Chaotic Dreams - The Medic

Hey there, thanks for stopping by!
Sorry its been a while since my last posting here, but things are going okay.
I've been distracted by a litany of things, both good and not so good. Mostly good, though, so that helps.
One night in particular, though, gave me a bit of a chaotic reality check. I don't know what night in particular it was, but as drifted off to sleep, I was plagued with chaotic, shutter-bug dreams. It was like flying through a kaleidoscope, until my feet landed on solid ground to a scene unfolding before me. What came to pass, I remember vividly. So vividly, I had to write it down. What came out, is the poem below. When I wrote "The Medic", it still felt like a dream, but there was a little flicker in the back of my head, reminding me of the dream. Reminding me, that this isn't entirely out of the realm of reality.
Is this a vision of the future?
I sincerely hope it stays a bad dream.
Anyway, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it.

Flying by!

     With October finally upon us, I look around and wonder where 2019 went. I mean, I'm sure I'll say the same thing come December 31st, at 11:59 pm, but still. The sunny days are cooler, the leaves are falling, and it feels like I was just lamenting my A/C bills.
     Be that as it may, I am still thankful that I had the gumption to sit down and pile out some words to channel this feeling. The feeling of time rocketing past you, whether you are aware of it or not. I also mixed in a little bit of a warning, both to myself and whoever wants to pick it out of this particular poem.
     Either way, I hope you enjoy it, and I hope that the newly arrived fall treats you well.
     Thanks again for reading.

-Stefan Adcock, 2019

Post-Labor Day: Musings on a Sci-Fi Dystopia

     I hope everyone had a good Labor Day, in whatever fashion that can be. 

     This piece came about in a vaguely slacker-esque fashion. A while back, I was wandering around West Oakland with some friend, when we stumbled upon a video store selling a lot of DVDs. I was intrigued, because the place reminded me of Blockbuster and Hollywood Video, but smaller. Because, well, the Bay Area, I think. 

     Anyway, At any given time I have an ongoing list of stuff I want to watch, stuff I need to watch, and some that are both. Well, Blade Runner 2049 was one that fit into both categories, especially since I loved the first one. I never saw 2049 in theaters, but when I stumbled upon a copy of it for $4.99 at said video store, you bet I bought it. 

     The movie was dynamite, with its sweeping cinematography, synthwave-y soundtrack, and intricately woven story-line, I really enjoyed it. It got the ol' gears a-churning, and this was the end result. I hope you guys like it, and have a good day.

Rat Race

Night settles on basalt monoliths.

Arranged in varying heights,

They clear the horizon,

Shrouded in banks of mist.

Lights wink on, across their facades

Illuminating the asphalt below.

They cover entire buildings,

Vomiting color onto indifferent concrete.

Joining these lights and sounds,

Eyes emerge, focusing.

They hover behind their lidless gaze,

Blending into the twinkling towers.

Stepping out onto the pavement,

I ease into a colliding current.

Unfeeling carriages to my right,

Indifferent faces to my left.

A light rain resumes, unabated

Tossing sparks across moving hordes.

Dirty droplets stick on my face,

As I momentarily lose focus.

More Eyes zoom past overhead,

Streaking towards their goal.

Snapping, flashing,

They doom their prey to infamy.

My legs trudge on,

Automated out of fear,

Hastened by determination,

My goal manifested in my feet.

The monoliths loom over me,

As their cascading banners play.

The screaming masses file past,

And I long for home.

One fluorescent box to another,

All this sensory bombardment,

It's just daily life.

Yet I shall prevail.

Shining like a gem,

Nestled in a glass tower,

Home dangles on the 40^th floor,

Hovering above The Eyes and Lights.

A temporary silence emerges,

As my steel elevator ushers me away.

It opens with a tired sigh,

Unveiling my sterile hallway.

Marching over cracked tiles,

I pass murmuring doors,

Until I reach mine, at last.

Shiny, brushed steel awaits me.

I wrench it open,

Diving headlong into my sanctuary.

The door shuts with a clunk,

And the World dissolves away.

In my room, laden with peace,

I let it permeate my bones.

The Eyes' gaze is relentless,

Shining through my kitchen window.

-Stefan Adcock, Sept. 2019

     Thanks, again, for reading.

The Dunes - From Robo-Eyes

     The only backstory I can think up for this one involves WALL-E and a couple of Lagunitas tall cans. I also don't think I had a TV at the time, so there's that. I hope you like it in its convenient picture form, too. Thanks again for reading, and have a good day.

