Never Get My Lincoln

I'll probably never get my Lincoln.

So here's what you do. When I die, take up a collection - buy me a Lincoln. Not a new one, for Christ sake - that would be stupid. Whatever you can afford with the money you collect, buy something that makes sense.

You can drive it right onto the lawn next to my house. The left side, if you are facing my house. Just drive it right on up there, and park it right in the middle between my house and the Farquahr's house. Equidistant. That's a cool word, don't you think? Park that sucker equidistant between my house and theirs.

Drag my body out of the house and, while you're at it, treat me whatever way you think I deserve. Kick me, slap me, piss on me. Kiss me, caress me, hug me. Smile, frown, laugh, cry.

Haul me right up into my precious Lincoln. Driver's seat. Sit me up behind the wheel. You might want to strap my hands to the wheel - I won't be too cooperative at that point.

Empty a 2 and 1/2 gallon can of gasoline into the back seat. Say a few words, or not, depending on the mood and the schedule of the crowd - they might have errands to run.

Drop a match and watch me and my Lincoln burn.

Don't worry about the raging flames encroaching (another good word) on the Farquahr's house - their life sucks anyway, they could use a solid insurance check.

When you are satisfied, go about your business.

And thanks.

Unatoned

"My father's house shines hard and bright

It stands like a beacon calling me in the night

Calling and calling, so cold and alone

Shining 'cross this dark highway where our sins lie unatoned"

From My Father's House, by Bruce Springsteen

Something most fathers and sons hope to avoid. Until reality burns them with the news that it is too late. Their intentions rot on the vine.

Nothing Helps

Nothing helps anymore.

When you are so depressed that you gotta get the hell out of the house and take a ride, try to catch your breath or a break - there will be no relief.

Let's say you're listening to The Beatles channel. Let It Be comes on. They got a lyric in there, goes like this:

"And when the broken-hearted people living in the world agree, 

There will be an answer, let it be

For though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see

There will be an answer, let it be"

Used to sound hopeful. If it caught you on the right day you might think, yeah, you know? Everybody is human, we are all in the same boat, maybe things will get better.

Not anymore. Now it sounds like a child's fantasy.

We are all just waiting for the explosion.

My Grandson, Myself

Babysat The Kid last night.

From around 4:30 to around 7:30. When Craig & Amanda whisked him out the door for the ride home, Carol and I collapsed on the floor in exhaustion. Took us 35 minutes before we could muster the energy to get back on our feet.

Jackson is 1 year and 7 months old. The little maniac has unlimited energy. He never stops moving. Walking, running, climbing, and babbling. Honestly we probably got 15 total minutes of peace the whole time he was here.

If he was an adult, I would have killed him. But he is my grandson - if they wanted us to babysit again today I would say "Hell, yeah!"

He blows into the house like a hurricane and then proceeds to make us smile, make us laugh, make us look at him in disbelief that this magical tiny human has come into our life and made it better.

He likes my "office". Runs in and out of there all the time. 

For some reason my bookcases caught his eye for the first time last night. I have between 200 and 250 books on the shelves. He randomly grabbed two books, then dropped them on the floor.

Ancient Gonzo Wisdom - Interviews With Hunter S. Thompson, edited by Anita Thompson.

"Laughing with the Gods, Charles Bukowski.

I have many HST books, I have many Bukowski books, but they are randomly dispersed throughout my collection. They are not grouped together. In addition, those two books were not even side by side.

Admittedly, Jackson is a tiny human and has access to only around 150 of my books because of his height but, still, this is an astonishing situation.

If you know me at all, you know I love these two men. They mean a lot to me. And they are an acquired taste. If I randomly polled the entire population of Belmont - 7,314 people - I'd probably find two people with a collection like mine.

So what does this mean?

I recently read a book about a grandfather imparting wisdom to his grandson. It depressed me because I have no wisdom to share, other than how not to live a life. I would rather give Jackson something positive.

When my sons were little, I was the world's greatest father - we had a blast. Since they became adults, I set a terrible example. I am painfully aware of the same dynamic with Jackson. Right now, I am a blast. When he gets older he'll recognize my weaknesses and lower his opinion of me. I do not want to experience that again. It would kill me.

