M3 4ND TH1S 0TH3R STVP1D...

me and this other stupid

fucker sat there waiting for

destinies which never came

4N0TH3R R04D TR1P N0WH3R3...

another road trip nowhere;

another three hundred miles

of observational bliss

N3V3R B33N 4BL3 T0 M4K3...

never been able to make

solid sense of the blacked out

weekends (then years, then decades)

0N3 M1LL10N G0LD3N BVDDH4S...

one million golden buddhas -

little cheap resin army

of terracotta warriors

SM0K3ST4CK L1GHTN1NG LSD...

smokestack lightning - LSD

lucidity, RFK

Stadium, strychnine joint aches

C0NF3R3NC14 C0N L4S...

conferencia con las

cabras bajo la luna

nueva, mente clara

MYC3L1VM M0N3Y SH0TS...

mycelium money shots

pointed upwards to see sun

create translucent edges

F34R 0F 0V4 1NN4T3 D4RKN3SS...

fear of our innate darkness,

clutching at sunset's beauty

with frantic anxiety

TRV3 L0VNG3RS SH4R3 SP4C3 W1TH...

true loungers share space with

goats - this has always been true,

for at least twelve centuries

Park Bench Review: 38°01'09.6096", -078°28'54.6168"

This is an official dirtgod park bench review. Today I am reviewing the bench in Belmont Park just to the right of the main entrance by Druid Avenue, the opposite side from the basketball court, between the sidewalk entrance and the first trash can walking right. Above in title are the latitude/longitude coordinates. I choose to use the stars for navigation though.

IMMEDIATE LOUNGE-ABILITY: For no real reason other than to give my 13-year-old time alone at home to secretly listen to god music on Spotify, I parked my minivan by IX Park, and walked around Belmont, while drinking a doogh. As I walked up Elliott Avenue towards Avon Street, I thought, “Oh, I should go do some quality loungin’ in Belmont Park,” but I had finished my doogh already, and I would obviously need a beverage to occupy my fiddle hands while bench lounging. Luckily for us all, Brown’s is right there (Charlottesville’s home to for-real fried chicken… You can literally get a free piece of chicken with ten gallons of gas on their old ass gas pumps), so I went it to cop a beverage. They had no mineral waters, though I imagine it won’t be long, as the strong high credit rating arm of gentrification has ran roughshod through much of Belmont already, so I got a Deer Park instead. Between Brown’s and Belmont Park, there appeared to be active gentrification going on, with an uninhabited house having bushes machete’d by men who appeared like they really wanted to look like Gogol Bordello but still maintain good employment. But still, as I walked into Belmont Park, it was chill, there was a crazy kid at the picnic tables talking numbers really loudly in a potentially troubled way (which I found soothing to be honest, because let’s face it, the numbers of this world are troubling if we really get down to it), and I had walked past strong fried chicken smells to sit down. Leaves were gently McTwisting off the trees, and single parents were with their kids. The bench itself was metal, but spacious, and though the metal was cool in the autumnal air, there were unpainted spots from sanding, either by actual proliferation of constant parade of human asses, or perhaps the city did it to remove graffiti lacking in conventional approval. I do not know, but the imperfection of the bench was comforting, because I myself am fairly imperfect, and thus I fit well sitting there. Immediate Lounge-ability was a 17 (out of 23 possible).

RIPPLES OF AMBIANCE: In the distance before me was Carter’s Mountain, plus a pretty nice sky, and the undulating foothill bosoms of the Blue Ridge Mountains, and being Charlottesville is foothills itself, the basketball court was shielded from my view but the goal was not, and some kid (I assume) was throwing some insane looking multi-neon colored ballish thing up into the goal over and over, and it looked like it surged from the well-manicured Earth itself. I could see where Monticello Avenue goes downhill and splits into four-lanes to become Scottsville Road and shoot under the interstate, and little ant-like cars were driving over there on that little bit of Monticello Avenue, and that’s a chunk of asphalt I go down, and how often did someone sit here at this very bench and see a distant microcosmic Raven Mack zip by, inundated with my unseen insanities, which ultimately mean nothing when viewed from that distance? Behind me, at the house where things were being made progressive, I could hear white people white people-ing, but it was easy to ignore with Earth titties laid bare before my eyes. Ripples of Ambiance was a 19 (out of 23 possible).