Kitchen Artistry and Majesty

     As the final piece of poetry in my series on work, I chose to channel the rarest feeling of them all. One that comes in waves. One that keeps people going. One that, hopefully, never goes away when it does show up.

     Satisfaction. 

     Love what you do, and you'll never work a day in your life, right?

     While that's the most ideal situation, obviously, but its still work, right? Its not always 100% sunshine and rainbows, but rather like overcoming a series of challenges. And at the end of it all, you can sit back and be proud of what you accomplished. 

     That is true satisfaction in my mind. 

     I chose to present it from the point of view of an aspiring cook/chef, and hope that I present the job as well as I can. I harked back to my very first job, which was slaving away in the kitchen of Round Table Pizza. The summers were unbelievable hot, our dinner rushes were relentless, but I'll be damned if it wasn't a ritualistic bonding experience getting through all of it. I think back to it often and, even though I was probably irritating to work with, I was always fine with getting through the slog. 

     Thanks again for reading, and I hope you like it. 

The Kitchen Artist

Dinner time at last.

I wander in the front,

Weaving through packed tables,

Heading towards the chaos.

The doors swing inwards,

Assailing my senses.

Despite the assault,

I am home immediately.

Boiling fryers scream,

Nestled in the corner.

Their crispy promises

Make my mouth water.

The angry man in white,

Rambling about his griddle,

Turns towards me, locking eyes,

And gives me a mission.

Red, marbled slabs slide to me.

My knives and I get to work,

Cracking bone, slicing gristle

They gleam with crimson fury.

Onto the griddle they go,

And the searing begins.

Sliding across greasy steel,

A juicy dream emerges, at last.

Onto a plate, I send it

Riding its ceramic jet.

Accompanied with vegetation,

It's destined for an eager pallet.

Each slip of paper

Is a new blank canvas.

My marble is grass-fed,

Time to construct David.

The man in white takes a break,

And I eagerly join him.

We adjourn out back,

And compare notes.

We are artists unto each other,

Each at different phases,

Painting with different brushes,

Yet sampling from the same pallet.

We burn one to the filter,

Then right back to the maelstrom.

Onto the next masterpiece,

Until the final bell sounds.

We amble over to the bar,

All equaled through our toil.

We close that down, too,

And emerge out into the ether.

My knives are my tools,

Extensions of my essence.

I am eager to paint my next masterpiece,

As I dream of my realm of insanity.

Stefan Adcock 2019

Daydreams in Retail

     For those of us who have had to work retail, we all have the same shared struggle.

     Rude customers, restocking destroyed shelves, and sales goals are just parts of the broad complaint spectrum that comes with working in that dying industry. 

     Those of you who have not had to deal with it, consider yourself lucky. 

     After a 7 month stint of crushing post-college unemployment, I eventually wound up in one of these jobs. Don't get me wrong, the people I worked with were some of the best I have ever met in my life. The job itself was borderline soul crushing, which bonded us all together in collective misery. 

     At that time in my life, the only solace I took was inside my own head. Daydreaming of alternate futures for yourself was just one way of keeping my brain from going numb as I restocked over-priced sneakers for the 5th time that day. Daydreams kept me from kicking over entire pallets of pool toys, as I unloaded them from a truck at 6 a.m.

     At least I had a job, I would tell myself. 

    Sometimes it worked, most of the time it didn't. 

    Why not imagine yourself living the good life in some alternate dimension?

    Tapping into those past waves of angst, I wrote the following:

Daydreams

The parking lot is jam packed.

Full of stickered SUV's,

Bedazzled minivans,

And beleaguered by lost carts.

Trudging over the asphalt,

She reached the automatic door.

A massive blast of cool air,

The high point of her day.

Her eyes adjust slowly,

A hellish barrage of fluorescence.

It lays on top of everything,

A fake, resilient sheen.

At last, she's in the break room,

With slightly better lighting.

Darker, and vaguely dingy,

It mostly hides the chipped paint.

Tossing on her faded vest,

She jams on a peeling name tag.

It reminds them she has a name,

Whether they care or not.

Out onto the white-washed floor

They bob and weave,

Hunting from rack to rack,

Chimps plucking their finest ticks

The slog begins, yet again.

Hangers yanked apart,

Beleaguered children scream.

Yet, there she remains.

The volume finally fades,

As she assembles mannequins.

She travels far and wide,

While cleaning the fitting rooms.

She sits in warm, white sand,

While she re-racks cleats.

Her toes wiggle in the surf,

While she hangs up sports bras.

