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.

Monday, October 22

"you either build or destroy, where you come from?"

in 5% Islam philosophy, 85% are lost, 5% try to civilize the lost and build, and 10% are outright destroyers who have no care about anything other than stacking quantities of finance on top of the graves of humanity. that is the western notion of civilization, though it's not civilized at all, unless you accept that civilization is a perversion, which sometimes I must admit I am almost ready to accept. but to accept that is to give up on the human potential, and knowing my own path I know every human has infinite potential inside if they can focus in on it in the appropriate ways. devils can shoot billion dollar rovers onto Mars, but you can sit spot a Mars rover into your own universe, and it ain't but one thing to realize but still it stacks taller than a billion dollars. word is bond motherfucker.

Sunday, October 21

yo, straight up here is the deal

dusted & disgusted screwed & chopped is on my headphones
Anyways, I have this new thing I am getting started. I need about $200 to make it roll, though honestly I could get by getting it rolling probably with $100. Can't tell you what it is, other than it's real, and can't promise you anything in return, other than a share of what comes from it, but if you feel like supporting the madness of the black bird mindframe, hit that paypal donation button over there on the right side. If you do make it a gift so that paypal don't be jocking our exchange of grip unnecessarily. I will tell you that the first issue of this new thing is inspired by reading Rene Guenon and his The Reign of Quantity and Signs of the Times. I am a primordial traditionalist.

Saturday, October 20

walking the shores line again

still hear the whistle and dream of climbing stairway into oblivion
been almost 2 years since I flipped the sideways 8
onto build and off destroy
but ain't no denying destruction of self is embedded
deep in my motherfuckin' bloodstream

Friday, October 19

the greatest trick facebook ever played was convincing you it didn't exist

facebook is dead, killed all three of my accounts
plus the rojonekku page, fuck that tracking bullshit
you can always do the rss feed or subscribe to this shit or catch me on the back roads
comment here if you are here, let's connect without oversight from the overlord
I still has twitters too

Thursday, October 18

Gambleraku Graffiti Scrolls

It can be difficult to transcend the physical world with your creative juju intact when you might wonder how some are successful and you are not. That is part of the struggle we each get to handle though. But I often juggle thoughts of how to feel rewarded for what it is I do, whatever that is, when it doesn’t quite fit the realm of marketability according to how our society works. But then today there was a roll of forgotten receipt printing paper on top of the gas pump.
Things like this are blessings in my crooked brain wiring, so I snagged that bama and brought it home, like a thousand other found objects around the Bird Tribe compound. The scroll-like quality of it automatically registered with me.
So of course I composed a gambleraku (that’s my form of haiku – three lines of seven syllables each, triple sevens, which I first wrote while in the void of Vegas a couple years back, thus gambleraku), which I scribbled out in my half-assed grafuscript.
Words scribble through my mind all the time, and I must admit I have trouble turning them into the types of things that the word industry can understand and sell to other people who enjoy consuming word products. But this is as natural as oxygen in/carbon dioxide out to me. I could do it all day long.
Except the roll of paper will run out at some point. But I figured it’s a good opportunity to share my work with whoever out there might want to have it shared with them. So until the roll is done, I’ll compose one-of-a-kind gamblerakus, for whoever wants to enable our Bird Tribe compound lifestyle.
And being I am into quality not quantity, I don’t really feel like making it real specific in the number sense. If you paypal me anything from $15 to $23, wherever you feel good in that scale, with the button on the right, I’ll mail you your own gambleraku graffiti scroll of pure raven. If you ain’t American lean high on that scale so the postman doesn’t unenable what you are enabling. But whatever feels right is gonna be right. If you choose to do so, when doing the paypals, check it as a gift too to keep their grubby intrusions more minimal. That’s basically it. If you can see this post, then the deal is still real.

the 17th rebirth of raven

this site will sort of exist again as daily pics from my homepix
not much in way of writing for robots as trying to right for real bods
though mostly just trying to not die, the dream feels dead mostly
nothing to do but do, fuck the world's eyeballs

