Cave Comics and YOU!

Dear Internauts,

For the first time in far too long, I decided to walk to the cafe today instead of drive. It's just over a mile, but it felt like ten. It didn't used to be this hard. I stretched. I work good walking shoes. My backpack was light with only my laptop, a book, and some papers. Still, as I stepped into the AC and went to wash my face and hands in the restroom, the full-body suit of sweat I'd accumulated was fairly swamp-like.

It's not that I'm out of shape. I'm just in a different shape. A squishier shape.

Speaking of shapes, what kind of shape has 2 faces and infinite sides?

A poly-tician!

Anyway, I think I might try walking some more. It gave me some time to think up a little analogy for how I've been feeling of late. I even made a comic about it.

(Despite the original sketches not taking too long, the process of starting any new artistic endeavor—in this case the setting up and editing part—always takes somewhere around 70% longer than that same process after practice. Yes, I did just make that statistic up.)

Thanks for being you, 

Odist

p.s.—With 10 days to go, the crowd-funding campaign to help me record a new EP has 11 backers and a little over halfway to go till our goal. If you'd like to help out, know someone who might, or just find out more information, please check out: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1610720524/odist-abettor-ep

Single Shots of Sacharine Splendor

Dear Internauts,

Sup?

So I'm sitting here half-watching the Olympic Opening Ceremony/half playing Kingdom Hearts Unchained on my phone. It's basically like any other quazi-rpg phone game but with Mickey Mouse. I'm thinking how weird TV commercials are, as I rarely see them anymore. Sure sometimes I wait through or skip an ad on YouTube, there are ads on the side of diff sites, or clickbait on the bottom of articles. This whole two-three minutes of content for every fourish minutes of ads, though, just feels desperate. The commercials themselves are a mix of sentimental, manic, hyper-patriotic, and clueless.  But then I've gotten so used to a media culture of compilations and top ten lists that don't pad their content for time. Instead content creators rush from point to point so as to grasp the attention of a buffet audience.

I could get all political about Brazil classism and the twisted parade of fascist dick-measuring proclaiming unity that is the Olympics, but I'm not a cynical guy. I can get emotionally manipulated by the right montage soundtrack as much as the next consumer. I'm not above buying tickets for a 3D screening even if it doesn't do much besides darken the colors.

What I'm trying to say is I loved Suicide Squad. I crave a coke. I wish I could skateboard. And I understand the irony of railing against commercialism while running a crowd-funding campaign. I guess the difference is that I will continue to make content for you no matter what because I make art out of love. Still, your help makes that love grow exponentially.

The best stuff I've ever made--the essence of what Odist Abettor Music is all about--has been a work of cooperative creativity. Whether from musicians, engineers, singers, financiers, and encouraging fans, there is no worthwhile endeavor achieved entirely alone. Even haters help.

Of course, the daily struggle to keep moving forward is a very personal one. Putting pen to paper or fingers to keys or picks to strings--these are cerebral challenges of astonishing weight. And yet, all those who have encouraged me or questioned me or denied me or inspired me keep me trying and doing and achieving.

So maybe it's just another silly commercial, but if on some oddball chance you would like to participate in helping me make some more art, please click the link below and tell your friends.

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1610720524/odist-abettor-ep


Thanks,
Odist

Scary Movies and an Update too!?!!

Dear Internauts, 

How ya doing? 

I saw the film Lights Out last night and really enjoyed it. It uses a smart and creative script to convey what could have been far too simple a horror concept. It works, I think, on multiple levels as both a fun scare-fest and a tragic allegory for the way that mental illness and loss can affect the one with the illness and their family. Unlike plenty of other horror flicks, though, it doesn't make the one with the illness out to be themselves a monster but rather shows how hard it is to deal with for them and those they love. This external antagonistic force can so often feel like it's all our fault and make us feel hopeless or terrified and want to hide away from those who love us. 

I don't think that is really a spoiler in any way but represents why you might find it a good watch. If you've seen it, I'd love to know your thoughts. While it's a jump-scare filled summer thriller, it's also an intelligent, character-driven drama. 