Marching through the misty trees,

Her fingers brush mossy bark.

The daydream cascades away,

As she reassembles a wrecked display.

On break, she hides in the car

Watching the plastic ballet.

It revolves through the door,

Speeding off with greedy fury.

Her hand hangs out the window,

And a small breeze tickles her fingertips.

Fresh grass wafts into her nose,

Sending her back home.

The front porch swing creaks,

And the sprinkler kicks on.

The dog barks in the distance,

As she reaches for the door.

The alarm rips her back,

Jolting her upright in her seat.

Her time is up,

And best not be late.

The lot shimmers, unchanged,

If not for the absence of carts.

She marches to the door,

Struggling with her anchors.

When the doors crack open,

The air screams across, frozen.

She slips back to invisibility,

As she picks up their leftovers.

The sun dips, at last,

And closing time comes.

Shooing out the stragglers,

They stash the day's haul.

Out go the lights,

And she's back in the lot.

Stars splatter the sky,

As she groans into the car.

Getting away, at long last,

She blasts off again.

Daydreaming and wishing,

That home will come back to her.

Stefan Adcock, 2019

     Thanks for reading, and have a good day.

The One About A Door

     Nobody likes getting a second job, let's just face it. It's never something we jump at the chance to do, but we have to do it sometimes. There was a period in my life where it was a necessity for me, and I found a security/bar back position at a bar, only about 10 minutes from where I was living at the time. 

     From there, standing just outside the entrance, I learned all I ever needed to know about both side of the bar industry. I worked with some of the finest people I have ever met, but I also was witness to some of the more depraved actions of individuals I will eventually forget about. 

     Again, this is no dig on the industry, or anyone in it.

     But, I think anyone in it will agree, there are definitely 2 sides to the coin. 

     Speaking of two, this one is a 2-parter. I hope you enjoy it, and thanks for reading. 

The Doorman Saga

Tires crunch across the gravel

Speckled with bits of glass.

Throwing back moonlight as it

Drifts in and out of winter’s clouds

Far off thumps rattle away inside

A haze of red lingers at the windows edge

As moths flutter around my spotlight

Yet here I stand. Waiting.

I am the doorman.

You know me, I know you

Yet we are strangers to one another.

Desires misaligned and unmet

Animosity temporarily non-existent.

You get your glasses filled

Brimming with bubbling goodness.

Sometimes they wind up back to me

Residue waiting to be erased, again

You retire outback, nestled at your table

Arm wrapped around tonight’s companion

Still alone, I return up front

Re-emerging in my mothy spotlight.

I am the doorman.

Fifteen more of your look-a-likes

File right past me, flashing grins

Making a beeline for excitement

Slung cold across an oak slab

Music rages down into my molars

As companions become tender lovers

Wallflowers become cheerleaders

And small talk becomes an epic for the ages.

I am the doorman.

The final call comes, somehow surprising

As you clutch that last glass.

Nonsense and slurs echo forever

Somehow, you make your way to the exit.

I send you back into darkness

Bidding you a fond farewell

Remnants of our time are swept away

And my memory of you is cloudy

I am the doorman.

Good night.

--And now, for the other side--

Tires squeal onto the asphalt

Riddled with rain puddles

Catching your headlights

And drowning in storm clouds

Shrieking guitar roars past the door

The red light flickers from its glass pane

Even moths have abandoned me

Yet here I stand. Waiting

I am the doorman.

I see you, and you might see me

Yet I am not on your radar.

Gazes hopelessly avoiding each other,

Both for no good reason.

Bottles come cold, and cheap

Bubbling with mediocre dreams

Most wind up staying with you

Armed and ready to hurl, again

You retreat to the pavement outside

Pulling out the first cigarette of many

Still alone, I return up front

Face assaulted by my failing spotlight.

I am the doorman.

Sixteen more useless strangers

Breeze on past me cracking jokes

Making mad dashes for distraction

Served half-ass in smudged glasses

Music bounces off my skull

As friends become angry politicians

Gentlemen become scoundrels

And chit chat becomes just more slurred nonsense

I am the doorman.

The final call comes, thank Christ

As you clutch your new weapon

Rage and perversion taking hold

You lunge at your new neighbor’s throat

I hurl you back to the darkness

Waving to you on the paddy wagon

Remnants of our time are ruined

And my memory of you is stained

I am the doorman.

Fuck you.

