SONG OF THE DAY: Legs

VIDEO LINK

I have found my best stress response is to walk, preferably where there’s not a lot of human activity but with the detritus of civilization still around. Railroad tracks obviously are great for this, but so are back roads through dying towns. It’d be great to be walking ten miles a day, without all the time constraints of a job, and just scribbling the weird shit that comes into my mind on trains or notecards or tiny doll-sized dollar store composition books. Ideally, I’d even just be walking twenty miles a day, but not counting the miles either, just knowing I walked enough that it was probably that amount, composing scraps of poems in my mind, like a late American Taneda Santoka, or even a new school Vachal Lindsay. I mean, obviously I’d just be Raven Mack, not anybody else, and the fact I think I’d be a reflection of some earlier entity is probably why I’ll still honor my responsibilities of employment and financial obligation, and not walk off after the horizon. But that’s the ideal life. My legs would grow as big as ox, and I’d stick and poke tattoo my favorite poems on them, or maybe just freestyle poems onto my legs in those moments where I felt most attuned to the universal magnetics, slowly stick and poking the words into order. Yeah, that’s the dream right there.

SONG OF THE DAY: You Can't Rock and Roll (In A Council Flat)

The worst part of living in places you don’t own is people telling you what you can and can’t do. Of course, even folks who “own” houses are paying mortgages, and actually the bank owns it, who will also tell you shit you can and can’t do. For all the freedom we’ve got, we ain’t got much freedom. Fuck it, I’m going to the river. MAYBE FOREVER!

SONG OF THE DAY: Whiteface

Been too far into my own head lately, past present and future. Easy to get lost in there, in fact our culture by design hopes we get lost in the self-hatred and loathing of who we are despite not being able to be nobody else, because that drives us to buy good feelings, keep the abstract economy pumping with force, that which has driven the engine of progress that's gotten all of us nowhere except an entirely different part of the Earth than we would've been seven generations back. Even as the overlords talk stimulus packages, it's not because people can't afford to live safely, can't pay their rent or keep food in the kitchen; it's because it "stimulates" the economy. None of us mean shit, just numbers in a spread sheet concatenated for another's sum total benefit.

S1L3NT L1B3RT4RY4N...

silent libertAryan

Brotherhood beaming "balanced"

brainwash from above, on high

TOP TEN NUMBERS NEVER ADD UP NO MATTER THE ORDER OF OPERATIONS

making absolute
most of abstract least - trained to
feel like lesser than#haiku#latecapitalism pic.twitter.com/gbZLypKxb5

— JVST DIRT-GOD oxoxo (@rojonekku) August 31, 2017

identity built
off dollars spent, off dollars
known, off dollars waste#haiku#latecapitalism pic.twitter.com/MWy6ukS7ZF

— JVST DIRT-GOD oxoxo (@rojonekku) August 31, 2017

scribbling gibberish
to keep the failure demons
from conquering heart#haiku#latecapitalism pic.twitter.com/3frAHbtZjI

— JVST DIRT-GOD oxoxo (@rojonekku) August 31, 2017

I am idiot
- beautiful, ridiculous,
perfect idiot#haiku#latecapitalism pic.twitter.com/VUCvHldBgp

— JVST DIRT-GOD oxoxo (@rojonekku) August 31, 2017

finance is foreign
language - I'm learning slowly
but not that fluent#haiku#latecapitalism pic.twitter.com/SqFOL36t56

— JVST DIRT-GOD oxoxo (@rojonekku) August 31, 2017

the Shit Talk of Earth
Folk is my native language
easily spoken#haiku#latecapitalism pic.twitter.com/SeeSSvkFgV

— JVST DIRT-GOD oxoxo (@rojonekku) August 31, 2017

never understood
numbers; never understood
civilized abstracts#haiku#latecapitalism pic.twitter.com/nM808NBHZI

— JVST DIRT-GOD oxoxo (@rojonekku) August 31, 2017

give me the perfect
chaos of woods, rust, mud, river,
decay, abandon#haiku#latecapitalism pic.twitter.com/qL2xzf5OaL

— JVST DIRT-GOD oxoxo (@rojonekku) August 31, 2017 

wild and wonderful
Greater Appalachian free
bird psychology#haiku#latecapitalism pic.twitter.com/q6e0xYPR8G

— JVST DIRT-GOD oxoxo (@rojonekku) August 31, 2017

when I die, numbers
won't change - still just one useless
halfway-feral fuck#haiku#latecapitalism pic.twitter.com/4lO1PTwtEO

— JVST DIRT-GOD oxoxo (@rojonekku) August 31, 2017

#1: making absolute/most of abstract least - trained to/feel like lesser than

#2: identity built/off dollars spent, off dollars/known, off dollars waste

#3: scribbling gibberish/to keep the failure demons/from conquering heart

#4: I am idiot/- beautiful, ridiculous,/perfect idiot

#5: finance is foreign/language - I'm learning slowly/but not that fluent

#6: the Shit Talk of Earth/Folk is my native language/easily spoken

#7: never understood/numbers; never understood/civilized abstracts

#8: give me the perfect/chaos of woods, rust, mud, river,/decay, abandon

#9: wild and wonderful/Greater Appalachian free/bird psychology

#10: when I die, numbers/won't change - still just one useless/halfway-feral fuck

FR3SH PVRPL3 P0LYM3RS H3LP...

fresh purple polymers help

disguise decay, help devise

devil value where none is

freestyle sonnet #081: CONTEMPLATING NAS, FINANCE, & THE WHEEL OF TIME

Nas wrote, "That buck that bought a bottle could've struck

the lotto" in '94... 'Til infinity

I will likely grapple with my feelings of stuck

in financial traps (plus ruts). Masculinity

of toxic nature sprayed on my insides so that

not being able to provide without asking

is seen as weak (plus embarrassing). All this fat

of the land has been skimmed (it seems)... multi-tasking

with skilled proficiency no longer gets ahead

(plus chokes heart), so dreams tend to die on psychic vines.