I've also been reading Freedom by Daniel Suarez, the sequel to the masterwork which is Daemon. Think Michael Chricton level research and technical knowledge in a sci-fi thriller of Hollywood proportions (but with the kind of sci-fi smarts more often found in Philip K. Dick short stories). It's hard sci-fi based in tech that exists or will likely exist very soon. What happens when the killer in a detective story isn't a person but a computer program designed by a dead genius? What will it take to stop it? Can it even be stopped? AH! It's so good. 

Anyways, I started on a new song last night. Pretty personal, but nothing I haven't shared on here before. Sincerity enriches art. Breaking it down into twenty-ish lines of verse can be tough, though. 

By the by, if there are any songs you'd love to hear me cover or any questions you feel like asking me about anything at all, let me know on this blog, facebook, twitter, or email ( odistabettor@gmail.com ).

Hope you have a lovely week!!! Keep your head up, k?

......

The following was posted on my new kickstarter page as an update. To check that out and/or help fund my next recording project, visit https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1610720524/odist-abettor-ep

If you're reading this, you might have noticed I have a kickstarter campaign. I remember for a while there, it seemed like everyone had one of these. Knowing plenty of artists is one of my favorite parts of life, though at times it can seem like everyone is trying to get their next project funded at the same time. I've helped fund some projects in the past, but could never give very much. There have also been plenty of projects I wanted to give to but couldn't. 

Soooo, when I say no pressure, I mean it. I understand that just paying for the necessities in life is tough enough. Even if you're steadily employed, it can def throw off your budget or cause stress whenever someone from left field asks for money. 

I care far more about not stressing you out or making things hard for you than I do about convincing you to give money to this or any project. Thus why most everything I've released before has been free or 'pay what you want'. 

So why is this different? Why would I even want to do a project that requires funding after all I've been able to do for free in the past? Basically, why in the world am I doing this whole thing?

Well, I have (for the sake of brevity and balance) 3 main reasons: 

1. Money or not, no work is free. Other recordings I've done took an ever building number of hours from folks kind enough to volunteer their time and talent. Artists do a lot of work for free when they should be paid. I can never fully pay back all those who've given of themselves to help realize my artistic visions. Even my self-produced album Hazard Lights took so much time and energy, I still don't know where it all came from. But then, of course, I remember how that project succeeded for the same reason I know this one can, because...

2. I believe this could be the best yet. I know, belief isn't everything, but it's a necessary ingredient to mix into the foundation of any creative endeavor. It's why I keep pushing forward with stories, songs, and drawings even when I feel so stuck or depressed it seems hopeless. It's tough to see the potential of anything during the process of making it. That said, I've been through a lot of living since the last go. Plus, so much has happened in the world. I've written a lot of songs and gotten better as a songwriter, musician, and performer. Working with a new producer in a pro studio, I believe, can take all the ingredients I bring and help build up something marvelous. Still, I gotta be cautious and sensible, right? Well...

3. Nothing decently worthwhile I've ever done has been without risk. Growing up, whenever anyone asked what I wanted to do with my life and I even hinted at music, they got this look on their face. It was like they saw a dead bunny on the side of the road. I'm only where I am because of the people who have believed and supported me, but then I should also thank all those people who lectured me about practicality and having a fallback plan. What I'm risking here is trusting folks I don't know with aspects of my music and my reputation as an artist. But then, I can always write more songs, and I should really care a lot less what anybody thinks of me.  It also feels pretty scary asking you for help. Asking anyone for help. I'm so grateful for the trust you put in me and please know how much your support means to me. Your risk means so much, but it also has only two pretty simple outcomes. Either A) you help me create some new and different and amazing art, or B) if we don't reach the goal by the end of this, you get your money back. No problem.

Feel free to check back here or on my blog @ odistabettormusic.blogspot.com for further updates. Thank you for your help! 

This is very exciting :)

-Odist

Fool of Three (or how i learned to stop worrying and love myself)

Dear Internauts,

Does you ever feel like there are aspects of yourself which, for whatever reason, are ten trillion times harder to adequately express than all the rest?

