intentional pompadour …southern culture in images and words…
intentional pompadour …southern culture in images and words… is a free quarterly zine based out of Augusta, Georgia and published by Betsey Venom submissions accepted by southern creatives and sponsorships are available send your work or ad request in the body of an email to: betseyvenom@yahoo.com if you are published, you will receive a copy of the issue in which your work is featured and you will retain all rights to your work issue 1 fall 2017
fall 2017
FREE
INTENTIONAL POMPADOUR
Welcome to the inaugural issue of Betsey Venom’s intentional pompadour - a brand new zine that features words, art, and more - celebrating the South’s creative culture. I started this zine as a means to get my thoughts out into the world and offer others a chance to see their name – and their work – in print. While online blogs and websites offer instant info and entertainment, old-fashioned paper copies of publications are tangible items and, I think, pretty doggoned important. Does the idea of this zine sound good to you? Do you see the benefit of such a project? Would you like to see YOUR work in print? If so, send your - poem, essay, song lyrics, photos, drawings, you name it - to me at betseyvenom@yahoo.com and be sure to keep the word count at or below 500. As this is a small one-person project, I am unable to pay in $ but will mail you a hard copy of the issue where your work is featured. You retain all rights to your work. In this issue, I am proud to introduce our resident chef, native Atlantan Bridget Reilly Long. You will love her original Southern recipes. You will also enjoy a short interview with Augusta, Georgia writer and artist, Victoria Hardy. Augusta, Georgia singer and musician Roger Davis gives us a glimpse into Civil War prison camp Andersonville in his essay, Reunions: Past and Present, and why it holds such a special place in his heart. T. Leon Bigham of Cumming, Georgia offers a deep and exquisite word picture with his poem, The Second Coming of Intolerance. Eatonton, Georgia resident Darlene Zenami shares a piece of her original pencil art entitled Vernal Fairy. Author Echo LaVeaux from Savannah, Georgia shares an excerpt from her first novel, Velvet. There are a few little things from me here, too. If you are looking for a fresh place to explore the most creative and independent Southern minds, then stick around. I’m sure you’ll find your place among the pages of this slim volume. If this sounds good to you, then get to submitting so I can get to printing. Thanks for coming along. Enjoy the ride.
Cravings and Withdrawals = Cake in My World An original Southern recipe by Bridget Reilly Long Sometimes you buy something with no particular purpose: a pair of shoes to fill that last remaining space in the closet, a new car because you can, or just one of those impulse buys you get suckered into at the check out counter. I bought a small jar of Chipotle Raspberry Sauce at the world market a couple of weeks ago, no reason just looked at it and stuck it in the basket. I like to bake year round and literally will have cravings to bake if I go too long with out baking something. I made what turned out to be a pretty cool cake of my own creation. White Chocolate Chipotle Raspberry Cake aka CCR. From time to time I get these great ideas; others times they are like the dud fire cracker you get in the “mega” pack. So, to follow, I’m bragging in the form of sharing the recipe for you to sparkle. White Chocolate Chipotle Raspberry Cake – aka CCR For Cake: 2/3 c butter softened 1 ¾ c sugar 2 eggs 1 ½ tsp vanilla extract 2 ½ c flour 2 ½ tsp baking powder ½ tsp salt 1 ¼ c milk 4-5 c powdered sugar
For Filling: ½ c powdered sugar 8 oz cream cheese, softened 1/3 c Chipotle Raspberry Sauce For Frosting: 6 oz white chocolate 1 c butter (2 sticks) ½ c milk or heavy cream
In a large mixing bowl, cream butter & sugar until light and fluffy. Add eggs one at a time (or together) and mix until incorporated. Add vanilla then combine the dry ingredients: flour, baking powder and salt. Beginning and ending with the flour, add to butter mixture alternating with the milk. (Don’t ask why…it’s just the rules). Pour into prepared 9 inch pans and bake @ 350° for 25-30 minutes. Let sit for 10 minutes then remove from pans to wire rack to cool complete. While cakes are cooling Mix ½ cup powdered sugar, cream cheese and chipotle sauce for filling. Chill until ready. Then start the frosting by melting the white chocolate with ¼ c of the milk or cream. Cream the powdered sugar and butter together add the white chocolate and additional ¼ c milk or cream as needed to make spreading consistent. Spread filling on top of bottom layer cake then top with second layer cake. Spread with frosting.