Friday, September 14

WEEKLY FRYBREAD: bird tribe lessons

I had not planned on posting a weekly frybread this week, partially because I haven’t done much in way of writing this past week but also because if I did do some writing, why just do a stupid blog update instead of working on the 7000 things in my head? Not sure. But then I took a lunch break and escaped the constant buzz of the inside of buildings and computer screens, and had a moment to reflect. A lot of times if I am hungry, I grab some $3 dumplings at the dumpling spot near where I work. They are in all likelihood from big bags of frozen dumplings from the Chinese grocery store, but they are heated and have soy and some rooster pepper sauce of some sort, and I enjoy taking them into the park near my work and kick back and chill on a bench with some dumplings. I have learned to use chopsticks in the past four months by doing just that. It’s a nice day so the easily accessible park areas by campus were pretty crowded, but I’ve also found these gardens tucked in between the main lawn of campus and the hospital expansion that nobody seems to know about. There’s like five of them, with multiple levels to most all five, and usually I sit by this one with a spire, but today I went to the far one in the string as I’d never gone in there. I found a bench completely underneath a scrubby tree, so kicked back with not another soul in sight. I mean, I could hear the dudes scraping and replacing the slate roofs of ancient student housing, but it was cool because my eyesight was full of nothing but greenery and chillage. I really do love these gardens a lot, not sure their history and if they come straight from Mr. Jefferson himself or not, but I’ve contemplated etching haiku or tanka or maybe even full sonnets onto scrap slate or maybe just haiku on railroad spikes and leaving them hidden in these gardens. That will come with time. Anyways, I got a spicy noodle bowl to go with the dumplings today, and was leaning forward eating, so as to not slop sauce all over myself while using chopsticks with noodles, when some small grey bird – bigger than a hummingbird but not nearly as large as the red-breasted robins that have been my spirit guide this year – came floating directly in front of my face, like a foot out. It just hung there, bouncing as it flapped, and I wasn’t quite sure what was going on or what to do. I felt like I should hold my arm out for it, but didn’t. It flew up in the branch above my head, and I noticed another one to my left as well. Then I noticed the three had a pretty good population of birds. This of course was a positive omen to me. Birds have been more prominent in my psychic space this year, which would seem odd considering my birth-given middle name is Raven and my familial unit’s street name is Bird Tribe. (Remind me to show you my rhinestone Bird Tribe overalls at some point; I only wear them on the most special of occasions.) But starting around February, I became very aware of the red-breasted robins that seemed to be following or guarding my path most days. It was weird actually, to where if I didn’t see one it freaked me out. I still don’t know shit about bird species, and have no desire to be one of those O.C.D. bird watcher types, but this floating bird before my face was a good omen. I get caught up in what I haven’t done too often, how I have all these books and stories and ideas in various stages of outline but very few completed. Mostly this is because I use the internet and the internet is full of writers. I would dare say four out of every five people on the internet consider themselves writers. I read some bar graph defense of some dude dissing free form poetry the other day which talked about how if there were far more writers, you have this flow of quality where the majority of it is half-assed and mediocre, but with so much input, your final high-quality output is a higher level as well. That may be true, but there has to be some way to find that, because mostly what I see is shitty writing, or self-important people always self-hyping themselves. One of my biggest difficulties with finishing the Football Metaphysics book was having to then tell people, constantly, that it existed. I hate this aspect of writing because I see “writers” doing it all the time for lackluster crap. I’m not just talking e-publishing wannabes either; I see well-respected writers with major book company deals who are busy talking up