rather than admit failure,

we keep repainting the rust,

thinking rot gives character

metallic rust refreshed

with blast of stenciled spray paint

plus king-sized sharpie outline

viking longship hovercrafts

smash into gentrified blocks

with Odin’s arsonist touch

stencil and sharpie my war

flag wherever shinefaces ain't

shining security lights

viking spirit warrior parts

unknown shadow navigate

with activated essence

viking jihad monuments

stab up into chemtrail skies,

channeling intuition

thought and memory perched on

each of Odin's shoulders, but

without that good/bad bullshit

tragic magical forest

blackjack, holding suicide

king, hoping for ace of spades

TOP TEN KVLT SPLLZ CAST HALF-EPIC

#1: eCoLoGiCaL/BLaCK MeTaL TRaNSCeNDeNTaL/RoMaNTiCiSM
#2: DeeP WooDS eCSTaSY/oF aNCieNT SPiRiT DiSTiLLeD/THRu oMiNouS RiFFS
#3: CiViLiZeD PRiSoNS/BuiLT BY BoTH RiGHT-HaND CHuRCH &/LeFT-HaND NaTioN-STaTe
#4: BLaCKeST DaRKNeSSeS/uNDeR-eXPLoReD DeeP WiTHiN/HuMaN SouL’S WaSTeLaND
#5: WiTHiN DeeP DaRKNeSS/iS HuMBLe aCCePTaNCe oF/MaN’S PLaCe iN NaTuRe
#6: PoST-MoDeRN SaGaS/STiLL To Be WRiTTeN iN iNK/MaDe FRoM BLooD & aSH
#7: CoNSTRuCT PoeTiC/eDiFiCe iN WoRLD LaCKiNG/NaTuRaL LaNGuaGe
#8: BeRSeRKeR BLooDLiNeS/eMBeDDeD iN DNa/oF eLDeR oaK RooTS
#9: LeaVe aLL SHiT aLoNe/iNCLuDiNG Me - LeT THiNGS Be/aS THeY’D FuCKiNG Be
#10: BeTWeeN BuSHeS We/STaReD aT THoSe ReMiNDiNG uS/oF aNoTHeR aGe

January II

I have been publishing short novels, about one a week lately, inside the deep web, but also in pastebin pages, so you can find them by google searching "pastebin" plus "NDAA" because I did a text replace search and change the name of the main female character in each novel to NDAA, which stands for Never Demean Asstastic Angels, because it's important to me that we never demean asstastic angels. They are blessing, from god or science or some shit. Also, one of the better novels in this series, that NDAA lead has a daughter named Peach who is sort of a Down's syndrome angel herself, but also what would traditionally be considered a halfwit by our prejudiced standards of so-called civilization. But her mom, NDAA, feeds her square cereal, which is like those cinnamon grahams or whatever, but Peach calls them "square cereal" and hates them because she hates breakfast, just on general principle. So NDAA tells Peach she is the president of a square cereal secret society, to try and get her to eat breakfast. Except Peach still doesn't. Instead, she hangs out on the front porch and every time a car randomly passes their rural abode, she yells out at the top of her lungs, "I'M PEACH, THE PRESIDENT! I'M PEACH, THE PRESIDENT!"

Also I started working a comedy novel where a family of four cousins from southern West Virginia win the lottery, and rent an RV from Cruise America, and go on a cross-country travel spree where they kidnap various rural crime noir writers and force them to work mundane jobs, fall in love with loveless women, have doomed children, and experience the beautiful wonders of a life without hope. And then they have a time machine so after they make the writers experience all of that, they throw them in the time machine (American made, naturally) and go back to the first time they kidnapped them and instead torture and kill them, but with the added benefit of the writer having the full brain of memories related to actually being forced to live that type of life they glorify.

