July Junk

Thanks to the anonymous reader who left the tip about the kudzu Jesus in Kinston, North Carolina. We’re just shy of the two-year anniversary of this kudzu Jesus from Raleigh. It’s true, North Carolina has a lot of kudzu. This particular form has been spared a spray of pesticide.

How has the summer treated you so far? Unlike last year, I’m keeping close to New York. Haven’t had to use the air conditioner yet, though tonight is the first night where I seem to be breaking a sweat typing. Hmmm.

I’m reading next Monday in Washington Heights in support of the amazing Word Up Pop-Up Bookstore, run by friend Veronica Liu. The event is an official Meetup for legendary radio station WFMU (go here and scroll down to the February 26, 2007, episode of The Speakeasy with Dorian to hear me discuss Madonna of the Toast, should you dare, or care).

Also, my pal Christopher D Salyers is gearing up for a trip to Japan as part of his third and final installment of the Face Food books. Have you ever seen a Japanese bento box made to resemble a character? If you have, and you’re not Japanese, blame Christopher. A few years back he introduced charaben to Westerners and since then it has become quite the fad, both in terms of food and design. Since I know all of you have already spent your hard-earned money on my books, think about contributing to Christopher’s Kickstarter project, especially if you’ve ever wanted to see your face rendered in rice, seaweed and okra.

Happy summer!

Friday, October 29, Reading at Saki in Chicago

Dear readers, how many of you live in Chicago? How many of you want to hear me read from my short story collection, I Like to Keep My Troubles on the Windy Side of Things? For the rare breed of reader that both lives in Chicago and wants to listen to me say words I have written, you are in luck. I will be at Saki in Logan Park Friday, October 29. The event starts at 6:30 so we won’t take up too much of your night. I’ll be there with my pal Veronica Liu, the mastermind behind Fractious Press. There will also be local talent, including John Paul Davis, an old friend. Tell all of your Chicago friends!



And just so no one thinks that Madonna of the Toast stories don't happen if I don't keep up with them, here's one from last week. According to the Winston-Salem Journal, Bill Johnson found this fallen branch in his yard and discovered "what appears to be a robed image of Jesus with an outstretched hand." Johnson has sprayed the wood with polyurethane and plans on keeping this fallen treasure. I have to say, he looks good holding it.

Kudzu Jesus

If you recall from my last post, I’m from Philadelphia. I didn’t learn of kudzu, a tenacious climbing vine, until I had friends living in Asheville, North Carolina, where the stuff runs roughshod. It should come as no surprise then that a kudzu Jesus has been discovered in Raleigh, North Carolina, visible from the Boylan Avenue Bridge, close to train tracks.

What’s really interesting about this story is how it originated on the blog Goodnight, Raleigh! and then became a news item, thanks to the North Raleigh News.

Goodnight, Raleigh! is “a look at the art, architecture, history, and people of the city at night.” John Morris, one of the blog’s regular contributors, was out on the bridge one night talking trains with friends when a pub patron ambled by and pointed out how the kudzu running along wires takes on the appearance of outstretched arms, a la the Christ the Redeemer statue in Rio de Janeiro.



Morris writes of the form that it is “merely a coincidental growth formation on power lines, but can still be an interesting topic of conversation.”

One man’s coincidence is another man’s human interest story, however. Writing for the North Raleigh News, Josh Shaffer came at the overgrowth from a slightly different angle: “He snakes up a utility pole, forming a majestic trunk and a head seemingly bowed in prayer or agony. A pair of arms appears to spread along the wires in each direction, inviting the world into a leafy embrace.” Shaffer even discussed the topic with Pete Surrette, who happened to walk “past with ketchup-stained pants and a Ziploc bag full of toiletries.” Says Surrette: "He's got the outstretched arms and everything. I walk these tracks and never noticed it. It was just a bush to me."

Isn’t that what Moses said?

Here’s more on Surrette as reported by Shaffer:

As he muses on its resemblance to the Lamb of God, Surrette mentions that he spent nine years behind bars for attacking a man with a garden rake. If the Kudzu Jesus turned around, he could see the window of the very cell in Central Prison where Surrette served his sentence.

But the mysterious bush keeps its gaze fixed straight ahead, vine-made eyes on the path where Surrette is strolling away, offering shelter from a hard world.

If only that rake were still around, I bet Surrette could get himself a landscaping gig down there by the tracks.

And the Angels Sing

The election is over (YAAAAY!), and so now it is back to business as usual, or as usual as matters can be in these parts. This story is a pre-election story, but just about a week old. It came to me via a Google alert, and I was tickled by the fact that the writer cited this here blog to give the story a bit of context (though she should have mentioned the book, too).

Found near Johnny Mercer’s Pier in Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina, this shell immediately struck the stroller as resembling the Virgin Mary. According to the article, “like a good entrepreneur,” the person that found the shell, no doubt reeling from religious ecstasy, put it up for sale on eBay. Nothing surprising in that, but what is surprising is that the shell sold for $135 after 26 bids.

The shell’s ribbing does create the effect of a robe, and its belled shape echoes the iconic form of Mary, but I’m not quite sure why this item would sell while so many other more or less similar items do not sell, or sell for a couple of bucks. I guess some people really like shells.

But that’s the beauty of these stories, there is so much you can never know and wondering can be the real joy.

I wonder why a pier in North Carolina is named after Savannah, Georgia’s most famous son?

Of William Blake, Moses and a Watermelon

Both read the Bible day and night,
But thou read’st black where I read white.

from The Everlasting Gospel by William Blake



See the dirt encrusted on the rind of this watermelon bought at the Farmer’s Market in Asheville, North Carolina? Martha Heath-Vehorn thinks it’s Moses, because she “knew it couldn't be Jesus,” according to this Times News article.

I’ve been to Asheville, several times, a few visits lasting weeks at a time. One of my old and most favorite partners in crime runs a letterpress studio there, Blue Barnhouse. Asheville is a small mountain town where the most exciting happenings take place in the woods and tree-dense rolling mountains, so it’s no surprise that this kind of news item would get some attention, but then again, even in huge cities like Dallas these stories get play in the media.

Thing is, this woman is discerning enough to look at her $3 watermelon, see a face, not see Jesus, and default to Moses, of all Biblical figures. I don’t see a smile here, in fact I see something more chthonic, which is appropriate I suppose for a fruit grown from seed. Thinking of it as a face, it strikes me as angry, but then again, that’s the intrigue of such visual manifestations, no two people can ever see the same thing in the same way. And of course the same rule can be applied to the notion of meaning, too. William Blake demonstrates this with a deft rhyme scheme in his poem “The Everlasting Gospel.”

Heath-Vehorn knows that the dirt will fall off or dissolve eventually, but in the meantime she is open to suggestions. I think she should read Blake and study his amazing prints. His demonic and strained faces echo, for me at least, in this dirt Moses, but his words also speak to the essence of how varied interpretation can be, which is the crux of Madonna of the Toast.

Jesus was sitting in Moses’ chair.
They brought the trembling woman there.
Moses commands she be ston’d to death.
What was the sound of Jesus’ breath?
He laid His hand on Moses’ law;
The ancient Heavens, in silent awe,
Writ with curses from pole to pole,
All away began to roll.
The Earth trembling and naked lay
In secret bed of mortal clay;