Maybe he chose those books to send me a message - "Hey, Papa Joe - you and I will get along. Your opinion of yourself is all wrong. We will share things, learn together, and have fun. Just wait and see."

Or maybe it was just a painful coincidence, inspiring false hope in my diseased soul.

You believe what you want to believe, I'll believe what I want to believe.

Adulthood Explained

 "It's dizzying. God is limited, he didn't entertain us kids enough. God only committed himself when he invented happy childhood, where everything was gentle purity. Then he got distracted, he let himself go, so the world we knew as children, suddenly and without warning, was exhausted. The worlds. The worlds are getting tired."

From the movie Parthenope.

Thank God For The Beatles

I am just overflowing with good vibes right now.

I went to Mark Cuban's drug website and registered to save myself almost $200 a month on one of the drugs my old age requires. Ecstatic!

Babysitting The Kid tonight. Christ it doesn't get better than that.

Just ran out to do an errand, Beatles channel on Sirius - and I sang every single song. Loudly. Smiling. Beautifully out of tune.

Those four lads have been enriching and improving my life and mood for 60 years now, and they will until the day I die.

Do you understand how magical that is? My soul is soaring!

Please note: I am so obnoxious that I can sing every single word of I've Just Seen A Face word for word with the Beatles. Every word of Rocky Raccoon. And I do.

Try it - you'll blow it.

I feel so good. I'm gonna milk this feeling until I collapse from exhaustion.

Ciao, baby.

Tears

Listening to John Lennon.

Happy Xmas (War Is Over) - The lyrics of that song will be particularly meaningful this year. I'll shed a few tears every time I listen. Especially if I am with Jackson.

Imagine - Timeless lyrics. Painful to listen to in 2025 in America. Again, tears.

Sobering

If you live a superficial life, you will suffer a superficial death - mocked by feigned grief.

Buried eternally in a shallow grave.

I Just Don't Know

Don't you hate it when you sneeze after you blow your nose?

What the fuck's up with that?

REGRET

I don't have regrets.

I am regret.

"Something old leaves her, and something new enters. A profound devastation. An awful, razor-edged wisdom. She takes her hand away from Fab, and collapses against Giulia, pinned forever to the void of this moment, the terror of regret."

Saint of The Narrows Street, by William Boyle

The terror of regret. Regret is the overwhelming emotion experienced by people on their deathbed.

If I don't get my shit together, my deathbed will be a fucking nightmare.

Some Things To Think About

 "You value life most intensely when you are living with the threat of its end, and you fight every step, moment by moment, to find meaning."

How To Stand Up To A Dictator, Maria Ressa

This is where I am at. 

My brain has been percolating every single day in 2025, bubbling and burning with what ifs, and what should I do, and how will I survive? Meanwhile Death stands by impatiently tapping a foot.

Job #2 pushed me over the edge. Now that it is gone and I survived it, I am fiercely determined to do the right thing for my life and Carol's. The next decision is critical.

The torture I went through for those 2 and 1/2 months almost destroyed me, but, having survived it, I am keenly aware of the time I have available to me and the potential disaster of wasting it.

"When that happened, it destroyed the old checks and balances on power and transformed our world. We elected incompetent populists who stoked our fears, dividing us and turning us against one another, fueling and feeding off our fear, anger, and hate. They appointed officials like themselves; their goal was not good governance, but power."

How To Stand Up To A Dictator, Maria Ressa

Maria is talking about the Philippines under Duterte. She might as well be talking about the United States of America.

Delusional? Maybe Not.

 The goal at this point is to win the war, even though I have lost every battle.

What Could Go Wrong?

I'm hunting down a psychiatrist.

Deja Vu all over again. This is my third attempt.

The first two were wimps. Afraid to slap me around. They both took this squishy feel-good approach. They turned my stomach.

I need to re-tune my brain. Actually I need it completely rewired. If it was a thing, I would have the bad shit scooped out, leaving the good shit behind to fuel confidence and happiness.

Feels like it was a simpler process years ago, but I could be wrong. I am insane, you know.

Maybe I should adjust my approach. Hunting them down seems aggressive. Maybe I should make polite inquiries.