Stefan Adcock, 2019

Working Man - Exploration of a Theme

      Let's face it, there is one thing that all of us have to deal with.
      Sometimes it brings us joy, satisfaction, and even a purpose.
      Sometimes it brings us stress, aggravation, and even abject misery.
      Work.
      We all have to do it, whether you like it or not. It becomes a part of the fabric of our lives, and its up to us how we let it define who we are and what we do.
      Ever since I was 16, I have whiled away time working at a variety of different jobs. Sometimes it was a step back, sometimes a step forward, and there was even a little unemployment mixed in there. That was really fun, let me tell you. Thankfully, I got lucky enough for that period of time to be short, but that's for another day.
      Having experienced a whole spectrum of labor, words regarding these experiences came easy.
      And came by the truckload.
      So, starting on this theme of 'work', is the first in a series of poems. Please enjoy, and let me know what you think, as always. Thanks for reading.

Working Man

The door slams shut on his darkened box.

Groping for the light from above,

His boots come off with a sigh,

And the beer comes cold from the fridge.

His spine aches, and his callouses creak.

Depleted of youth and hardened with toil.

His eyes burn with exhaustion, and he groans,

Leaning back into his faux leather throne.

Cold suds warm his frozen chest, 

As the bottle is nursed into oblivion.

His dangling cigarette is a lone ember,

Floating in the blue, 60-watt haze.

Silence settles, and the evening ebbs away.

Peeling wallpaper is the new backdrop

As the last of the twilight falls,

And gives way to chirruping crickets.

The shower is scalding, and the steam refreshing

Erasing evidence of his daily grind.

Towels give way to a cloudy mattress,

Embracing him in a blanketed cocoon.

The bedside lamp is his final beacon,

As her picture stares back at him.

Smiling forever, enshrined in a battered frame.

He makes sure to smile back.

Click.   

-Stefan Adcock

2019

A Wedding and a Poem

      In October 2018, I had the distinct honor of being a groomsman in the wedding between Chris and Sarah Winger. You see, I had known Chris for going on 10 years when he met Sarah, and I knew from the get go that this was something special. We were living together at the time, and dealing with a whole litany of miserable issues, but thankfully we were able to come together and support each other as best we could.
      Then he met Sarah.
      It was amazing how well everything just clicked into place.
      It was like they picked up where they left off. Watching them come together, lift each other up, and give Sarah's son, Micah, a complete and organic family. It was a sight to behold and gave me, and everyone around them, a little more hope for the world.
      The words that follow just poured out of me.
      I was even blessed enough to be able to read it at their wedding.
      Those of you who were there, here is the tear-free version. For those of you who weren't, enjoy it and let me know what you think.
      Thanks Chris and Sarah for being a beautiful couple, irreplaceable friends, and just all around great human beings.
      Here it goes.

Intertwined

The great oak sits just past its forest

On the frontier of endless plains.

The great oak is content,

Stalwart and alone in its purpose.

When the sun sets, it sighs.

Dancing under the stars,

Bathed in moonlight

Nestled in its blanket of Heaven

The sun crests from behind
Beams raking the leaves,

Bathing the branches in warmth,

The ground begins to stir.

The oak has but one companion,

Only to emerge for one fleeting moment.

It is the morning mist,

Emerging from its earthen cocoon.

Ethereal arms reaching out

It penetrates the oaks bark.

Enveloping its trunk,

Relentless in its embrace

Time slows to a halt

Oak and mist fall away from Earth.

Taking each other’s hands,

They dance across eternity.

Stuck in their lovey dream,

Their happiness knows no bounds.

Until the oak’s roots find the ground,

And the mist is urged on higher

Time resumes, the sun hangs high.

The mist is long gone,

And the oak stands alone.

Solitary sentinel in its own world.

There is no sadness, though.

For the oak knows,

As does the mist,

They will see each other in the morning.

As sure as the sun will rise.

      Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a great day. 

Dude, what happened?

That is a question that I find myself asking, as I do the math on my 6 month absence from this site.
Hokay.
So, here it goes.
My last post about the illustrious band, Vista Kicks, came about at a transitional period for me in my life. When I take stock in what was going on, I was generally fairly miserable, to be honest. I loved going out to shows, still, and I was absolutely delighted to write about whoever wanted me to write about them, but there was something percolating in the back of my mind.
Waking up in the morning to go to my day job was like revving up a broken toy. Not broken, but seriously lacking proper function, if that makes any sense. The day job was a fluorescent nightmare, where the only distraction was staring at a computer screen as I willed my e-mail inbox to stop filling up.
Or for the building to catch on fire.