Like, I've worked as a mail clerk, a funeral assistant, a cashier, a camp counselor, a night auditor, and more, but even while being in those positions, none of those titles felt appropriate to describe even a portion of myself. While a job may take up most of my day, I never felt such a close connection to any of those jobs that saying "I am a (insert job title)" was anywhere close to accurate. Let's call these jobs the "grown-up-kid-jobs".

However, don't we need an answer to the inevitable "what do you do" or "where do you work" or even "what are you"?

(For reference, the answers are "not much", "nowhere without an adapter", and "human last I checked".)

Okay, you may say, but that's just a social norm thing. Small talk. No big deal.

Firstly, I'm an INFP so I don't have the patience or the blood pressure for most small talk. Secondly, I would avoid all social interaction if it weren't for the whole living in a society where I have to sell my labor for the means to trade for goods and services. Thirdly, rule of three.

The truth of it is, though, when working at one of these grown-up-kid-jobs, there's another kind of work that I have to find time and energy for in between all the menial adult-ing. This is the writing kinda stuff or the music kinda stuff or the visual arts kinda stuff.

Did you know I'm working on a novel and a comic and several short stories?

Did you know I'm writing a bunch of poetry and songs? (ok that one you may have known)

Did you know I really feel like a dramatic list only works well if there are at least three examples and above that always an odd number?

My point to all the above nonsense is that I've done a lot of things that have not staying power with my sense of personal identity but they've allowed me to live. At the same time, I've tried to continue doing what I love: creating good art in whatever form or medium may work. The stress, energy, and time necessary to do the first can often leave little of me left for the second. I know I'm not alone in feeling that way. And it's not just the responsibilities of adulthood getting in the way of fun or free time. In fact, while I feel most free and have the most fun while working on or presenting creative projects, it's still very much a job. Several jobs, in fact.

They don't serve as my main source of income, and if we're honest that's where the societal line is drawn between professional and hobbyist. Still, throughout history how many writers, musicians, painters, dancers, sculptors, even olympic athletes went to their day jobs knowing it would never be a good fit. There will always be that tension, that disincorporation, that boiling frustration, that pulsing sense of inadequacy leaning on despair.

There are plenty of folks who, through time and effort, have found a balance wherein the time they can spend on their real flow makes the daily grind somehow worthwhile. It fades into just something they've gotta do, with the fire and the certainty inside to know that they aren't defined solely or even mostly by a job they don't enjoy or can hardly even stand sometimes.

That kinda brave self-assuredness has to be held firm and held high in a place of reverence inside their minds. On a spotlit pedestal yet also right at hand. Like a locket with a picture inside of a person that can achieve big, impossible goals.

We all have some kinda picture of ourselves we look to for clarity. We hold up that image of who we want to be next to our reflection and try to line them up.

For my whole life, I've been an artist, a writer, a musician. I would see where my life was and label myself as whatever role, whether student, clerk, facilitator, or whatever. I'd be that guy who really wanted to be something else. A cashier who'd rather be a songwriter. A psych major who'd rather be a performer. A side dish who'd rather be a good friend.

I don't believe that words alone hold any power. Even the best of intentions fall short of actual proactive movement. Still, from now on I'm gonna try to rearrange some of my words in order to get a little closer to that picture of who I wanna be.

I am an artist.

I am a writer.

I am a musician.

Even when I'm so anxious I can't move. Even when I'm so depressed I can't eat. Even when I'm so drained from being around people all I wanna do is huddle up and watch youtube fail compilations.

Even when my "real job"—here's to hoping I get one soon, right?—takes up so much emotional and physical energy and so much time, I don't feel like I can truly offer anything decent to the content I hope to create. I can still be a content creator.

I am an artist because I make art. A writer because I write. A musician because I create music. Of course, it's more than that. Like a favorite color or season or a gut conscience, there's something in creating which resonates in an inherent and emergent way from within me.

Who cares if it sounds pretentious to some people or doesn't count as a real profession to other people? Who cares what they think? They don't know you like you know you!!!

And that real you, whoever they are or will be or could be or whatever, I'm sure they're awesome and def worth hanging out with.