some really mediocre and barely thought out crap. I don’t want to be that. I won’t be that. Thus, sometimes it can be hard to find the motivation to get work done, because I fear I’m part of that industry. But having the bird float in my face while I ate a spicy noodle just drove home my whole Bird Tribe reality. I am a dude who uses words, because it is how my mind works. But I am probably more of a poet-philosopher than actual writer, even though if you asked me I’d say poetry was stupid (for the most part). I enjoy language and the way certain words roll together, and mostly it is like freestyling to me, and the key is to attune the mind to being more receptive to unleashing the freestyles that are always there. Now that I’m to a point where I have long stories and novels and projects laid out, it becomes an issue of fine-tuning these mental wanderings to be incorporated into larger projects. That’s not really that difficult, but it can be tedious, and the more tedious it gets the more it reminds me of all the assholes. Here’s the thing though – my oldest kid, who is 13, has already finished one novel, and is starting another. In fact, she just started a blog and put up her first post the other day. She is already on a path of creativity far ahead of where I was at age 13. And I was pretty intensely creative when compared to the other kids my age back then. My second child is a natural director of large theatrical efforts, and a natural born dancer, and overall creative mind as well, but with the spirit of a healer. She will take care of people at some point, I know, whether that be as a simple nurse or in some complicated self-help/self-realization way. She is still young, so it will have to show itself to her. And the youngest is only four but has this strange unseen world where she communicates with the bees, and knew their leader was named Melissa (which it is, according to Greek mythology) without anyone even explaining to her that bees could have leaders. And all of this with my lovely ol’ lady, who is an artist and plant healer and probably the only woman who could be as much of a creative anarchist as me and yet still wholesome as fuck, in a sort of weird twisted urban degenerate in the middle of the country sort of way. We both come from broken families. There’s no need to get into the specifics or use anything from then as an excuse for now. But we’ve built together this Bird Tribe family of creative chaos. And yes, I do not think us perfect, and know there are broken things about us as well. But we are at the most less broken than what we were born into, and at least broken in new ways that are less corrosive for personal happiness. Our children are enabled to express themselves easier than we were, and that is progression. Ultimately, when my ol’ lady talks about her plant work, or I talk about writing, it becomes clear we don’t give a fuck about money. I mean, we do. Ideally, I’d be able to work from home and still afford the electric bill. Ideally, we’d be able to financially enable ourselves to more deeply explore our personal arts. But that’s not necessarily the world we got born into either. And all you can do is live where you was born, and make the best of it. So though I don’t have book deals like I sometimes have felt I should have gotten, when others who made lesser zines got book deals when that was a thing, or people who wrote lesser blogs got deals as that was a thing, I know that what I’m doing is what I’m supposed to be doing. If I write it at a slow boil, so be it. I mean, I am competing against mortality, but should not be against any outside notion of what being a writer means. Fuck most writers. And my children are already percolating, getting their slow boil going a lot earlier than me or my wife did. It’s pretty important to be part of that as well. So yeah, I don’t know what the fuck I was deciding to say by deciding to do a weekly frybread, other than maybe: writers sucks, birds are awesome, and though there’s no money in it what we are doing is what we are supposed to be doing. We might want to do more of it, but we don’t need to kill ourselves in the struggle to do it, or accidentally blow out our creative fires sucking on poisoned thinking. Bird Tribe motherfucker, floating right in front of your face, and sitting in the trees all around you. I don’t need to call your attention to it, you can look if you want to. If you don’t, so be it; it’s still happening.

