Laying out the ground rules.

 

I had a show tonite with my new band project Whitman's Ghost.  We're a six-piece Americana/folk outfit that writes all original music.  We've only just begun (four months or so) and we still need to iron out some things, but we've got a really fun sound.  I'm also in this other band (first and foremost) called The Echo & Sway who just celebrated five glorious years.

I'm finding that a little something on the side isn't necessarily a bad thing.  What I am realizing, however, is that there always comes a little bad with the good.  As of tonite's post, I'm in the middle of a four-gig stretch (plus practices) in a little over a week.  Next Tuesday I've got a short fiction reading in Williamsport at Alabaster. 

Long story short: I'm finally coming to terms with a bit of depression after the fact.  Had a really great show tonite, really great, and stuck around to listen to American Opera whom we opened for.  Got home, though, after the second act and all my kibitzing, relaxing with the wife and watching an episode of our show.  Suddenly, I realize that as the credits roll how sad I am.

It's not that there's anything really wrong with me.  I could have talked longer, offered the musician a place to stay the nite, helped close up shop...trying to get a fix on the problem.  The problem is that I'm trying too hard to put my finger on a pulse that is only beating improperly because I'm making it so.  Please, let me explain.

I'm not doing my duty as a christian, as a man of God, as a matter of fact.  Did I pray before tonite's gig?  Nope.  Did I pray after tonite's gig?  Not then, either.  What about five years with The Echo & Sway?  Can say I can recall definitely one.  And therein lies the problem:  the fact that I'm the odd man out in these situations (a third of WG and half of TE&S) is really only the tip of the iceberg.  No wonder my Titanic self-esteem gets ripped apart once things have concluded.

Like I said, we did well tonite.  I can point out positives and negatives, but that's something I do on a minute-to-minute basis anyhow.  With last Saturday's performance, the show was EPIC.  For an anniversary show we were golden.  Seriously.  You can't make this stuff up.  (You could, but I can't embellish that much.)  The joking around, spot-on poems, even getting past the flubs--is was the cat's meow.

I'm no slouch behind the mic.  Could really use an instrument to round things out, but I have fun with what I'm doing, and it's hard to dance with a guitar.  I've been given a gift with voice, harmony, writing.  But it's not from me.  God has given me the fruit of the Spirit and I should be honing it through prayer, praising Him for the gifts He's given me, even using them to show others what Christ has done through little 'ol me.

O Discordia!

I've not yet figured out much of a running functionality to The Oracular Beard yet and I'm getting into a habit of just posting something whenever I feel like it.  In the coming weeks, I'm going to bust my hump to make a more streamlined effort in making my web presence established.

So today, for your listening and reading enjoyment, I'm posting one of the debut songs from my new musical collective Whitman's Ghost.  The chorus and musical arrangement is by band member Aron Agerton and the verses are adapted from the poem of the same name by yours truly.

Whitman's Ghost. O Discordia.

This is the original poem for you.  It was after a break-up where I wasn't sure where I was headed, but remembered all the pain I'd been getting, but at the same time dishing out my own.  Definitely wasn't on the path I was needing to be on.

It's also got a bunch of literary reference, the majority of which come from Stephen King's magnum opus The Dark Tower.  It's this sprawling western/fantasy epic that kicks butt over seven novels (there's more now) and has some pretty strong connections to the rest of his work.  All told, there's a bunch of reference that has our main character spinning his wheels trying to make up for his past.

O Discordia

I am me, and you are not

I am the last thing that I've got

all these open doors will soon be shut

here I come, ready or not

I have not forgot the face of my father

or the clearing at the end of the path

the direction of my travels tend to wander

until I'm faced with the aftermath

I'm going down, my guns a-blazin'

out of bullets when I turn to the sword

zig and zag those peals of lightning

as if I'd forgotten what I'm fighting for

I am me, and you are not

I am the last thing that I've got

all these open doors will soon be shut

here I come, ready or not

bodies piled high in the courtyard

it's not the outcome we deserve

seeing through shades of gray is so hard

when all along it's the white we're to serve

not that I aim to take no prisoners

the price to fight for our sake

and as the ranks are growing thinner

dead and wounded lie in our wake

bang bang, shoot shoot

we deal our trade in lead

happiness is a warm gun

forever pointed at your head

call off these harriers

please, please, and thankee sai

break down these barriers

and remove the plank from my eye

all is quiet on the western front

not a sound to be heard

picking, poking, prodding at the remains

is a single, solitary bird

this old crow's wings been clipped

hopping back and forth from corpse to corpse

all that's left that seems alive

is this sputtering, guttering, blackened torch

I am me, and you are not

I am the last thing that I've got

all these open doors will soon be shut

here I come, ready or not

Buy the first book here!

Don't click on this next link unless you want major spoilers to the series!

Discordia