Long story short, it was time for a change. Not only for better pay, but getting off work and going to shows, to keep writing words about wonderful people, was getting impossible. Even though I sat on my ass for 8 hours, I had a hard time even keeping my eyes open on my traffic-swelled commute home.
Eventually, about 2 weeks before the Vista Kicks show, I got a job offer with a stable public entity. The benefits alone made it a huge step in the right direction, even though it was a swing-shift custodial position. Not that there is anything wrong with that, for the record. I mean, I had done it before, and it was closer to where I was living by a long shot.
I wanted it so much more, that I was willing to sacrifice seeing weekday shows, since I would be leaving work at 11 p.m.
I can write and see stuff on the weekend, I reasoned. No biggie at all!
Wrong.
My days were filled with procrastination and anguish over doing even the most basic tasks. Paying bills, texting people back, getting food made in time for work, and even getting into the shower on time, were all worth ignoring as I scrolled on my phone with Netflix in the background.
Into the start of 2019, this was how my days would go, only interrupted to go to work. The only glimmer of positive change was that I joined a gym and started mixing some good old-fashioned sweat into the mix. It helped, and I started eating better, but my brain remained in a fog that I couldn't identify, let alone comprehend.

Finally, benefits kicked in at work, and I had a revelation after the gym one day. I found myself actually getting stressed out about getting home to take a shower, because of all the stuff I had to do.
The stuff that I had to do from yesterday.
And the day before.
And the day before that.
I drove home, white-knuckling the steering wheel as I wondered how I was going to plow through this list of to do items. Sweating like Chris Farley in 1996, I got home and exclaimed to my empty apartment,
"FUCK IT! GET IT DONE!"
And I did. It was literally two bills, a phone call to HR, and taking out the trash. When it was all said and done, I got into the shower as relief washed over me. So heavy was the relief, I just sat there, staring at my fogged-up shower door, wondering what went wrong.
And getting no answer.
Freshly laundered, I got on my computer and did what I always told myself I should do. I looked up a therapist.

From there, I got really lucky. Most people have to shop around for a correct fit, to either their problem, or even their personality. I found one 2 minutes from my apartment, and from our first appointment we had a good understanding and rapport. So much so, that it kinda scared me.
Was it supposed to be this easy?
Even with my hesitation, I went to the 2nd appointment, and got an answer.
Adult ADHD.
Now, I know what you may be thinking, and I was just as perplexed as you are.
But, I'm feeling all these other things, why say ADHD?
She imparted 2 pieces of wisdom that really framed the issue for me. The first one was that adults with ADHD have kids who have it. When I think about the way my family functions, it was super obvious how true that statement was. I won't go into specifics, but I will say that multiple family members would always shrug at the idea, and add,
"Oh yeah, I/So-and-So definitely has it, but its no biggie."
Right away I didn't feel like such a freak of nature. I mean, I dealt with it when I was a younger hellion of a child, but I just thought I grew out of it. The more accurate statement was that I just knew how to deal with it.
That led to the second part, which brought it all home. To make it clearer to me, she compared it to a toothache, or having a headache. You can tolerate the pain, and even shove it away, but as soon as something comes in to add to it, that added thing will always be worse. So much of your energy was dedicated to solving this first problem, that you had nothing left to do anything else.
DING DING DING
I sat in stunned disbelief as she wrote me a prescription. Everything was clicking into place as I drove to the pharmacy, and I felt like the fog of war had finally lifted.
Now I just had to hope the medicine worked.

From pill number 1, it was like the static surrounding my perception was gone. The mountains I had to climb on a moment-to-moment basis were now words on a sheet of paper, easily crossed off as I maneuvered through my day. I didn't have to white-knuckle anything anymore, except to hold on to weights at the gym.
Again, I got EXTREMELY lucky. I won't ever deny that, and I am not going to waste anymore time hiding.

I won't be able to get to most weekday shows, still, and I have made peace with that for the time being. Having a work-life balance I am satisfied with is what I have now, and it gave me a new perspective on what I want to do with this blog.
Poetry has entered my life, funnily enough. It used to be my way of venting my frustrations, my angst, and anything in between; but now I can use it as a new creative outlet that brings me just as much joy as writing about super talented musicians. Hopefully, I can impart that joy onto you lovely people.

I guess what I am trying to say is, that I am back at this.
Forthcoming posts will be poems, and tiny stories that I have written. Themes will be explored, and words will be wielded like flaming swords against the night.
I still will write about local talent in any aspect, but new creative writing works will be the new bulk of my content.

Thank you for reading, and I look forward to starting this renewed phase of life with you. Stay tuned.