Friday, September 7

WEEKLY FRYBREAD: returning to writing

The Football Metaphysics for Enlightened Degenerates book (still available over in the sidebar) did okay, about as I had hoped, maybe a little less, but also highly naïve of me to be the complete contrarian I am and write a book allegedly about football that’s not about football at all really and wonder why A) football fans were afraid of it, and B) people who hate football but follow my site/writings are afraid of it. But that is who I am. The hardest part has been getting back into the swing of things with writing. I absolutely detest the marketing part of shit like that, as I keep abreast of a lot of neurological studies and read shit regularly about neurophilosophy, so pretty much think the entire concept of “marketing” is somewhat based on immoral behavior, should you believe in morals, which I guess I do, though I have no real solid opinion as to what those morals are based on beyond my gut intuition towards what is right and wrong. Fuck science, fuck religion, unfuck the world – that’s what I say. But get back into it slowly is exactly what I’m trying to do this week, and not be completely lull-brained by the enticing siren buzz of social media into crashing my creativity onto the rocks of wasted time. I had planned on a book about everyday lessons around us being the second offering, with a collection of short stories hopefully by the end of the year being my third, but in starting to work on the observational stuff, my Rojonekku Manual came back to the forefront of my mind, and that shit needs to be done. So it shall be done, hopefully before Halloween, as that is the tentative target I am poking into my brain at this moment. However, I’ve also been getting into poetry for whatever reason, except not free-form but strictly rigid structural poetry, as is usual for me since my brain is somehow afflicted with mathematical viruses that cause me to think in numbers and grids and patterns and crap like that. So I started outlining multiple crowns of sonnets related to a 5-trailer trailer park, and am hoping to work up 120 sonnets related to this imaginary trailer park. By making them crowns of sonnets, with a 15th sonnet comprised of the last line of the first 14, and each crown relating to one person in one of the five trailers, and trying to construct a story somewhat through the 8 crowns in the 120 sonnets (good lord, the twisted mathematical literary mind inside my head), I have to sort of work backwards partially, and build it in a completely different way than most poetry is built. But I like that. And I hate most poetry. So it will be done. Also, trying to start finger-peck the Confederate Mack collection together little by little. That’s definitely on the backburner at the moment, but hopefully by spring at the latest I’ll get that dumb shit done. Of course, football season has started officially again, so I am sure I will start doing nonsense gibberish over at Armchair Linebacker like always, including a new thing I started this week where I put up a Redskins-related tanka every morning. That will last for as long as it lasts, which I told myself would be until ten days after their last game is done, but let’s be honest, may be next Tuesday. Additionally, new month’s worth of Krupert songs should show up at some point. I got a nice DMMA notice the other day from mediafire, so I was afraid my entire site would disappear in Orwellian fashion, which it probably will at some point anyways. Remember that. I know most people don’t care, and my site is certainly contradictory to the normal 2012 enjoyment of the interwebs where things are short and pictured and goofy and not-serious and all that hoo-ha. But I am proud of the elaborate labyrinth of nonsense that has slowly been built here, rather than abandon for a new blog or start a tumblr (though I’ve always done those things as well), and there’s a strange thickness you can get lost in at this site. Maybe nobody does this like I do, but I love strange, cryptic websites with large tag pools clustered along a sidebar or at the bottom of the page and after posts and you can click and clack your way through one site’s craziness, getting lost along strange tangents for hours. That is this. In fact, this is the 2100th post on this blog. That’s a lot of nonsense, of which much of it is not nonsense at all, but elaborate wrought-iron prophecy laid out in a purposefully confusing manner. It is like creepy medieval alchemist math, making things you don’t even realize, below your conscious mind. Won’t you please indulge?

Sunday, August 26

Manifestation Sonnet #0812

books are outer space in places I come from
working minds draped up in sweat and flat screen's fog
we breathe deep the soul glue and let our glow go dumb
perfect storm of still bodies and electrosmog
but I wander these roads with words for my long lost
armed with wild man's beard face and workingman's handshake
uncle sam's goddamn bastard 'cause I can't be bossed
understand self-medication, still I stand straight
this crooked world don't want straight words in a child's head
they want us drunk on dumb when we need sober truth
so old ways ain't forgotten when old folks is dead
want my words to spark a desire for fire in youth
     all day we're kicked in the head and yet still we stand
     when mind matches body's strength, we'll be workingman