Thanks,
Odist

p.s. - I'll just come right out and say it: I have a kickstarter. I know, ugh! BUT just think of it as a chance for you and me to work together in making some good art. Maybe even great art! I've joined up with Breakout Artist Group to go to their studio in Cleveland, OH and record a BRAND NEW EP. If you're like me and don't have a diving board over piles of gold coins, that is perfectly alright. Whatever you can give is appreciated. This is gonna be a journey we can walk together over the next month, so if you're interested in helping me pursue this goal, click here for the fundraising page. I'll def keep all you amazing Internauts up to date on this process. I'm wicked grateful for all your eyes, ears, and everything between.

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1610720524/odist-abettor-ep

Real Life is Scarier than Fiction

Dear Internauts,

I have far too much I'd like to say and little sense of how best to say it, so here's somethin anyway...

Earlier this month, I went with my folks to visit family in Massachusetts. I've mentioned here before that I've not found HOME to be any place I've ever lived. I suppose sitting on the cement beach wall, looking out over Wollaston Bay and out toward the Boston skyline, sipping a raspberry lime rickey in the humid summer haze—that could be the closest to home I've come to see in a location.

Mostly, I find home in people. Moments. Ideas.

How often to you does home simply mean settlement? I think we strive for contentment. At best we hope for stability. A sense of place.

Three years ago, give or take a week, any hope of stability was stolen from me at the end of a silver barrel. What sense of place I'd managed to build down in Nashville collapsed with my sanity like a sandcastle with the tide.

I've often thought that the believed stability of a life, like the height of a great mountain, dares a challenge. Does our contentment rise like the smoke from a signal fire to beckon unrest?

With time, counseling, and medication, my restless mind has reached something of a crossroads.

Perhaps a place can be a pit or a prison even if it wasn't before. For a time, I had to learn how to think again, to wear away the trauma which froze my bones. To walk again, I had to tread and pace this ground for a time. It's taken much longer than I thought, and I've lost more than I thought I would. Or could. I paced till my legs grew strong again. I paced until my feet dug a trench.

At some point, it's time to stop pacing and climb out of the pit.

Trauma can be grief. The loss of an old life like the death of a close friend. Fear can be a paralytic. We expect it to hold us in the moment, but it can grow on us, choke us like a vine. Squeeze the breath from our motivation. Confidence can be fickle. Moreso, I think, for those of us who find it in the opinions of others.

So I went to some career centers and am on the path to moving back to New England. I don't have nearly as many friends there as I used to, and some of my family has grown and gone out onto their own distant roads as they should. But now I have lived a whole lot more life than I had.

The validation of others is no longer the defining trait of my perceived self-worth.

The trauma I've faced is still very much a part of me. The past is still part of my story.

But can any of us truly find courage without knowing the weight of fear?

Important note: I couldn't have gotten this far without the love and support of my parents.

------------------

On another note, I realize there is a lot of talk, understandably so, about the politics of language. Why must everything be so political? Why can't anything just be loved or hated on the simple level of what it is?

For instance, why can't I just go and see some hilarious and thrilling new movie without the thought that I'm making a mostly weightless statement about gender representation in Hollywood?

Why can't I support the cast and crew of a famous comedic director without making some kind of ideological statement about disregarding his blatant history of sexually predatory behavior?

Why can't I eat a hamburger without contributing to the massive amount of grain production which goes to feeding herd animals, increasing air pollution, depriving millions of food, destroying natural ecosystems, and causing the violent torture and death of innocent animals?

Why can't we just say what we mean?

Perhaps it is part of our humanity to be able to see everything from multiple angles. Not everyone who likes a work of art unquestionably supports the artist. And yet we support the artist by the way we enjoy the art.

To truly experience the fullness of anything in our 3D world, how can we only look at it from one side?

And as far as politics go, everything I was taught in school about American democracy seems to be a lie, with "representation" in government a very loosely interpreted concept.

So tell me, am I more responsible for the actions of the one I vote for or for the one I don't?

And what does any of that matter when children are murdered by those who swear to protect them?

I have no answers. Only a bunch of questions like grapes on a vine of serendipitous narcissism.

Thanks,
Odist

Sunday, Maybe Someday (lyrics)

If only those in first class rode
Do you think there would be no security provisions?
If we only drove the biggest cars on the road
Do you think there would be no more collisions?
If each of us toiled to drill our own oil
Do you think there would be less pollution?
If everyone held a gun
Do you really think there would be less shooting?