Psychiatrists can prescribe medication, psychologists cannot. So one tinkers with your brain and gives you drugs, the other just tinkers with your brain. Believe it or not I would prefer to avoid drugs and go right for the brain re-alignment.

I am happy with the drugs I take. I'm talking about at midnight, when I am watching Looking for Mr. Goodbar.

You also have clinical social workers and licensed professional counselors. Who is best for what? Who should I trust? I don't have a lot of time to make this happen. Every day when I leave the house the Grim Reaper is across the street waving at me with a diseased smile on his face. Drooling. If the sun is up, he squints.

So I call these people up, talk to them a bit, and this is the typical response that I get:

"I'm sorry, I can't help you. You'd be better off in a mental institution and a straight jacket."

Apparently I got a lot of work to do.

Truthfully, I email them, they email me back, refer me to someone else, or tell me they don't accept Medicare, or they are not accepting new patients.

I just want to get my brain fixed. Fortunately I know this guy who hangs in a bar that I frequent. He dispenses his own brand of wisdom to anyone willing to buy him a drink. He seems relatively coherent most of the time. 

What could go wrong?

Rewritten

If you're happy and you know it, kiss my ass

If you're happy and you know it, kiss my ass

If you're happy and you know it

Don't you dare to fucking show it,

If you're happy and you know it, kiss my ass

No Denying It

 Responsibility is the enemy of creativity.

Went To A Show Last Night

Went to a show last night.

We actually got out of the house. The neighbors were lined up along the thoroughfare applauding wildly.

"There they go! They're going out to have some fun. Sure wish we were them. Good luck kids - don't stay out too late."

It was heartening.

The show was called Live From Laurel Canyon - Songs and Stories of American Folk Rock.

There were many iconic communities back in the sixties and seventies, places where creative free spirits congregated and lived, and wrote music - Laurel Canyon was one of them.

Some who lived in Laurel Canyon - The Mamas and the Papas, The Byrds, Buffalo Springfield, The Doors, Crosby, Stills, and Nash, Neil Young, James Taylor, Carole King, Joni Mitchell, Jackson Browne, Linda Ronstadt, America, The Eagles - can you imagine what that was like?

It was between 1965 and 1976. These people lived there off and on, coming and going, but meeting up in each other's houses and making music - mixing and matching creativity and insanity.

The show features a band who plays the music of the Laurel Canyon residents. But they also told intimate stories about the groups - about the inspiration behind writing certain songs, or the history of individuals, about the clubs they played in. And, they had a screen behind them flashing pictures of the Canyon, the homes they lived in, the groups, the clubs they played in, various permutations of the people who lived there hanging around each other's houses.

I was absolutely stunned by how deeply this all moved me. Got really emotional. That was a time of hope, a time for believing you could live an interesting life, a time for believing the world could be changed for the better. It was a place in which I wish I had lived.

Of course, I was obnoxious last night because I know 99% of the stories and I like to show off. As the stories got told, I would whisper into Carol's ear the name of the group or person or song the story was heading towards before the narrator did, and of course I was always right. But I did shut up when I noticed that "shut the fuck up" look in Carol's eyes.

When I was a teenager, I said to my parents "I would like to move to Laurel Canyon so I can hang around with David Crosby and Neil Young and Joni Mitchell and Jim Morrison and Jackson Browne, and Linda Ronstadt so I can be inspired by them and learn about life from them so my life can evolve into a thing of beauty."

My parents said "No, no, no Little Joey. You will stay here with us and grow up to be an accountant and wear clip-on ties." Sounded exciting, so I stuck around.

Might have been a mistake.

It was a very nice night out. The average age of the audience was 76. Hey, old people gotta have fun too, you know.

It was a homecoming of sorts for me because it was held at the Capitol Center, where I worked off and on for 7 years. Ran into a few people who high-fived me, hugged me, shook my hand - it made me feel better about myself.

So there was that too.

"And then I'm gonna................................"

Stop wasting time, for Christ fucking sake.

This is your LIFE we're talking about here.

Vacant Eyes

I have a two minute commute to Job #1.

That is too short - no time to think or adjust my attitude from defiant to subservient, so I do laps. I leave 20 minutes early, I crank up the rock 'n roll, and I drive aimlessly out to the Circle K, which is a few miles down the road. If I still have time, or, more frequently, just don't care what fucking time I get to work, I'll do it again. It's possible as I cruise, that I administer a central nervous system depressant as medicine to get me to the right level of "I don't give a fuck."