Waxing Crescent Moon – A Poem Echo LaVeaux
Southern Sights & Sounds Featuring King Cat and The Elders
You sit high in the sky, sweet Sister Early evening, sprinkling Moon dust Over your sibling Earth, blessing All creation with your growing form Love and light, magic and mystery Climbing higher with each passing nightfall From “Echo LaVeaux’s Book of the Moon,” available on Amazon
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Melancholy Moon Art by Betsey Venom
King Cat and The Elders are on a mission to restore rockabilly to the CSRA and beyond! Formed in the spring of 2016, the band made its public debut on the Global Stage at the Arts in the Heart of Augusta festival. They made a return appearance on that very stage for 2017. Whether playing private gigs (like the dedication of the Ty Cobb Historical Marker at Cobb’s former residence) or gracing the stages of premier Augusta clubs such as the Metro, Stillwater Taproom and the Fox’s Lair, King Cat and The Elders never disappoint. Come see what everyone is raving about! Next show: Saturday, October 28 @ The Metro, 1054 Broad Street, Augusta For booking information, contact Steve Bouye at 803-474-0510 Visit kingcatandtheelders.com for info and merch!
FEEL THE TWANG!
R to L, King Cat and The Elders are: Dwight “Twang Cat” Bradham (lead guitar and vocals), Steve “King Cat” Bouye (lead vocals and harmonica), Jeff “Beat Cat” Johnston (drums and vocals), Dean “Bass Cat” Klopotic (bass guitar), and Roger “Rhythm Cat” Davis (rhythm guitar and vocals).
The Poet’s Corner
Vernal Fairy
By Darlene Zenami
The Second Coming of Intolerance By T. Leon Bigham
Cotton rows crisscross the world, making pure design in space and time beneath the faded lines of a bird born two days later on the operating table. Giving us the final victory while the world bows at your feet and cries, "what lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why," when I was a connoisseur of slugs, and intimate past knowing Moon pies, and Madness, and Saltwater Taffy. You can sink your teeth into the broad, shallow valley I look down at the hour pre-selected. Empowered with what malevolence whenever I feel I am most myself deadly and all-devouring, among my dreams and memories. With scents, sounds, colors, by whose lights I find hard liberty before the easy yoke that man, the victim of a will, which alters when it alteration finds. Assorted characters of death and blight, like two giant fat people in the forests of the night, where the sea meets the moon-blanched land beneath a constant sky. Then came ...Nature, red in tooth and claw, that slouches towards Bethlehem to be re-born.
“I earned my Masters in March 2011 at University of South Alabama, Mobile, AL. I have been writing poetry since fifth grade, fifty years of words needed for catharsis.” - T. Leon Bigham
Darlene Zenami is a writer and artist who creates magical works at her home in Eatonton, Georgia.
Reflections on Southern History “Reunions: Past and Present”– an essay by Roger Davis As a Southerner who happens to be a fan of history, or a fan of history who happens to be Southern, I tend to think of history as a living breathing thing. Not so much something to read about in books, but something talked about with elders and re-lived every day. This seems to be a uniquely Southern trait. And one we are proud of. I had the pleasure of attending a family reunion in southwest GA recently and the stories told and re-told were numerous. Faces of the older relatives juxtaposed with the faces of the newer ones were like little time capsules of years past. Like the time a rat snake bit my dad and promptly died, because we surmised his blood alcohol level was toxic to the snake. Or the year that monsoon-like rains forced us to move the 50 person get-together to my cousins 800 sq. ft. farmhouse, resulting in one of the greatest family reunions in the history of the universe. These are the memories that make a life. But there are other memorable moments from these reunions as well. When I attend this semi-annual event, I always make a point of visiting the National Cemetery at Andersonville, Georgia. In its time it was the most notorious POW camp in the south. During its 14 month existence from February of 1864 until the Confederate surrender in April of 1865, over 45,000 Union soldiers were held there. More than 14,000 died and are buried there. Some in mass graves. As a Southerner I am drawn to this site. I’m not entirely sure why, but going there seems to be good for my soul. I will never forget my first visit 20 years ago. As I entered the grounds with my Uncle James, himself a student of history, I immediately understood that I was standing on hallowed ground. To cross what is called the “dead line” was for me a transcendental experience. The “dead line” is a 20ft wide swath of no mans land that circles the camp inside the stockade walls. To cross the dead line as an inmate was to invite certain death from the guards ringing the stockade walls. When I stepped across the dead line for the first time, I got chills. I still do to this very day. I visited Andersonville this past Labor Day weekend and the memory of that day 20 years ago was as vivid as the moment it was made. And true to my tradition, I walked the grounds.