CULTURE OF BENCH: Belmont itself was a working class neighborhood, which is the nice way of saying regular people lived there, who then became poor people as capitalism began to fail us all, and now are being replaced by wealthier people. The process of gentrification is happening all over. Where I parked – IX Art Park – was a wacky urban park next to the projects where they had big graffiti murals and concerts and it was free, but then they just tore out one mural to make way for a giant microbrewery place in the warehouse space, and also there is word the property taxes will now be enforced which means it can’t be a free art park so much, and there are hipster businesses galore but no one from the projects is ever there, nor does it feel welcoming to POCs or poors and most definitely not to anyone who is both of those things.

Belmont Park itself has existed for nearly a century, so there is deep lounge baked into the grounds there. A crack distribution ring got busted there a number of years back, which let’s be honest, that’s usually a sign of quality all day lounging going on if people are selling drugs at a park. Even now, post-gentrification, if it is warm and you sit at Belmont Park, you’re gonna see a lot of chill comings and goings. Me and my boy Deric played dominoes there a couple of times, and it made perfect sense. But that sort of forces the issue on discussing gentrification as a philosophy – if people have put in the time and labor to make a place chill, don’t they deserve to not be property-valued out of that power zone of lounge? It is easily conceivable that someone would open a “farm-to-table southern cuisine” restaurant in the abandoned warehouse formerly known as IX Art Park, but would their fried chicken ever compare to Brown’s? Of course, the clientele for a farm-to-table southern cuisine sit-down restaurant would tsk-tsk at the idea of getting gas where you get your chicken, thus would not be as excited as normal folks about getting a free fucking piece of chicken with 10-gallon gas purchase. Belmont, and Belmont Park has a strong culture of bench, but also we are talking about where the townies lived that were looked down upon by Thomas Jefferson from his Monticello perch, and on the opposite side of the small city from where he built his much-revered University of Virginia. People who are forced into the shadows of more impressive psychic statures tend to learn the survival skills of the lounger, and create sanctuary in that shade. The flipside of that is eventually the more impressive psychic statures, which also have more impressive ability to be approved for loans, start coming in, calling in for more space. By consuming sanctuary, they mistakenly believe they have built it. Culture is cultivated, slowly, over years (and generations), until the microflora of chill permeates even the ugliness. You cannot hack that away with your good credit machete, and keep what you like while running off the undesired uglies. Your privileged machete kills the culture that is there, a symbiotic one that cannot be parted out like code inside a robot.

Thus I feel the culture of bench at this particular bench is deep, but endangered. I’m not sure how you protect metaphysical truths like that, because the law is more about words and most of those words are written in English which is a great language of conquest and exploitation, so we may be at a loss here. But for now, Culture of Bench rates as a 14 (out of 23), scaled down due to instability of that culture in current socio-economic trends at neighborhood (and city) level.

IMMEDIATE LOUNGE-ABILITY: 17

RIPPLES OF AMBIANCE: 19

CULTURE OF BENCH: 14

TOTAL SCORE: 50 (out of possible 69). Not a bad bench at all. I’m likely to return, probably more than once, and it’s a bench fitting for daily lounges, should one desire such a thing (which they should, in my opinion).

M4G1C4L D1SC0V3RY...

magical discovery

of indigo milky caps

congregating under pines

34RLY M0RN1NG SVN GL1ST3NS...

early morning sun glistens

in dew scattered across rust

barrel stenciled with raven

CYCL3 0F L1F3 SH0RT 4ND SW33T...

cycle of life short and sweet -

sprouting from detritus climb

skyward, then perish and wilt

TRV3 CR34T1V1TY 1S...

true creativity is

carving content moments out

this mundane world we're trapped in

MYST3R10VS 0R4NG3 HVG1NNS...

mysterious orange Huginns

and purple Muninns spread out

wings during spray mist darkness

J4D3D J4CK 0F D14M0NDS - W0RN...

jaded jack of diamonds - worn,

weathered, weary - still finds way

to be wild and wonderful

0NC3 H4D P14N0 1N Y4RD...

once had piano in yard;

the early times when wife would

play it in scrub pines was best

PR0GR3SS1V3 SKYL1N3 BV1LT T0...

progressive skyline built to

grow forever in sprawling

unsustainable dark arc

4LL MY N0T10NS 0F H0M3 B33N...

all my notions of home been

built upon unseen fault lines;

nothing unique about this

R34D1NG P03TRY 0N 0VR...

reading poetry on our

shitty living room couch

underneath single floor light

C0NV3RS4T10NS TH4T B3G1N...

conversations that begin

with opinions declared as

fact often end in silence

freestyle sonnet #097: THE NEED TO DISENGAGE FROM MUNDANE WORLD

Establishment of the mundane as the right path 

of responsible actions is the final lock 

on shackles that stifle free movement. Devil math 

calculates equi-facts so that human livestock 

feel as though progress through pre-designed pens is made, 

as if there was purpose or point to this stumbling 

waste of precious moments. My beard now deeply greyed 

by accumulated days, missing that rumbling 

stomach of youth, hungry for something real, not more 

distractions to help the daze be gazed away while 

dreams are razed, chasing c.r.e.a.m.'s siren song deceits for 

another hour, day, month, year... a lifelong beguile.