But mostly I am working on a collection of sonnets called Viking Underclass Conjures Valhalla in an Earth Gone Dark. It is post-apocalyptic, racially charged, has pornographic scenes galore, and the main character is based on what I'd like to be in life, namely a naked hillbilly viking warrior hiding in anarchic mountains who fucks a lot but also sneaks into cities to tear shit up, all in the name of building a more better world. Each sonnet is normal 14-lines, four rhyming quatrains with the rhyming couplet exclamation, and Alexandrine in nature each line, because seriously, fuck an iambic pentameter. Also each person/relationship is a crown of sonnets, where there are 14 basic sonnets whose last lines compose the crowning 15th sonnet. But there are also 14 different people/relationships that tell the story, so each of those crowning sonnets compose a final crowning crown sonnet at the end, which when I'm finished, will be tattooed on my right foot. At that point, I will add a new inside joke to my arsenal of inside jokes, where when I am barefoot at summer gatherings, I'll say, "Can I kick it?" in reference to the old Tribe Called Quest jam, but then I'll point at the sonnet on my foot and explain what it signifies and what a large undertaking writing a sonnet collection that really was and how taking on such a complicated form poetry project in such a free-form brainfucked era is a shining example that yes, I truly can kick it.

Monday morning coming down

I shall never come unhinged, too viking for these bitches

sun shines down on my grimy soul, cleanfaces can't see me

WEEKLY FRYBREAD: shifting forward

I’ve felt a very profound energetic shift in the past week, and it all came about because of the internet, and sitting outside in a chair under the cedar poles of what used to be a tipi in our yard but is now a dilapidated mess, although perfect. I had already last week came to the understanding of our financial system, and my financially dilapidated mess, that it’s not so much a process for personal success anymore that our grandparents and even probably parents experienced. That system’s bounty has been taxed, and you are usually born into opportunities, or there are chances if you are exploitable at a high enough level that you can still find a lucky opportunity now and then, what I call lottotunities, because they have more to do with accidental chance encounters than they do actual merit. We do not live in a merit-based society in America, where you can go out and do a great job and impress your superiors and pay your dues and work your way up the ladder, starting out in the mailroom, ending up owning a string of Midwestern radio stations or some shit. Our financial system has been re-engineered pretty massively in the past thirty years so that those types of things just truly aren’t possible, at least not to the extent you can be rolling around with fat sacks with $ signs on it looking like the little Monopoly dude. Doesn’t happen, and is not going to happen again, at least not in America. That may sound like horrible doomsday gibberish, but honestly it makes more hopeful than I’ve been most of my adult life.
As I sat outside, I realized how much cleaner my head felt, away from the bzzzzzz of the household gadgetry army. That shit can have a pulling effect on you, and I’m not willing to jump out on the conspiratorial ledge and proclaim it’s an engineered effort to keep the masses sedated electronically, a moping idiotic mass of humanity just doing shit other than creating real self-sustaining lives for themselves, because to be honest I don’t think the immense bureaucracy is that smart. I know it’s that evil, for sure, but I think giving them the benefit of doing something so amazingly complex is probably not gonna be true.
American culture can seem like this larger than life presence, and we all get caught up in it in our various fringe elements of idol worship. It’s nearly impossible not to. But American culture, and that huge overwhelming bzzzzzz of the gadgetry army, it’s not the Universal Goliath it would have you believe. It’s got the limelights pointed in the right direction to cast the largest shadow a man ever did saw, but it’s stage trickery. The separation between you and me and the wealthiest and most powerful, the smartest and most entertaining, it is not that large. Which might make you think, “Well, then anybody can achieve success if that’s the case. You’re going in two directions here, Raven.”
Not really, because the powerful – whether in today’s America or late ‘80s Communist-bloc Europe or ancient Mesopotamia or Rome or the communal collective in Nelson County or any fucking thing any fucking where – work to maintain their power, using the systems they’ve set up to do so. That’s why any revolution is ultimately just going to repeat the process. There was nothing wrong with Communism or representative democracy or free market capitalism or even polyamorous cannibal societies as a concept. All concepts of how we should live are born from utopian daydreams. But once the mechanisms for building and ensuring and enforcing these daydreams get set up, it will invariably go to shit, sooner or later.
