Tonight, I’ll be seeing The Gloria Record play at the Unitarian Church in Philadelphia with some hardcore bands. I spent last night picking out films to use for the upcoming Reels of White Softly Flow shows. Today is the final day in TNI Books’ Little Engines tour…enjoy.

Welcome to the LITTLE ENGINES Issue Three Electronic Reading Tour!

an excerpt from Jesus Christ Lord of Hosts Meets L.A. County
by Holly Day

Jesus is walking down an empty stretch of road next to a poorly maintained farm dotted with scraggly yellow grass and dried-up shrubs. The sun beats down on His back and neck, unbearably hot, and finding a shade tree to sit beneath is becoming more important than reaching L.A. before dark. He knows He should have started off earlier this morning, but His ridiculous nomadic compulsions don’t ever seem to occur at convenient or logical times.

There is a small stream up ahead, running parallel to the highway, barely a trickle, but obviously steady enough to support the decent-sized group of trees crowding the banks. He picks up His pace and hurries toward the oasis, praying it’s real, not some wicked mirage.

It is not a mirage. Jesus kneels down on the sandy bank and splashes cool water on His face, on His neck, sucking up whole handfuls as quickly as He can. The trees provide more than adequate shade, the grass is soft here – His eyes begin to close against His will and He has to lie down. He sinks to the ground and rests against a pile of smooth gray boulders. Cattle have been here recently, their stink still thick in the air. Jesus notices that the boulders under His head feel soft, warm, and smell like yeast. He finds His stomach is not asleep. The flat, gray stone breaks off easily under His fingers. He puts the pieces to His lips, in His mouth, and gratefully swallows the warm pebbles, remembering to thank Him who is responsible for these impromptu miracles.

“Hey, Mister,” says a voice behind Him. He turns around, and two boys on bicycles are staring at Him. “Hey, mister,” the taller of them says again, a freckled redhead. “Are ya lost?”

“No,” Jesus replies, but that isn’t the end of the conversation.

“This is my uncle’s land,” says the boy. “I don’t recollect him invitin’ nature freaks to camp out here.”

“I just need to rest a while and I’ll be on my way,” He answers. “I’m not looking for trouble.” Jesus finishes His meal as He speaks, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. The boys stare at Him, at the gray crumbs on His face, the half-eaten boulders broken at His feet, and walk away slowly, backwards, facing Him until they are far enough away to leap on their bicycles and speed away. Jesus chuckles to himself and turns over onto His side for a nap.

When He awakes, the boys have returned. They have brought three older men with them. Jesus sits up quickly, wary of their intentions. The men are dressed in flannel shirts and ripped-up jeans and have little or no teeth left in their mouths. One of them, a slightly-pinheaded man with a limp, hobbles up to Jesus and grins idiotically. “My name is John,” he says.

“Hello, John,” Jesus answers. He holds out His hand. The farmer stares at it in puzzlement. Jesus lets the hand hang there for a moment, then drops it back down to His side.

“My name is John,” the man says again, then shuffles back to join his friends. Jesus scoots back a little against the rocks, nervous. John is kicking at little clods of dirt, the stupid grin back on his face.

“You a magician?” ventures another one of the motley crew.

“Why, no,” Jesus answers, even more nervous. “Why do you ask?”

“You eat rocks.” The man gestured to the boulders broken up around Jesus’ feet.

“These?” Jesus laughs. “I don’t know what they are, but they’re not rocks. Someone dropped some bad bread or something. They’re just dirty loaves of bread. See?” He picks up one small rock and finds that it is heavy, solid. He tries to find another of the faux rocks and decides that He must have eaten them all. The old man smiles triumphantly at his friends.

“You eat rocks,” he states again. “You eat rocks.”


This concludes the Electronic Reading Tour! Your regular website operator will return shortly. Thank you to all readers and all hosts of this tour. If you’ve enjoyed the week’s stories and excerpts, check out the newest issue of LITTLE ENGINES in the online store.

It was downpouring when we got to the Phillies game last night, but we decided to keep on going. Maybe it was the thrill of baseball, maybe it was the lure of $1 hot dogs, maybe it was our own stupidity. In the end, my belly was full of processed meat and buns and the Phillies won in the bottom of the 9th, commonly attributed to my rally cap. It’s true.
Lots of changes in the on-line store, weeded out some old releases and added a few new ones. Day 4 in the Little Engines excitement.

Welcome to the LITTLE ENGINES Issue Three Electronic Reading Tour!
excerpts from Les Savy Fav: Cheerleaders for the Apocalypse, interview and story by Mike Daily

Lifter Puller singer/guitarist Criag Finn, now lyricist for The Brokerdealer, sums up everything he has to say about Les Savy Fav in this anecdote:

“We played with them in Detroit at this club called the Gold Dollar,” Craig says. “The first band, a local band, was playing to a pretty much empty room. As part of their set, this band was auctioning off items from their living room. They attempted to get the bidding going on a lamp. ‘Do I hear one dollar? Would anybody want to buy this lamp for one dollar

I added a new splash page with the postcard that was made for Denison Witmer’s Philadelphia Songs cd/LP that will be out 24 September 2002. A few more titles were added to the on-line store, so be sure to check those out. Tonight, a bunch of us will be going to $1 hot dog night at the Phillies. Maybe I’ll see you there…I’m really a Dodger fan, so I have a little more to be excited about than the Phillies’ season this year, but there is a special place in my heart for the home town team.
It’s day 3 for the Little Engines on-line tour.

Welcome to the LITTLE ENGINES Issue Three Electronic Reading Tour!

Letters to a Grade School Teacher
by Anonymous Students

Dear Mrs xxxxxxxx,

I wood like to make one thing cler. I don’t ate grad annd gas, and my besk is to small for me.

* * * *

I was not able to go to lunch to day because of what happened yesterday. And I really could not go because I was actting up right now. I could avoid it by listening to the techer. But I didn’t and right now it is to late.

* * * *

I pledge alegents to the flag of you ninenets state of amarica untell this plubie wich in sante one nachon under god inviezabull untell this wich in public.