I thought of the many men and boys who died there under horrific conditions. On a rise near the main gate I sat and smoked a cigar in tribute to the men in blue and butternut. As I do on every visit, I left a cigar on the grounds for the boys who didn’t make it home. I always think of those soldiers, doing their duty as they saw it. Some were volunteers, some were draftees. Many were barely out of their teens. Most from faraway states. With memories of their own. Never to see their homes or families again. And with every visit I make new memories for the future. The memory of watching a young family with school aged children stopping at one of the many memorials on the grounds. Overhearing the father tell the children about their great-great grandfather who was held at Andersonville but was lucky enough to have survived the ordeal. Visiting on Memorial Day and seeing the many thousands of gravestones adorned with small American flags. Seeing a place which was the site of great misery, now transformed into a peaceful green expanse of grass and sky. Memories indeed. They give us our ability to connect with the past…of memories both good and bad in our own lives, and in our shared Southern history. Places like Andersonville remind me of that shared history. Proud of our “Southern-ess” but also proud of our ability to reconcile the past with the future. It seems both a burden and a blessing to be a Southerner these days. But I’d like to think that in time, our negatives from the past will be outweighed by our better attributes. Being reminded of who you are and not forgetting where you come from are instilled in us from an early age. And those memories are what makes a Southern life what it is. A celebration of family. A unique experience of culture. Sometimes pretty, sometimes ugly. But never boring. As a proud Southerner I realize it comes with the territory. I’m okay with that. Roger Davis is a full-time reader and cabinetmaker, a part-time writer and musician.
Spotlight on Independent Southern Novels An excerpt from Velvet by Echo LaVeaux
“Fragile? He seems to be in the peak of health. How in the hell do you know all this, Dee? Who told you this?” I was incredulous and terrified. Dee sounded like a real-life prophet of old. “The archangel told me. Raphael came to me in the midst of the revelation last night with a word of knowledge just for you. I knew it was true, because for god’s sake it was Raphael. You don’t question Raphael.” “Okay, so Nigel is the one for me. And you’re right, you should never question an archangel.” The air became stuffy at our table. My breaths grew shallow and I struggled to keep tears from forming in my eyes. “I would like to believe this, Dee, I would. But like I said, it’s way too early for me to know for sure.” “So, you need to get together with him the next chance you’re able. You’ll spend time together very soon. He’s going to open up to you, and you’re going to find yourself opening up to him. Within a week, it’ll feel as if you’ve been together forever. In reality, you have. You’ll find that he’s your soul mate, your twin flame. But first, you need to get with him alone. There will be an opportunity.” “Damn it, Dee. You’re scaring me.” “Don’t be frightened, Nyx. I don’t mean to scare you. Raphael needed you to know.” Dee reached over and caressed my face with his rough fingers. “Too bad it wasn’t to be with me. You know I’ve always thought you were my angel. You’ve always made me so very happy.” “Dee.” “Sorry. I know. Bad Dee.” I smiled at him. “Okay, so what’s the big news that you wanted to share concerning your visitation? I’m dying to know.” “I’m going home.” “I thought you said you weren’t moving back to Florida.” “No,” he said, “not that home. My real home.” “Come on, Dee. Quit fucking with me.” “I’m not fucking with you. God’s coming in a cloud to take me home, only you can’t tell anyone about this. No one. Do I have your word?” “Yes, of course,” I said. “But come on now. God hasn’t come down in a cloud for thousands of years. What makes you so sure he’s coming for you?” “Raphael said so.” “And you don’t question Raphael,” I said.