Friday, August 17

WEEKLY FRYBREAD: unfuck the world

Feeling pretty good this Friday, because the past three or four weekends I’ve madly been working on the Football Metaphysics book, and this one, I’m done, I can finally fix the stupid riding mower and cut the grass and wrestle my goats and carve hobo graffiti into the backyard picnic table with my children using old railroad spikes. Everything feels pretty easy, like my Lionel Ritchie jheri curl-sized aura is solidly lime green, and solidly growing.
Seems like some wacky shit going on worldwide, what with the Israeli build-up towards war with Iran, and the Julian Assange asylum brouhaha, not to mention all the crazy surveillance state shit like Trapwire and the indeterminate detention of American citizens without charges as authorized by NDAA. And it’s all inter-related too. Seems like the United States and its two main homeboys in the U.K. and Israel are really making a grand stand grab at things, which I think the rest of the world may stand against. Hard to say, and I am not geo-political expert by any means, though I did play the fuck out of Sid Meier’s Civilization IV. Strange times lay ahead, probably full of conflict and war, and perhaps that starts trickling into our American life a little more. Perhaps not. I’m not entirely concerned.
It can be easy to get caught up in fear and worry, which is exactly what tends to happen during recent American Presidential election years, where both sides fear the cataclysmic catastrophes that await should the other side win. Guess what? They’re both right. And yet, they’re both wrong at the same time, because I’ve come to realize America is not this Great Ominous Evil power I used to think it was. It is a giant self-important bureaucracy, and basically operated like a corporation to a certain extent. And like any self-important bureaucratic corporate entity, it is becoming dilapidated, weakened, eaten from within by cancerous philosophies, and will eventually cave in on itself. That is not a bad thing. All governments should cave in on themselves every hundred years or so, because nothing works forever. Though it will be chaotic for who knows how long, we’d all be better off with a new infusion of ideas and ways of running things in our taxed and strained American system.
Oddly enough, I feel more clear-headed than ever, and have actually been reading a lot of economic theory type bullshit, as I’ve always been the standard contrarian who is like, “Capitalism is bad,” but never really had any science. Watching a number of Slavoj Zizek speeches, where he says some things but seems also to just try to rile people up in pure contrarian manner, it made me want to better understand the source of things and less trust what someone tells me. So I did some reading.
Guess what? Capitalism is on some bullshit. You take normal hunt and gather survival, add the abstract concept of money (which is a good idea usually, to create a standard for trade), and then tweak the system to that each little part of the overall culture produces constantly in order to consume constantly items outside of their microcosm, and allegedly we are made wealthier because we have more shit. The problem is, we don’t need all that shit; we just have this desire to want all that shit. Getting it does not solve the want, because automatically there is a new want. We are not wanting what we buy, we are wanting the moment of buying it, thus we’re never happy. It’s like the people who are hungry for McDonalds and eat it but get no nutrition so keep eating and eating and eating. I know the internet be making fun of people like that, but we’re all like that, whether our McDonald’s is smart phones or downloading music or eating at restaurants or whatever. It’s been bred into our psychology.
That is another thing that bothers me, is that I don’t think it is bred so much as it is a natural chemical reaction in our brains. Thus, a lot of advertising triggers for purchasing goods are not so much great campaigns at convincing you to buy something as they are great experimental activations of chemical reactions inside your body. Psychology, we will find, is something we can heal and repair but not something we can control as much as we think. That’s not to say shit like therapy is not helpful in repairing broken physical mechanisms in our brain, but it’s not the way we think.
So as you might be able to tell I’ve been reading a lot of neurophilosophy bullshit as well, as there are a lot of studies relying on functional MRI to prove some of the things I mention above, and yet fMRI assumes that brain functions are limited to parts of the brain, rather than the whole, and that the part that lights up in an fMRI is the one being used for certain tasks.
This brings me to why I feel so excited and am not afraid, because just like that misleading functional MRI, so goes people. If a man steals a loaf of bread, that is obvious, and he can be caught and punished. If a group through the cyberwebs shares music and books and such through a torrent, it is not one basic act that is obvious, but a multitude of tiny parts of the act that is split upon a myriad of separate computers. That is an action of the collective, or whole, and that is how many neurophilosophers feel the human brain probably works, not in individual parts like a machine. After all we are not machines, we are complex organic matter. That is like a torrent.
It’s something I’ve thought about a lot as I’ve chunked this first book called Football Metaphysics into the internet’s great vagina of nonsense, is how do I feel about what I have written being considered my work, in a sense no one else should ever be able to see it without paying me a fee. And honestly, I’m still working through this, because I have been trained culturally to feel I deserve to be rewarded for my ideas put into words, and there is some truth to it. I physically did the work. But at the same time, I cannot be attached to ownership of my ideas. Most all ideas have been thought somewhere by somebody in this post-modern world, and ultimately a sort of “open source” exchange of these works seems like it might not be a direction we should ignore completely. I mean, I want to be able to provide for my stupid bills through my writing, and not have to pretend to care about the other jobs that have filled my working life, but at the same time, I want to share my mad way of putting words together just as much. And if I am only selling my work, especially in an e-publishing format, I’m eliminating a big part of what I would hope to be my community.