But maybe if we only had some food
But maybe if we only had somewhere safe to go home to
Then maybe we could see me for me and you for you
Maybe we don’t have to fight tonight

If those under duress would only dress up their best
Do you think that the rest would respect them easily?
If everyone would only speak their mind
Do you think we would all be lined up to speak equally?
If everyone had to scream to be heard
Do you think listeners would still be so willing?
If everyone held a gun
Do you really think there would be less killing?

But maybe if we only had some food
But maybe if we only had somewhere safe to go home to
Then maybe we could see me for me and you for you
Maybe we don’t have to fight tonight

If everyone had their own hammer and nails
Do you think there’d be fewer sore thumbs?
If everyone agreed, what a hero needs to believe
Do you think there’d not be a one left unsung?
If everyone knows the nuclear codes
Do you think it will stop people dying?
Even if they say we’re too young and naive
Even if there’s no one around who agrees
Even if peace seems out of our reach
That doesn’t mean we should stop trying

But maybe if we only had some food
But maybe if we only had somewhere safe to go home to
Then maybe we could see me for me and you for you
Maybe we don’t have to fight tonight

But maybe we could share our food
And maybe if we could together make a safe place to
Finally see me for me and see you for you
We don’t have to fight

Maybe, we could give peace a try
Maybe, we could give peace a try
Maybe, we could give peace a try

If we’d given peace a try
Maybe you’d still be alive

Hope Should Be Hopeful (No Offense?)

Dear Internauts,

I promise I do still make and write about music. In fact there are some really cool things coming up that I am wicked excited to share with you. Soon. Soon. I promise :)

Still there are certain other subjects on which I feel inspired of late to write. The following is one of those where my opinions are still changing, as they have been my entire life.

Raised from birth in the American Christian Protestant tradition, specifically the Church of the Nazarene, I realize my specific experiences are solely my own as with any other kind of life story. Still, I know the issues which have shaped and scarred me are not in even the least bit uncommon. If I must offer credentials, let me just say I've served in a local youth group to a multi-state and even temporarily national level of various leadership roles, being set in front of and above others since before I could even do my multiplication tables. I don't say that to brag. Probably the exact opposite. As the son of a professional minister whose pretty much every other family member as far as I know is an involved and devoted member of a local congregation, I also write the following out an overwhelming amount of love and inner struggle.

Due to my upbringing, most people I've met in my life have been practicing Christians. I could only write what I do coming from a place of understanding and a desire for positive change. What has been a deeply unhealthy way of life for me--one with which I am still trying to come to terms--I think and hope for others has been a balanced and fulfilling life course.

With that said...

I'm so done with a philosophy of perpetual guilt, being measured against an unquestionably perfect and ultimately powerful abstraction who sits in blameless separation, and somehow being compelled to weigh this distance and burden as a loving relationship for which I should not only be grateful but eternally indebted and bigotedly loyal to a politically, economically, and abusively manipulative institution whose entire basic tenets and history hinge on self-destruction, anti-intellectualism, hateful prejudices, the violent suppression of dissenting thoughts and voices, and ignoring contradictions in an ancient, worshipped collection of superstition as interpreted by the self-appointed arbiters of universal justice and timeless wisdom.

After nearly two and a half decades of never being good enough, I'm finally realizing it hasn't been me that doesn't add up. So you do you and I hope it helps ya sleep at night, but I can't let this bullshit own me anymore. Further, I hereby declare a stand against any and all acts of abuse against any person, especially children in the name of your faith. Even if you claim the indoctrination is out of love, even if you can't see how harmful you're being. No one should have to grow up under the heel of what I and countless others faced all because of your gods and your precious church.

If you have been or are being abused or know someone who is by a religious group, family, mentor, institution or whatever, please know I stand by you and encourage you to break out if you can. Message me if you need to talk about it. You're not alone.

Those who preach love yet live hate should not be allowed to destroy young lives anymore. Nor should the voices of those too long bowed low by their oppression be silenced.

Hope should be hopeful.

Yours,
Odist