This internal jihad between dirtgod and white 

devil leaves me lost some days too far gone from right. 

4N0NYM0VS M0N1K3RS...

anonymous monikers

rattling past like seeds scattered

by post-industrial winds

SM4LL T0WN S4N1T4R1VM...

small town sanitarium

haunted by lost energies,

now tourist attraction

CH00S3 T0 T4K3 TH3 W1ND0W S34T...

choose to take the window seat,

because the immensity

of Earth always impresses

S1TT1NG 0N TH1S B3NCH W4TCH1NG...

sitting on this bench watching

fake world bustle with pretend,

my heart full of hustler font

BL4NK F4C3S L0ST T0 TH3 F0G...

blank faces lost to the fog,

consulting passing data

to try and make connection

TH3 FVTVR3 B3L0NGS T0 GH0STS...

the future belongs to ghosts -

not to venture capital,

not to freedom - fucking ghosts

ST4T3 P0L1C3 0R P0L1C3 ST4T3...

state police or police state -

six of one or half dozen

of the other (six six six)

25-Man Metaphysical Roster: Liverpool F.C.

[Klopp is beautifully insane]

[25-Man Metaphysical Roster is a football dork methodology meant to establish a listing of players who have been most active for English Premier League teams in their past 100 non-friendly matches. Essentially, it is calculated by minutes played, but weighted towards most recent games. The end result is a listing of the 25 players in a team’s recent history who have had the largest hand on their metaphysical sporting trajectory. The English Premier League was chosen because it is the highest level of football played in an English speaking country, and I speak English. Also, it is what comes on TV here in the USA, where I fucking live. And yet still I should clarify I hate English, and also America. Thus maybe I hate myself. Should I not fail in maintaining my unpaid deadline, a new 25-Man Metaphysical Roster will appear on the 1st and 15th of every month.]

Again, catching up, and it’s crazy to look at this list now a few months later because I am firmly aboard the Mo Salah train. AND HE WASN’T EVEN ON THEIR METAPHYSICS MIDDLE OF OCTOBER! That’s how quickly metaphysics shifts and a club can knock on the door of Champions League famousry. Again no blurbs because I snuck this in 1984 style months later. FAKE SPORTS!

#1: Roberto Firmino

#2: Simon Mignolet

#3: Emre Can

#4: Georginio Wijnaldum

#5: James Milner

#6: Dejan Lovren

#7: Nathaniel Clyne

#8: Joel Matip

#9: Jordan Henderson

#10: Philippe Coutinho

#11: Sadio Mane (previously #21 for Southampton on 1-Aug-2017)

#12: Adam Lallana

#13: Alberto Moreno

#14: Divock Origi

#15: Ragnar Klavan

#16: Lucas Leiva

#17: Daniel Sturridge

#18: Loris Karius

#19: Mohamed Salah

#20: Trent Alexander-Arnold

#21: Joe Gomez

#22: Kevin Stewart

#23: Mamadou Sakho

#24: Kolo Toure

#25: Ben Woodburn

L3SS0N 0F MVSHR00MS - F1ND1NG...

lesson of mushrooms - finding

your partner in life's debris,

growing briefly, then you're dead

P4TR10T1C P1CK-VP TRVCKS...

patriotic pick-up trucks

plus roadside litter seem more

common under idiot

V1RG1N14 1S F0R L0V3RS...

"Virginia is for lovers"

went the old government-run

propaganda indoctrine

H34L1NG FR4CT4LS 0F N4TVR3...

healing fractals of nature,

tendrils spiraling into our

lives, despite our abuses

W33K3ND M0T3L M3M0R13S...

weekend motel memories

from way back triggers sadness

on what no longer exists

M1L1T4R1ST1C L1N3-VPS...

militaristic line-ups

pretending to serve and protect,

hiding behind failed promise

1 F33L S0RRY F0R P0L1C3...

I feel sorry for police

dogs because they're already

domesticated... why more?

F41LVR3 D3M0NS STR1K3 W1TH0VT...

failure demons strike without

warning, metaphysical

left tackle blown assignment

BR0K3N B4CKB04RD L1F3STYL3S W1TH...

broken backboard lifestyles with

red, white, and blue nets, never

noticing the irony

R04D 4H34D C0MPL1C4T3D...

road ahead complicated

as fuck, lacking a roadmap,

but fuck it - no turning back

going light...

