Battlestar Galactica evil robot thing with their arms during their national anthem, even though not in their actual nation. Boomer was pimping some good records, and he played the first Pentagram, describing it as "the American Black Sabbath, just nobody knew about them" and that makes sense enough, though doesn't really explain it either.
And at that time, even knowing dork white people who collect records with strange stories galore, nobody knew about Pentagram. Yet somehow about two months ago they surface within my own personal commonly travelled internet pathways, in multiple places, and I found this odd. It either has to do with some super secret dork internet hipster place that hyped them up that I don't know about, or they have a re-release coming out that sent press releases to popular dork music blogs. Either way, dorkery was going on, so I feel slightly stupid for adding to this egghead meme effect with a write-up on one song by these dudes, but here I am. I have no shame, plus not much else to do to release the stress. I don't get to reform my old ancient metal band and pass out from painkillers and vodka shots on the stage. I sit around at my kitchen table and try to peck at a keyboard to move away the kidney stones of daily life that clog my goddamned heart.
If I were to choose one song on this Earth to be my constantly played theme song as I drove awkwardly in a co-opted vehicle along gravel roads to go fight some dude who had more tattoos and muscles but less crazy than me because he put his alpha male member into my female compatriot, this would probably be the song right now. I would play it loud and slide across the gravel curves and get to his place of sleeping, anxiously, but then sit there on the front porch, quietly drinking his beer, until he finally came out, and then we'd talk about how we were gonna fight, and he might beat me and I might beat him, but either way I was gonna stab him with something, because it's hard not to stab something after listening to this song a whole bunch of times in a row.
STEAL "Be Forewarned"
NEXT UP
: Hipster dooferism, but I ain't ashamed!

Wednesday, April 21

(7s) LPs I Be Lusting After #6 - Pentagram by Pentagram


Pentagram is a weird ass 1970s/1980s metal band from northern Virginia led by some wack ass dude who still looks like it's 1979 to this day, and over time they have become a cult figure within the metal community, for being an obscure American Black Sabbath on drugs. Their first album was re-released under the title Relentless, but I do not want any re-released bullshit. I want the original flavors, in all it's unmastered gloriousness.
First time I heard this was after going to North Carolina to see a bonafide authentic Mexican lucha libre show, where they did the Mexican national anthem and all the illegal immigrants in attendance did that weird Battlestar Galactica arm across their body thing that made me realize we are doomed in our fight against the Mexicans, and I ended up crashing at my boy Boomer's house. He was playing the first Pentagram LP, the first time I had been turned onto them.
They are awesome as fuck. If you don't know that, that's fine. I understand. This is the internet, which is for entertainment not learning, so you can learn about them whenever you feel the time. Personally, it is fucking hot in this house and I am not going to put the air conditioners in until my wife absolutely makes me because the freon weakens your will, and when combined with the cellular phone waves in the air and the fluoride in our toothpaste, it makes me die. So I am going outside to pump some Pentagram through the dumpster 1970s speaker sitting on a milk crate with a tarp over top in my back yard, coming from the camper, and jam the fuck out. “Some say I’m an advocate of lucifer... some say I’m a child of god.” No fucking doubt, bro, no fucking doubt.