So that’s where we are in America – basically in our late ‘80s Communist era, proudly hanging our hat on our history, pretending the inevitable fall is not going to happen, clutching at the security blanket of our cultural conditioning.
It’s that last part that really triggered a shift in me though – being limited by our cultural conditioning. I have realized the biggest obstacle I have is my own convoluted notions about what is or isn’t acceptable. I am limited most by my own fears basically, whether that be fear of government or fear of failure or fear of anonymous motherfuckers on the internet catching lolols off me. I also realized I could give half a fuck about the job I have and worked so hard to keep in the past nine months, so could easily hold down those duties while being like, “whatever” about it. I do not have to accept it as any real form of existence for me, as I only do it to make money, which itself is an abstract concept (as a google search for “The Shoebox Swindle” will show you), so why stress my fucking life out over that? Why feel guilty for the debts I’ve incurred while being constantly onslaughted with images of what I deserve, triggering neurochemical responses, and then being told I am psychologically weak after my credit limit has been exhausted and I am of no use to the pimps any more? But most importantly, why limit myself to conventional thinking?
So what I did was change my resume from what it reads for the fake world of jobs, that doesn’t feel like any reality I’d like to attach my living to (which is an important concept too, because we always say “it’s a living” when really it’s not life at all, but what we do to earn money which we think mistakenly think enables our life; sure it makes shit easier when you have it, because those financial shackles are loosened up enough you don’t feel yourself choking, but they’re still there), and rewrote it for the reality of what I’ve done in my life. This was The Confederate Mack years, the switch to Rojonekku philosophy, which is currently expanding into this next phase I am embarking on in the coming months. I peppered this resume with employed moments, working as a housepainter, in a charcoal factory, print shops, trade show exhibits, giving lab rats brain damage, and so on and so forth. All of that is the crockpot my life has fermented upon. And then I started sending it out to absolutely ridiculously impossible, by conventional notions, places. I had an interesting back-and-forth with a person who was the managing editor of Rolling Stone up until three weeks ago when she herself was laid off, and got a follow up from a potential financial enabler of the future from a different country, and this is all in the matter of three days. The shit has been pushed out there wider. Who does it hurt? Nobody. I mean if all our fears about the way the system actually works are true, then I’ll be punished for my unprofessionalism by not taking everything entirely too seriously, and I’ll never have a meaningful job again in my life. But guess what? I’ve never had a meaningful job THUS FAR in my life.
But also, in my mind, I’ve drastically upped my lottotunity odds, simply by not giving a fuck. I don’t give a fuck. If I don’t ever do anything enjoyable for a paycheck and work shitty jobs til death, so be it. I’ll still be writing my nonsense gibberish (which is not nonsense gibberish at all, but highly sensical and more a speaking in slanged tongues that devils cannot understand than actual gibberish). And if the crushing vultures of capital come calling in my debts and make my financial situation miserable (which they are circling fairly close, to be honest), so be it. They will not have my life. My wife and our children and our Bird Tribe may be broke, but we will not be broken.
So that’s where we are, as Americans, and me as Raven. Last week there was a comment saying they didn’t realize my situation had been so bad, which made me feel weird, because nothing feels bad. I feel better than ever right now. The past two years have been odd, and a real test, but my Viking is strong and my Chi is thick, so it ain’t shit but a test. And yeah, I’ve got a pretty ugly looming guillotine blade on my finances in the next few weeks, but I’d feel like a dick if I was all, “Hey, give me money, my situation is so bad.” (There is a paypal button on the sidebar if you feel so inclined, and I will be grateful, but my dedication to writing for free on the blog is going to be limited to these Weekly Frybread things for the most part, so don’t be expecting much other than what’s already here as some form of return on your payment if you are hung up in the thinking of capitalism.) I’ve got a solid family core, and I’m a solid mind, and I ain’t gonna be no beast’s bitch.
