Episode 1: A New Creation
After repeatedly bashing his head against the gray prison of his sky, Sir Elrod Geare, errant knight of the Mythical Land of Olde Cubanacan, resigned himself once again to the hand that fate had cruelly dealt him.
Perhaps cruelly was an overstatement. True, he was denied what he most longed for, to play his Magical Guitar and sings his Magical Songs for an appreciative audience, but he really lacked none of the creature comforts that so many people would give anything to attain.
Sir Elrod had a castle nestled in the forgotten valley of Macadonia in the land of Olde Cubanacan. The castle was roomy and though a little gloomy, it fit Sir Elrod’s mood perfectly. On rare sunny days, (for the sky was mostly cloudy in Olde Cubanacan), Elrod sat on his old chair in the ancient wooden deck, took his shirt off and let the warm rays of old Helious warm the skin next to his heart.
‘If only I could break through the sky and play for the people,’ Sir Elrod would say to himself in those rare sunny days. ‘If only I could pierce the sky, I’d fly…” He’d muttered as he toyed with an idea for a possible song lyric. Then he’d close his eyes and let the warm red spot over his mind eye whisk him away from that gray prison, mostly of his own making.
He would travel away on the vehicle of his brain matter and see all those places he’d once thought he’d play- ‘Oh, yes,’ he’d mutter to himself, ”
Los Angeles, the Whiskey and London, the Palladium!, and Sydney, the opera! and Paris and Madrid and oh yes, New York, to play Carnegie Hall!’ Then, for a few moments he’d see himself performing in those wonderful places, all though the power of his mind’s eye…! But alas, it was naught but a dream. A mystical and mythical chimera never to be attained by mere cyber mortals the likes of Sir Elrod.
‘… Not in this lifetime…’ he’d sadly mutter to himself.
But, Sir Elrod didn’t let self pity absorb him for long. He never did. Well, perhaps it was more like he never could. You see, his soul would not let him. At first it was a faint echo, a single musical note playing ping pong in the neurons of his brain. Then it got louder and louder until it was a mighty roar. Sir Elrod had a Genesis of a New Creation! With a jump and a skip and a cry of ‘leaping lizards!,’ he ran down the old stone staircase to the Dungeon, where his Magical Recording Studio awaited him. Rows upon rows of color lights flashed as his wonderful Black Boxes roared into being, ready to receive Sir Elrod’s every note and all the nuances of his phrasing. The large display screens emitted their otherworldly glow and displayed his composing tools of choice. Infused with the energies of his Musical Universe, Sir Elrod grabbed his guitar and his ‘real’ world came to life. The mighty rush of creation rippled across the room as the sum and the issue of Sir Elrod’s life came into clear focus once again. For a time he became Lord of Creation and Master of the Universe. His Own Musical Universe.
He played and he sang and he pushed buttons and he sang again. ‘Needs a harmony here, no, a three part harmony.’ He happily said to himself as
he sang away and a chorus of Elrodses danced across the flickering screen. The Black Boxes magically accommodated him and gladly
obeyed his every whim and his every musical wish. Then he
played the keyboards and they were magical too! Oboes and strings and flutes and winds and all sort of musical things happened inside those wonderful keys and translated themselves into the blank canvas that his black boxes provided. Then time for the bass and the drums and yes, wonderful percussion and lots of it! Masters of the percussive arts had
provided Sir Elrod with lots and lots of percussion inside some magical tiny bits of sound that Sir Elrod could call up anytime. Plus, he could always plays his congas. Life was indeed good for Sir Elrod as he happily
toiled away at his craft in his little dungeon studio. Morning had turned into afternoon and afternoon into evening and evening into night and night into morning again by the time that Sir Elrod was finished with his work.
The deed was done, the song had grown and all that was left for Sir Elrod
to do was to listen. The Black Boxes obediently played back to Elrod what he had done, and it was good. Nothing more to do now but to put it
away, archive it in a safe place so that it would never ever be forgotten.
Once again a bit of Sir Elrod’s life had been squeezed out of him by his destiny as you would squeeze a lemon, or perhaps more appropriately a sweet orange. Yes it was sweet, the juice that was the essence of Elrod and was squeezed out of him that morning, into afternoon, that afternoon
into evening, that evening into night and that night into morning again. The song came to rest with the many other songs that had bounded out of Sir Elrod so many other times before. It fit perfectly with the others. What a wonderful collection it was! Sir Elrod went to sleep. and dreamt again about busting through the other side of the sky, to the land where people awaited him. Where the crowds lined up all the way down the street to buy a ticket to see him play.
What a wonderful world that was!
TO BE CONTINUED!