Site will become sort of active again on Monday, with return to gambleraku/homepix, and probably a music-related old school style thing (the return of J.J. Krupert?) in November. But also I just got a new volunteer job in Dirtrock, so I'm going to be spending most of my time - both in real life and in digital realm - there. You can follow along through patreon. I have no idea what this will mean, nor do I really give a fuck to try and explain it, because if I explain it, that'll only mess up the trip. Kind of like we are driving long distance, east basically, with rough directions but just wanna wander, no use of GPS. But if we keep checking the GPS in our robot phone, it tells us we're fucking up, going the wrong way (because not direct enough, like a machine), and then we start to question ourselves. I am done with questioning myself. You can come along for the ride or not. #FYIFYFMF forever.

Hit up the PATREON or don't.
You have free will (though it might be your gut bacteria tbh).

Here is a video...

Peace!
Raven Mack

this morning would've been 25-man metaphysics scheduled post, so I had that shit in mind as my site stayed dark. updating all these stupid projects I come up with is not easy, but also I enjoy it and expect nothing. so I'll probably return to pics & short poem again this week, maybe, at slower schedule, but a lot of projects hung in the middle or ongoing which will never actually find an end point are just gonna stop (like the metaphysics for EPL teams thing).
it feels stupid to update a fuckin' obscure ass website with such self-important status of "what I'm doing moving forward" but fuck it, I know ppl see this page and check it when the link pops up on their social media feeds. but though I'm sharing here, I can't share openly. there's been things going on for years, with new things added all the time, that I can't actually share openly bc wrong ppl might read it or take it wrong way or this or that. that's no longer being able to express yourself - instead that's just going thru the pretend motions of expression in act of building ego. that's basically what most of the internet is now at this point - personal branding, which is good enabling term for building ego off data.
anyways, much love to those that do come here looking to keep up with me, and pray for your boy. dirtgods are resilient as fuck, but microbacterial imams know and teach us all well, no one survives as far on their own.

if you're one of the four people that might be like "damn, I liked those 25-man metaphysics soccer things" don't fret, been working on one for World Cup which I'll self-publish some point early next year. it's already pretty dope.

and also, this is not a need for you to reach out, worrying, being like "what's up brvh?" I got this. I'm good. reach out in your world though, bc it's a ton of people suffering life catastrophes in silence bc they're afraid of the repercussions of someone knowing, or are just barely holding it together to get thru the constraints already put on their life by financial obligations. if you worried, reach out around you, bc you should be worried. a lot of ppl out here struggling.

25-Man Metaphysical Roster: Arsenal F.C.

[an Arsenal supporter lolol, it's like english version of my dad's smoking buddies]

[25-Man Metaphysical Roster is a football dork methodology meant to establish a listing of players who have been most active for English Premier League teams in their past 100 non-friendly matches. Essentially, it is calculated by minutes played, but weighted towards most recent games. The end result is a listing of the 25 players in a team’s recent history who have had the largest hand on their metaphysical sporting trajectory. The English Premier League was chosen because it is the highest level of football played in an English speaking country, and I speak English. Also, it is what comes on TV here in the USA, where I fucking live. And yet still I should clarify I hate English, and also America. Thus maybe I hate myself. Should I not fail in maintaining my unpaid deadline, a new 25-Man Metaphysical Roster will appear on the 1st and 15th of every month.]

Haha, I failed but I’m sneaking the old ones in for historical record. Funny looking at this now because it is uselessly out of date. RIP Arson Wanger. No blurbs, because lazy in the past and catching up BUT GUESS WHAT MY LIFE HAS BEEN FUCKING CRAZY DON'T JUDGE ME.

#1: Nacho Monreal

#2: Alexis Sanchez

#3: Mesut Ozil

#4: Hector Bellerin

#5: Laurent Koscielny

#6: Petr Cech

#7: Granit Xhaka

#8: Shkodran Mustafi

#9: Aaron Ramsey

#10: Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain

#11: Olivier Giroud

#12: Theo Walcott

#13: Gabriel Paulista

#14: Alex Iwobi

#15: Francis Coquelin

#16: Rob Holding

#17: Danny Welbeck

#18: Mohamed Elneny

#19: David Ospina

#20: Kieran Gibbs

#21: Per Mertesacker

#22: Lucas Perez

#23: Sead Kolasinac

#24: Ainsley Maitland-Niles

#25: Alexandre Lacazette