You didn't think driving alone could do it, did you? This is a brilliant plan. It keeps me from killing my co-workers.

When I circle through the Circle K lot I often see a worker bee sitting on a concrete stoop outside the back door, taking her break. Cigarette dangling from her mouth, phone dangling from her hand. One day she was sitting in the rain, hood up.

To me, that was the perfect vision of the typical American worker.

Desperate to get out of the work environment for 10 whole minutes, desperate to sit outside in any kind of weather, desperate to grab at anything that might bring happiness, entertainment, or escape.

So sad. This country is viciously exploitative. Businesses are not designed to treat employees fairly. They are designed to suck every drop of blood out of the workers, while paying them the lowest legal wage possible.

Disrespect and condescension are critical management tools, taught in business school and refined on the job.

I am not sure employees have ever been treated fairly or with respect in the history of this country. I'd like to think so, but the era I grew up in exposed me to nothing but lies, condescension, and blatant disrespect.

So I am a wee bit jaded.

Originally I was going to label this post Monkey On a Phone, but I couldn't do it. She is not a monkey. She is a human being trying to take care of a family or herself, and this is the situation she finds herself in. She is demoralized and searching for "better".

She will probably never find it because the odds are stacked against her. 

Once you get into a situation like that, the entire employment apparatus is stacked against you. Free thinking from employers goes out the window. It's a lot easier to typecast potential employees, pigeon-hole them, and trap them into a vicious cycle of low paying jobs, rather than to look past the vacant eyes to get to a spark of humanity. A tell that reveals this person to be much more valuable than past experience would suggest.

"Nobody ever said that life was fair." Yeah, I get that. But nobody ever tells you that life is a vicious game that will crush you if you take your eye off the ball for even a second. Happiness is not part of the equation. 

Nobody ever tells you that you are nothing more than a necessary evil to management, and that if you die, they are indifferent. And they will replace you with another poor soul that they will try to pay even less, justifying the low pay with convoluted corporate speak, otherwise known as fucking lying bullshit. 

All those years ago, we should have known, should have seen this coming.

When they changed the name of Personnel Departments to Human Resources.

WTF

"I can honestly say I do not want to be anyone else but me. It's not an easy gig. There's a lot of ups and downs and I really don't like the job most of the time but I am committed to it."

"For me resentment is just rooted in how I feel about myself. I don't like myself that much, I'm very hard on myself and I don't usually think I'm good enough at.......anything."

"It's just uncomfortable being me and I want to be comfortable being me."

Marc Maron, September 15, 2025

"And believe me I'm sick of myself going on about it. There's plenty of things that have changed for me and my life but there's a deep wiring that hasn't. I'm not even afraid of cutting the wrong wire at this point. The most it could detonate is a lifetime of welled up tears."

"You reach a certain age, usually pretty young, when you realize your parents are just people and they aren't going to help after a certain point, if they did at all, really. So, it's on you. And there's some part of my brain, emotionally, that's pretty stifled. I assume that's where a lot of my anxiety comes from."

Marc Maron, August 18, 2025

"I think gratitude is important but I don't engage it much and I should. I think there is some part of me that is afraid to be grateful, afraid of joy, afraid of happiness, afraid of peace because I assume it will all be crushed or taken away. I can't do it in a general sense so the exercise to me is identifying what those things could be attached to. What can't be taken away. Because by stifling them I take them away from myself."

"I choose to focus on my flaws and use them as a scourge as opposed to accepting them."

Marc Maron, August 11, 2025

I know some people who feel this way. Probably a lot more that I don't know, that also feel this way. There's one guy who I'm really close to, who I know very well, that feels these things overwhelmingly.

I don't know - should I sit down and talk to him? Is there a chance that I can help him adjust his thinking?

Maybe I'll give it a shot.

I just want him to get happy before he dies.

I Like To Dance

Next week I wrap up Job #2.

It's a seasonal job, and it's getting downright seasonal here in New England. Tuesday is my last day.

What happens on Wednesday?

I dance on the graves of my enemies.