That’s where a lot of The Fear comes from, people thinking government is so powerful that we are all doomed, and that’s The Fear that motivates so many of you to think you are being clever by falling into the fallacy of “This guy is the lesser of two evils, therefore he is good.” I’m not doing that. In fact, 2012 will be the first year since I turned 18 that I will not vote. I’ve always done so even in my most cynical states, because I felt it made some sort of statement. Now I am old enough, and realistically hopeful enough, that I don’t need to play pretend any more. But if you think that government, even with its surveillance drones and constant police state, is an unbeatable overlord, well, again you are giving them to much credit. I mean, you may not beat them in a revolutionary sense, like overthrowing the government. But the beast is a large, slow-moving behemoth, and there are always dark corners you can build your lives, circumventing his stifling mandates as much as you allow yourself. And really, why limit yourself to America? Ideally, I’d like to relocate my family to another country in the next decade, because I refuse to believe this is the only way, much less the best way. I have no solid ideas where, or how, but I’m not telling myself, “Thank God for the fence around me, because this is the best pasture to possibly be confined in that ever did exist! Glory Lord!”
I’ve dabbled a little in the past month in the deep web, or underground internet, which – as a bold warning – is a dark, dark place. It is like the cybertronic version of that end of major cities that hasn’t seen development in forever and is where the murders happen and you can buy heroin in the open in the daylight. Because basically, in the underground internet, you can literally order murders and buy heroin. (Thus, I’d advise you to look into it thoroughly before even attempting: start with “tor browser” but be careful, because you can’t unsee things you see, even online.) And I am only peripherally interested in the deep web, not actually looking to obtain any illicit services; but it makes me happy that it exists, free from government oversight, and in outright defiance of the burdensome beast’s indignant mandates.
So shit is good. I am working diligently on the football preview, which should be ready for e-purchase the first week of August or so, called FOOTBALL METAPHYSICS FOR THE ENLIGHTENED DEGENERATE aka The 2012 Armchair Linebacker Preview. And I would expect not too long after that will be this treatise I’ve been working on about lessons taken from everyday occurrences. I’ve got this tree on the University of Virginia campus where there’s this bench I sit at a few times a week while on break, and the red-breasted robins have been talking at me. I don’t know what the fuck they’re saying, but seriously, they have landed within four feet of me twice this week and tweeted their nonsense gibberish (HA!) at me. Plus, there’s been blue jay feathers left for me there twice as well.
And the first volume of The Confederate Mack Collection should come about hopefully in September. That’s potentially going to be multiple books, as good lord I must’ve wrote three billion words in that zine, and a lot of it still knows what the fuck is up. That will unfold as I start typesetting it all after the Football Metaphysics is all done.
The main thing is things are good. Sure, these are crazy times, and it’s easy to freak out, but I can’t tell you enough how excited we should all be about the possibilities that are right here on the horizon. The greatest thing about some broken down piece of shit car you keep barely putting back together finally dying on you is you are forced to get a new car, and start fresh. That’s what’s on the horizon for us culturally. This broke ass shit is coming apart, and it’s absolutely wonderful. And that makes me good, regardless of financial bullshit in my personal life. I mean seriously, I am the son of a pair of teenage dropouts, born into the hunger and madness, and started self-medicating to a serious extent at age 13. There’s only been about 20 months of my entire fucking life where I’ve been a full-grown adult who is not making a dullard of himself with the Beast’s alcohol. And my Viking and my Chi has never been stronger. Great shit is about to happen, for me and for all of us.
Which brings me to my final point – sure, this website has my name on the fucking thing, but I get a lot from the interaction with you all. I feel my ultimate purpose is to be more of a conduit for movement – not a movement but just movement, or change, or fucking shit up or Unfucking The World, or really whatever. So comment on things here, even if it’s just one of the song of the day posts. Get with me on Twitter (@SSVa_Raven) or the Rojonekku Facebook page. Email me if you want, send me postcards to my PO Box in the sidebar, do whatever, but let’s join up, let’s bounce our madnesses and hungers off of each other. Let’s build real fucking lives and stop choking ourselves trying to make a living. And let’s not be too serious about it because ultimately, all serious shit does is make you cry. I’d rather laugh.
(Also, my resume is available for all interest parties. Ideal job situations would be writing epic poetry for crime lords, or being flown to different parts of Africa to write sociological gonzo pieces about the coming century of climate chaos, or if you are hung up on things remaining the same even though they won’t, you couldn’t find a better person to pen meandering yet entertaining “nonsensical gibberish” about World Cup 2014, if we ever get there.)