And just as the individual thief can be punished, but the collective acting anonymously cannot, the individual activist or revolutionary (god that word fucking sucks now) or let’s just say the individual person trying to enact unapproved change, he can easily be assassinated or jailed or disappeared by authorities. Make no mistake about it, the authorities have the legal ability to do that according to many things brought into law by our last two Presidents of these American states, and legal has jackshit to do with right or wrong. Anybody who thinks the law is a matter of right and wrong has not lived enough in real life. But the group acting collectively, they can accomplish more than the individual, especially if the power structure is lacking traditional power structure that can easily be beheaded.
That’s why I’ve been loving the activity of Anonymous, gathering at the Ecuadorian embassy in London, and gathering at the U.K. embassy in New York, just being witness to the whole affair. We don’t even realize our own power most times and most days, because we are so stuck in our little over-dramatized daily lives. But we have power, when we build communities. At one point that was the excitement of the internet, that we could build “communities” with people who liked the same dumb shit we did, and feel empowered. But we can take that to our non-digital lives as well, and build community in that sense.
So with that, although it has nothing to do with any of this world-changing, I ask you to go preview my book Football Metaphysics for Enlightened Degenerates. It is entertaining as fuck, but also deeply peppered with real shit, with secret positives and thick tangents that “undermine the social order” as the Russian judge told Pussy Riot in court. And I want you to buy it, because if I could do this shit from home, I could grow pigs and goats and a garden and fuck around with my kids and build a more fulfilling crazier life for myself. But that ain’t crazy at all, because that’s what I was wired to do, how I was born to live. And I can tell you this about the book, it’s more than worth $4 for what you’ll get out of it. You’ve spent $4 on much dumber shit in the past week, guaranteed. But it’s also the first book in the Workingman Books attempt at something, which is not meant to be a business at all. I could give a fuck about building a business. I’ve had my own business before – businesses suck. I want freedom, not business. And the idea behind Workingman Books is to just throw these things out there. On the surface, a football book is just a stupid football book. But anybody who’s ever read more than a little of my writing knows that what I write about is not often what it looks like I’m writing about. You can’t undermine social orders by being obvious, or you end up like the bread thief. I hope Workingman grows into a thousand authors doing a thousand crazy things, all for the financial benefit of themselves, but more importantly for the larger benefit of their communities. Seriously, fuck money. I mean I feel I deserve $4 for what you’d get, but if you didn’t want to pay it because you’re like, “whatever,” I ain’t gonna get all indignant. Fuck the entitlement of the creative class, that feels the capitalist system somehow needs to reward them for their creativity. Your creativity rewards what feels the benefits from it, and that bounces back on you. So if you find a way to bootleg my book, go ahead. You’re only taking a potential $4 from me, and if you ain’t got that $4, fine. In fact, if you don’t have that $4 and want the book and are a Rojonekku fan and are reading this, email me and let me know. Seriously. I’ll give you the book. Just tell me what’s up. I’m not looking ever in my life to be some strict asshole ruling the value of my words with an iron legal fist. Fuck that. Anybody can do what I do. I am not saying what I do is not done in a very special way, but shit man, any kid could sink into his brain like I did and end up right here, mixing and matching the same grand ideas and obscure references and a thousand tangents into a solar burst of creativity. I see my own children already developing this. But they develop this because they are exposed to it.
So yeah, it’s crazy times in this world, but it’s also exciting. New things are going to take place of the old, and it’s not going to be the End of the World, as the Mayan calendar (and them dudes were tapped into them alien motherfuckers with the pyramids) predicted a great change. There’s going to be a big shift in thinking. The few who are still pushing this ownership idea to the max, because they sit at the top of that legal “right” (which again, has nothing to do with actual right in a moral sense), they’ll fight change until the whole thing caves in on them like earthquake rubble. They will. And it’s gonna suck.
But within that, we can build our own shit, anywhere we want, figuratively and literally. That’s what Workingman is already, and will continue to be. That’s what Football Metaphysics is about. Shit man, that’s what my every day is about. I want this shit to make it so we can be together better, me and you, all over the place. I want this to enable us sitting together in strange places, sharing our wild ideas. Because the world is fucked. And we ain’t go no other worlds, so we might as well unfuck this one. And in a world where almost anything you can think of has already been done three times over, all that’s left to be done is undoing what’s been done wrong. So fuck it, let’s unfuck the world.