Words I needed to say weren’t forming well enough for me to speak them. This didn’t sound good at all. I began to wonder what drug Dee was taking and with what it was cut. Was this just a bad batch of coke talking through him? He grabbed my arm. “So, are you going to heed my words? I’ve got to be certain before I leave here tonight.” “Yes. I’ll go with Nigel to a cemetery by a river if he asks me. And, I promise I won’t tell anyone about god coming down in a cloud to get you tonight.” “You’ve always been a great friend, Nyx. Thank you for being my friend when so many others wouldn’t. I love you so much.” We got up to go. I glanced at my phone to see if it was still recording. It was. I slipped it into my coat pocket. We walked out the door into the crisp night air. Standing outside the Pep, Dee turned one last time to look at me. He radiated light. His aura was on fire and there was no mistaking the joy in his soul. I reached out and held him for a small eternity. This was it, the finale. I just knew it. Somehow I knew I would never see him again. He wouldn’t tell me anymore than he had, and I didn’t press him. What I did next surprised even me. I reached up and gave him a kiss square on the lips. I never kissed anyone there, ever. It was my personal taboo. A kiss on the lips was a commitment, but tonight was different. I knew that this kiss symbolized the best and most powerful way for me to say goodbye without words. There was no way I could verbalize that to him. It seemed way too final. So, I kissed him again. “Velvet” by Echo LaVeaux is available in both paperback and Kindle versions at Amazon.com. Check out her website at echolaveaux.com
Betsey’s Best: Southern Eats Southbound Smokehouse
There is nothing this girl loves more than regional cuisine. Since I was born, raised and still live in the South, let me start here with one of my favorite local Augusta, Georgia restaurants. Southbound Smokehouse 1855 Central Avenue
Interview With the Artist
Featuring writer and artist Victoria S. Hardy Betsey - What inspired to you begin writing and how did you choose your genre?
Southbound Smokehouse, located in the former Crum’s building on Central, offers some of the best barbecue this side of the Mississippi. Famous for their smoked meats, the restaurant offers everything from pulled pork to smoked wings, quesadillas to burritos, pimento cheese to fried pickles, and ribs to die for. The menu is Southern, unique and everything I’ve eaten here has been outstanding.
Victoria - My genre came to me naturally as I was the youngest of both sides of the family, and witnessed lots of interactions, and too many funerals to count at a young age. When my sister died right before my ninth birthday, and I saw her standing beside my bed after the funeral, I began writing. My first little book was about a bear who didn’t like honey, illustrating, I suppose, how I was suddenly different than my peers. Now I write about the things and behaviors that are typically not discussed.
The Southbound vibe is very hip. Concert posters of jam bands line the walls. There’s even a stage and live music most nights. Service is fast and efficient. The bar offers a wide variety of drink options, including ice-cold craft brews that are served by the can.
Betsey - You have an interesting way of creating paintings using fabric as a paint medium. How did you discover this way of making art?
If you need to get your ‘cue on, head over to Southbound. Tell ‘em Betsey at intentional pompadour sent you. southboundsmokehouse.com ______________________________________________________________________________
The Harv’s Pick of The Litter
Victoria - I love fabric, and I love paint, unfortunately I am not a great painter, but sometimes I just have to slop color on canvas. I was making quilts, and pocketbooks, and selling them, but then I thought … what about fabric on paint?? It was a messy undertaking, but I started cutting out silhouettes on nice fabric, and trying to match, or contrast the colors on canvas. Still amazed that they sell, and I always smile when I see one. Betsey - What does art in general mean to you?
In each issue, our resident feline philosopher will answer one question from the general audience. Today’s question comes from Grizelda Johnson. She asks: Q: Harv, what is the meaning of life? A: Why, everyone knows that the answer to this question is 42. Meow. Got a question you’d like to ask the cat? Email The Harv at betseyvenom@yahoo.com and if you’re lucky, maybe he’ll pick your question next.
Victoria - For myself, personally, art is a release. Art, be it writing, or painting, or fabric, or gardening is a release of those pent up things. It is amazing when I do well, when people buy the books, paintings, or admire my gardens … but it’s more than what people admire - down deep it’s expressing angst, frustration, hope, love, and belief. I’m often amazed at what my artist friends do, show, and present to the world. Sometimes looking at a piece of art you know what went in to it, and that introspection, struggle, and release cost far more than the price tag on it. To find Victoria’s works online, you may purchase novels at: https://www.amazon.com/Victoria-S.-Hardy/e/B008B2EXY8
Victoria’s blog, with lots of free short stories, can be found at: http://turtlesvoice.blogspot.com/
thank you for picking up and reading this issue of intentional pompadour if you enjoy what you see here, drop me a note at betseyvenom@yahoo.com sponsorships available and subscription information coming soon next issue: winter 2018, to be released on or around the winter solstice ~ december 21, 2017