J.J. Krupert July '12 #10: "Ain't No Shame in My Game" by Rebirth Brass Band

finding shame in pleasures your senses want to take

!∞--☈℧⌡℧∏∑Ж☋--∞¡

J.J. Krupert July '12 #11: "The Joker" by The Steve Miller Band

expecting spirit jesters to gesture somehow

!∞--☈℧⌡℧∏∑Ж☋--∞¡

Huginn & Muninn

So my absence has been part personal turmoil as I started having anxiety attacks do to the prolonged hostile work environment created by my boss, who also is my bro-in-law, and I didn't have much creative energy. But it's also just as much because whatever create energy I have is being channeled into a short story collection to hopefully be published in the next year or so. I hope that all of you who have regularly and religiously read this blog will also cop the book when it becomes available, because I am supposed to do this shit - I've seen it etched in quartz in future travels.
The work thing has been weird because I've never had anxiety attacks before, and don't much like them. I've willed them away for the most part, being well-schooled in breath meditations and removing myself mentally from physical situations - part of the benefits of a wild-assed upbringing I guess. I can compartmentalize well.
Strange thing is I had this dream last night - first dream I can remember in forever, as usually I dream words so when I dream images it is very vivid to me. This was that. I was looking through a window and this huge ass cobra was coming, like 20 feet long, right outside the window and poking at the pane with his head. Then these two huge twin ravens, like four feet tall when they landed on the ground and almost walking like bow-legged people, came swooping in and just attacked the cobra, trying to kill it and carry it off. One got it in its mouth and started leaving, then the snake, who was resisting with complete jiggly snake resistance, fell back down, like ten feet further away from the window. But the other giant raven was right there and swooped in and snatched him again and started dragging him off further. And they carried him out of eyesight in this manner, him fighting the entire time.
Being well-schooled in the stories of Huginn and Muninn - the twin ravens of Odin - I know what the fuck is going on with all that. I also feel better about my bro-in-law - the cobra - because sure he is resisting and manipulating as much as he can, but his ultimate desire is to destroy me because that is his cobra nature. But I have spirit protectors in place who can clear the perimeter. Which makes me feel better, just a little.

i n j n d

all day long, chains on my life -
stronger than most weak souls, but
wearing my warrior one down

Friday Love/Hate

Not a hate bone in my heart, though I've done a lot of behind-the-curtain bitching about situations inside the confines of the compound, where only myself and my ol' lady can hear. There are lots of secret dramas going on, both in my personal life and in this publicly manufactured financial calamity. But on both accounts, it just seems so obvious to me, as I sit under the moon at night, that worst case scenarios usually end up being for the best in the long run. Sure, the short-term pain can be tough at times, but man, we are a weak humanity right now, stuck on technological tethers, more cattle-like in our accepted, legalized, and engineered diets than ever before, and there's no real care. I think some bare feet stepping across the coals of scorched earth zones would probably do us some good.

I love, to be specific rather than cryptic and general for once, me some Chinese poetry. Really been digging into the Red Pine translations this past week, at night, and actually writing long-form poetry again for the first time in years. I think it's my duty to the wretched people (I say that lovingly, as in that The Wretched of the Earth book) of southside Virginia to become as insane and wild-haired and cult-like a poet/writer that I can be. Hell, most of the country's going to be the same drug-ravaged, mostly rural wasteland we've been for a couple decades now in the next couple decades, so for once, I feel like we're trendsetters. It is my calling to bring these scarred emotional survival techniques to the world, not for financial exploitation, but so we can have more vikings and pirates. There's not enough fucking vikings or pirates of the mind anymore, just pimps and prostitutes. I prefer the old ways, the ancient ways. They make more sense to the man in me, though the consumer in me knows there's less value in that path. Oh well. Your path is your path.