Oh well... walk this life with safety net in the red

(and underwater), and wait for Wheel of Time's tines

to turn the meek to surface, and superficial

beneath... Wheel of Time remains most judicial.

(The Bird Tribe - meaning my family - currently got a GoFundMe going to try and purchase the land surrounding our compound, to work into the compound and make a plant sanctuary for my ol' lady's herbal practice, and an extension of my illegitimate arts, and also to keep from being broken into tiny plots of power gridlock. Please visit the page, and drop five on it if you can.)

huge industrial mosques built

to gross CapitAllah, our

master of forced destiny

freestyle sonnet #054: WAKING UP TO ALL-TOO-FAMILIAR UNSTABLE REALITY

Another day, another crushed chest - persistent
instability manifest (yet I survive);
wicked world won't allow rest - hope feels so distant,
beyond wrecked rubble landscape (my native-born hive).

Them devils still promising wealth commensurate
with merit, yet seems to be many exceptions
to the rule (and I remain illegitimate).
Analog replaced by digital deceptions - 

the fog appears thicker, the whole earth feels sicker,
(and yet I'm expected to hold it together).
My numbers always lacked commas, plus the thicker
blood better than water's flawed genetic tether

to foundational faults still being overcome.
Feeling the worse for wear, but still better than sum.


sad patreon of the doomed dirtgod

calculating retirement

utilizing three decades

of more zeroes than commas

TOP TEN HIEROGLYPHS SCRIBBLED IN THE WARPAINT

#1: writing about raw/shit like trees stones babbling crows/sacred pubic mounds
#2: most “writers” market/more than write fuck that fuck that/markets are for thieves
#3: never successful/in terms of dollar-metrics/except fuck numbers
#4: mystical dirt-gods/don’t answer to formulas/nor tax forms nor lords
#5: original man/is dirt-god - primordial/motherfuckin’ muck
#6: scatter chaos words/like wildseed, dirt-god thoughts born/from fertile crescents
#7: yoni & lingam/linguistics naked cunning/ - babylon’s obscene
#8: outsiders building/word art self fuck-yeah beyond/utopia’s gates
#9: elites always say/”revolutionary new…”/about same ol’ shit
#10: never compromise/never become co-opted/never surrender

February the One

Look I could tell you a bunch of shit and do a blogger as the old folks say and entertain you but really this shit gets trifling. There's thirty billion thousand words on this site and I get very little satisfaction from its existence but I hope it plants seeds with the like-minded. Cyber world starting to seem like the barbed wire to me just invisible but poking at my brain.

So instead let me just share with you - random four people who make up the consistent basis of my site traffic - the fact that I'm not writing shit online much at all anymore. I fuck around with the twitters because I can't write at work clearly (due to cyber shit in my brain) so use the twitters to gibber. But I reclaim my humanity through my art, which is available at my Workingman Etsy page and is all some powerful shit when you hold it and stand next to it and feel it in real life. I don't give a fuck about money and don't translate that to success at all as I realize I'm the most successful writer I know but have only made about $639 my entire life from writing. But the fact is, as the Rebel INS once said, cash rules everything around me, so if you tell your friends who buy art shit about my art shit and then they buy art shit from me, it helps me to feel less oppressed by this cruel and broken economic industry system we are all trapped inside of. Just saying.

Also there are the One Thousand Feathers zines which seem to exist in a place unknown by all. These things are real as fuck, and great bedside/toiletside/whateverside... you know what, if you read this site you know what the fuck the deal is. Tell people, because I quit Facebook, I quit self-hype, I don't understand that shit. I just do shit. If you feel like it, tell people; if you don't whatever. But the more this mental compost spreads and fertilizes and gives fruit back to me through others own compost and fertilized craziness, the better we'll all be. For real.
Also, of note, no more beerbox haiku on the site. Took it down, put it in chronological order, added the unpublished ones, writing an intro, putting it out in the next month with some dope ass art too. Looking to do readings. Will be doing one March 1st in Philadelphia, and we'll build from there. Hit me up if you got a spot that can host the controlled chaos. Unfuck the world.

freestyle sonnet #7

(on the subject of "delayed gratification" by @brumblehag which led to me reading about the Stanford marshmallow experiment)

My childhood marshmallows were accumulated

slowly, in fifteen minute increments as Mom

set one on the table but said if I waited

I would get a second, then a third, and so on

it went through my younger years, then adolescence

ss well, my bedroom closet swollen with white fluff

corn syrup sugars whipped into U.S. essence;

and yet still I resist the temptations to stuff

my face with false nutrition in order to acquire

more, though ultimately it all has no value

or practical real World use, unless a bonfire

breaks out for millions with sticks but nothing to do.

I’ve achieved marshmallow wealth, white eagles will soar;

this sonnet is really just money metaphor.