What's The Right Answer

Just ran out to the liquor store.

The young lady at the register asked me how I'm doing and of course I said "Not too bad!"

A more truthful answer would have been "I really don't know. I really don't fucking know."

Because I don't.

Since I started the second job I have been absolutely destroyed; barely functioning as a human being. Sad, depressed, angry, as hard and deep as any of those emotions can go.

But that's on me. I'm weak. I can't handle being forced to be responsible. And the bathroom mirror is laughing at me. Hysterically. Saying "Are you for real? Is that what you're doing with your life?"

Beyond that, we have a dicktator, and mindless, spineless sycophants actively working to destroy my life and yours. 

The only people that will survive this vicious, killing horror are those with money in the bank. That is the only thing that will protect you when this country comes crashing down.

I don't have any.

I want a creative career that pays well, I don't want anybody telling me what to do, where to do it, and what to wear when I get there.

I want my grandson to love and respect me.

I want to succeed at an appreciable level in the short time I have left, so my sons will have fond memories of "Dad's Last Stand."

You know, come to think of it - it is better that I said "Not too bad" rather than to speak the truth.

The fine, young lady wouldn't have given a shit anyway.

What Else You Gonna Do?

Well, well, well kids - a wild fucking ride. No?

Sometimes life is a gas and sometimes life gasses you. Right now we are locked into the torture chamber fighting to not breathe in the fumes, but sooner or later you will have to inhale - and then you'll be dead.

Just trying to cheer you up in my own inimitable way.

We all bounce around like pinballs for decades and decades thinking we are actually living life - then you are diagnosed with Stage 11 Delusion Cancer............Holy Shit I was wrong all this time! You kick it into high gear for "the time you have left", or you try to or you want to, but you don't really know what to do. Nobody ever taught you how to do it, because nobody fucking knows what is the best way to live a life.

Which reminds me, if you use the expression "living my best life" one more time, I will take a two by four to the side of your face. What is it with us humans making up all these stupid expressions to fool ourselves that we are happy? To try to fool everybody else. Would you rather fool yourself than to actually have some fun, grab some independence, and live like a rugged individualist? Can we actually fool ourselves? Do you really want to reveal your weakness to other people through the use of mindless cliches? 

I don't think so. We put on an act for everybody else, then we go home and cry alone in the dark with a joint and a shot glass.

"And when the morning light comes streaming in, you'll get up and do it again."

I actually believe it is the insidious effect of the marketing industry in this country. They make up this shit to sell you something and the next thing you know everybody is repeating it. Because we don't think for ourselves and we are exposed to marketing 28 hours every fucking day. We are brainwashed because our brains are weak and pus filled, vulnerable to anything that smacks of hope.

Because we ache for hope in a world that kills hope. A world that is deliberately geared towards killing hope. Quite the conundrum, eh?

What is the solution to life? Only the demented really know. You are on your own, buddy.

I recently read a book where the premise was that "normal" people are insane, and "insane" people have all the answers. That if you are locked up in an asylum you are actually living a better life than the rats performing on the treadmill.

There is something to that.

I am fucking insane to the core. The shit that goes on in my head would scare the shit out of you if you could read my mind. But I got it all under control, encased in lead two feet thick so nothing leaks out.

Which, of course, is why I have to eat three prescriptions every day to control my blood pressure.

And the wheel goes 'round and 'round.

I am addicted to 100 Foot Wave. I told you about it previously, watched the whole thing start to finish, but now I watch the episodes relentlessly over and over. Whenever I don't have the time to watch an entire movie (because I am a real up and comer, a player of immense proportions on the field of life who cannot squeeze enough successes into one day), I dial up an episode of 100 Foot Wave.

And I am riding those waves, baby. A real wild man, living easy and free. Radically different than the average wage earner, independent, a trend setter, getting my kicks on Route 66.

A couple of tokes on the vape, a sip or two of whiskey, and I am right there with Garrett, Cotty, Justine, Chumbo, Kai - I mean they accept me, man - they get me because they penetrate the two feet of lead that hides my true essence and experience me raw and real.

Holy shit what a ride, what fun.

"And when the morning light comes streaming in, I get up and do it again."

What a shame.

Fuck it - what else you gonna do?