AdPock

I was 16 years old when I saw my first Dead show , maybe 15. It was either 1989 or ‘90, or maybe time doesn’t exist at all?  I’m not sure if that  McNichnols  show was the one that changed my life, but I do know it brought me back. And by the time I came back, I was ready for acid. And that first acid show definitely changed everything. Well, that series of three acid shows really: in Bonner Springs, Kansas ; outside in the parking lot the next night; then back home in Denver a few days later, at Mile High Stadium . How appropriate. I realize there is no way to tell my Grateful Dead story without getting deeply personal. That’s the nature of my relation to this music… it’s inside me now. And I believe I’m better for it. Am I the most motivated or successful person? No way. And I may be a borderline hedonist and 100% absurdist , but I don’t think anyone has very much bad to say about me? Which is a pretty good starting point for goodness, i think. Anyways, Bobby died ...

I Was There Photo & poem by AdPock A shadow on the cloud Though I hear it’s there Pulling hundreds of souls Away on the air. Wasn’t I once a part of that sky? Dreaming of adventure, Through fear-clenched eyes… Am I still traveling? Homeward ever bound? There it is! Through that hole in the clouds, Sunshine glistening Upon sturdy wings There it is… I was there.

 

Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge By A. Freeman Pockross Pigs on the Wind Dark clouds loom large over Harmonyville. Two pigs fly across the darkening night. Or do they? Either way, something symbolic disappears into the darkness. The wind howls. Rain pours sideways. An almost middle-aged boy runs through the rain, covering his precious rock-star locks with a newspaper. You know, THE rockstar cut. Rod. Ronnie. Late ‘60s Keef. The boy’s obviously not prepared for the weather. Who’s this boy, you ask? Curtis, the mysterious narrator answers.

Feels like a shift Perhaps that’s always been Time keeps on shifting And getting stuck in gear. We’re always here Whether we fear what’s to come Or wax for what was Here we are.  We are here. But what about them? I fear they’re coming. For me. My joy. My Love. They can’t have have my love Though it be for All.  

My Good Boy. My good good boy. Bubba. Bubba Big Dick Pockross Or just… BDP. Bubbakins.  The BubblyWubbly The Bubz. Mr. BubblyBoo. Mr. Magoo. My good boy. My good good boy. What can you say about something you love? Love is real, not fade away? May his memory be a blessing? I’m so very sorry. It’s all welcome. It’s never enough. My good good boy, We didn’t have enough.

  When the act of putting pen to page feels like a shirk, When you know in your heart it’ll take much harder work, When the gifts that you've offered aren’t doing enough, It’s time to work on your ways. If your world has remained peaceful,  Because you’ve managed to sidestep the man,  That doesn’t mean there’s peace.

Believe,  If you can, In energy, In healing, In peace. Even if that's hard, I'll believe in you.

Lost my buddy yesterday, Today is quite a day, Happy to see it, Wish he could too. But now… Immediately so, He’s just a memory. If a man leaves a mark, though, Deep down in my being, A change upon my soul, Then his mark beats on, With me as I go.  So today, I’ll gaze upon this day with some of his perspective, too. I’ll be brave enough for two. Do my best to stir another buddy’s soul anew.

Beneath the droning planes, Beached before the tides, A lone perhaps lonely drummer, Keeps time, As the ancient ones before her, Mallet after mallet, Skin upon skin, Beats on into the noise. Why, the wonders wonder, Does she beat on just for her? To keep her heart pounding forward, Her movement time may cure? Or does she hammer on for the rest of us, Without mastery of time, For whom the ocean keeps, A lone steady beat, Ancient evermore?  

Garbonzo Ron,  Tried to keep it turned on, But sometimes he had trouble seeing the light. Thankfully, glory was but a spark away.  

 

 

This museum-quality print   was created from a 60” x 40” acrylic on canvas commissioned by my dear friend Jay, to honor his gone-too-soon brother, Stevie, a lover of Chicago, City Hall, and Jay’s six faithful labs, specifically painted for the walls at the Ronald McDonald House in Los Angeles.  For those of you familiar with Chicago, you probably recognize most of the landmarks within, including the centerpiece of the painting, The Picasso sculpture prominently situated in the middle of Daley Plaza, where City Hall is located. As a kid born and reared in Chicago (we soon moved to Colorado when I was 6), one of my first memories is of playing on Picasso’s giant sculpture.  I dreamily recall being enamored with not just its seemingly familiar alieness, but also its massive slide, which made that spectacular form awesomely functional as well. As such, it was a welcoming early entry into the world of art that I now try to spend most of my time in. Hopefully that spirit of wh...

The piece above was made with love and healing vibes for the kids and families that stay at the Ronald McDonald House in Los Angeles, so they can have something joyful to look at, and hopefully be inspired to believe that if pigs can fly, then they can get better. As a middle aged man, I wouldn’t want to jinx my future self by saying the painting this print is based on is my masterpiece, but it’s certainly the best I’ve done yet. Granted, with all the time, energy, and love I put into it, I’d be pretty upset if it wasn’t. The funny thing is, the painting wasn’t even my idea in the first place. My dear friend Kerri was talking with her rad Uncle Jay about what to do for his amazing wife Melanie’s big birthday, and they came up with the idea to create some art for the newly remodeled Ronald McDonald House, which Jay and Melanie hugely support. And since there wasn’t enough art on the walls, that seemed like a good place to start. Not sure if I’m Kerri’s only artist friend, but I’m defin...

Would that he could, but Alan could not. The world just felt too heavy to move. An anchor. A man of the world, perhaps once, now sunken by it. Would that he could get up, but Alan had enough of rising. Enough fighting. Enough difficulty. And now the path of least resistance led nowhere. Was it just laziness? To believe nowhere and everywhere are the same place? If he couldn’t positively imagine himself rising from the couch, how could he put such an optimistic spin on his current, nowhere yet everywhere state? Who did he think he was? Buddha?  Even Buddha created his own happiness, his own rationalizations. Nirvana is but a state of mind after all. But how practical is nirvana, given his current state of blasé? He really just wants to have fun. Which can only be done if everyone around him is having fun. Can fun even be if no one's around to have it?  Not like that. Would that Alan could live in that moment… But it doesn’t last. It never has. A necessary law of nature? Alan su...

Since Mother's Day, I've been drawing and redrawing the above image. I was initially trying to think of a card to create for my most fierce and loving of mothers — as I've done mama-duck-and-duckling and mama-bear-and-cub cards in the past. In trying to dream up a new mother/baby animal image, I first and foremost recalled the incredible display of mothering I witnessed a few weeks back in the  Dolphin Reef  movie on Disney+ (which is about so much more than dolphins).  In particular, there's a scene where a mama humpback whale and her calf are attacked by a pod of orcas in the open ocean. To stave off the assailants from eating her calf, Mama throws her baby on her back as she battles multiple attackers, all while crying out across the depths of the ocean for help. Eventually help comes, as her new boyfriend/champion leads a pod of male humpbacks to her side, and the orcas are forcefully compelled to swim away. And both mama and calf live to tell the tale...