Tuesday, August 14

My Football Metaphysics book

For the past two months, I have been working diligently and deliriously on this preview of the upcoming NFL season, built off the Spiritual Warrior philosophy that has secretly been fermenting at the Armchair Linebacker site, and it sort of spiraled out of control into this book – Football Metaphysics for Enlightened Degenerates. On the surface, the book is very simply a preview of the upcoming season, with in-depth coverage of important players, games, and trends for all 32 teams. But anyone who is familiar with my Raven Mack styles knows that it’s also so much more than that (or less than that, depending on your outlook). The subject matter is not the only subject matter, as football and the players who play the game are used as a springboard for all sorts of philosophical meanderings, and I can honestly say to you that this book, if read even partially, will make you explode in “WTF?!?!” laughter. Seriously. There is nothing covering pro football that is anything like this preview manual, and for the price of a fauntleroy cup of coffee, you will be entertained for hours and hours and hours. Again, that is no lie. This shit is as thick as a Hemingway novel, but with all the gonzo insanities of a Hunter S. Thompson/Oscar Zeta Acosta tract, except it’s neither. It’s me – Raven Mack aka Raven McMillian aka 1000 Feathers aka The Confederate Mack aka Dr. Lounge aka the guy who wrote a ridiculously insane preview for an NFL season and is telling you that you will enjoy it but you probably are hemming and hawing and like “whatever, I’m just gonna go look at some other dumb crap on Facebook” when you should be loading this into your favorite robot device and turning on, zooming in, and cropping out.

FOOTBALL METAPHYSICS FOR ENLIGHTENED DEGENERATES at Amazon
FOOTBALL METAPHYSICS FOR ENLIGHTENED DEGENERATES at Smashwords

Amazon will have the necessary apps to make it work on all your devices of time waste, not just a kindle. There are versions available that work for your kindles and nooks and crannies and Sonybots and tabloids and even your iPads and iPhones (with the Stanza app), but you can even get a pdf at the Smashwords link and look at it on your computer or print to old-fashioned rolling papyrus if you’d like to put a fat binder clip on it and leave it on the peach crate by the toilet. It’s a good 140-pages printed out single-spaced in 10-point font though, so there’s no lack of content. Aside from a long-winded overview of the project where I explain how the NFL has only about ten years at most of actual awesomeness left in it, for each and every team, I cover the following items: an overview of the team, pertinent data regarding last season and this one, most important games, each team’s individual trendsetter and spirit warrior, the coach/QB situation, their team elders, and scrappy Rudy, and assorted other player info, which includes but is not limited to historical information on the team and the city they are located in. Additionally, you’ll get psychic analysis as to the metaphysical force of each team in relation to the NFL’s entire history, as well as the past decade, and I’ve deduced not only each team’s best case scenario, but have a solid finger on what will go down this coming season.
And yet, even if you don’t like football, even if you are a woman who thinks pro football is the dumbest crap that ever existed, you will find immense joy in this offering of mine. This is because of my traditional Rojonekku style of writing, which is designed as a decoy, where beautiful life truths are buried in what looks to be just some dumb football shit. If we revealed the truths about the society around us out and in the open, those who monitor our interactions would stifle the real talk. That’s why I affectionately call it “nonsense gibberish” because it is akin to speaking in tongues that the devils don’t understand, like when I was a little boy in a snake-handling Pentecostal church in rural Rice, Virginia. This Rojonekku style is a lol-heavy sugar-coating on deep spiritual truths, so that we can feel like we are moving in a better direction as a group, without being some super-serious asshole about it. You know what is serious business? Nothing, because business is a joke and money is an abstraction and how can you expect me to take an abstraction seriously when it can’t bite or burn me? Wait, I’m getting sidetracked here…
This Football Metaphysic for Enlightened Degenerates is also my first offering from the Workingman Books collective press chaos factory doohickey/donthickey thing that I have chopped together in the crock pot of various co-conspirators minds, and it is fermenting away as we speak, into something that will give us greater gut intuition to enjoy the world around us, and be healthier on the inside, where are brain funks and chest clenches are. That is the hope. And this is the first offering, and I hope that you will support it, and that you will find it abundant in bringing you joy and spirit inside a dark and crooked world.