Ringo

 ".............You carry the weight, the weight of the world,

It's breaking you down on your back like a boulder

Before it's too late, get rid of it, get it off your shoulder

I know you've been used, but you got to lose the weight of the world

..................It all comes down to who you crucify,

you either kiss the future or the past goodbye 

.................It's taking us down and the night's growing colder

Just blame it on fate, that was yesterday,

And we're just growing older

We've all been abused

Now it's time to lose the weight of the world"

From Weight of the World, by Ringo Starr

Just ran out to Walgreen's to get Carol's drugs - Ringo lightened the load.

No Cross in The Window

Judy moved out yesterday.

She was our next door neighbor. Her husband Yvon died in April. Their house has not sold yet.

His death hit hard. Our homes are close together; you know when people are coming and going, you pick up on their rhythms. Especially at night - when lights go on, when they go off. Judy has been working part time at Market Basket for a while now, fighting to survive. Since April, she came home to an empty house.

Her loneliness was obvious, and hard for us to deal with. She was alone and it was impossible to miss.

Got Carol and I thinking about and talking about what that will be like. In the future, I will be living alone or Carol will be living alone. Inevitably. Being so aware of Judy's heartache made our thoughts and discussions more painful. Too real.

Judy and Yvon had a wooden cross hanging in a window directly across from the picture window next to my recliner. Challenging me. Indicting me.

As I sat in the chair preparing for work yesterday, the movers were marching through her house. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, glanced over and noticed the cross missing. Not sure if that is bad for me or good for me.

When I got home from work, Judy and Yvon's house was in complete darkness.

We live in an over 55 community. Been here three years this month. Many people have died in that time. I'm guessing around ten or so. Shit, just between Christmas 2025 and spring 2026, three or four people died.

Death stalks me and Carol. He dances just outside our field of vision, laughing because we don't know when he will strike. But he knows.

Our neighbor on the other side of us just put her house up for sale. Soon we will be surrounded by two empty houses. In her case, she screwed up her life. Driving without a license, bagged three times in short succession, car impounded, she spent a few months in jail. Suddenly she's moving to Kansas, to reunite with her "boyfriend."

But people are bailing in general. The guy that owns the place is a Royal Prick. He is raising lot rentals through the roof. Older residents have been driven to food banks and fuel assistance programs, just so they can pay the fucking rent. People are forced to move, even though they are losing huge money when they sell.

We are in such a weird place. The community is dwindling. Many people have sold or just walked away in the last three years. Many people have died. There is a darkness here, leading to something. We are just not sure what that will be.

It is sad, because we were so happy when we moved here. New location, new people, a safe and quiet community. But reality doesn't give a shit about happiness. Reality forces you to worry about sickness and death, reality forces you to find a way to survive financially, no matter what it takes, or what must be sacrificed.

Sitting in the recliner last night doped up on TV, occasionally glancing over at the dark house next door. Pitch black. No more life there. There were two lives there just a short time ago, two people sharing a life that they made. Lives compromised by greed, lives shattered by death.

Reading this morning, took a break to catch my breath, looked at the empty house next door and the empty window across from me. 

I wasn't impressed by the cross when it was there, but its absense is unsettling.

Oddly Enough

As my brain deteriorates over the years, I invent exercises to beef up my memory.

Recently I decided to memorize song lyrics. What could be more natural for me?

I consume music like a devoted Catholic consumes The Wafer - as a staunch believer with hope of redemption.

There are approximately 20,000 songs already in my brain - songs I sing along with every time I hear them (unless someone else is around). There are a million more I don't have memorized; I mean, how much more can one man do?

Naturally, I started with Kris Kristofferson. Reciting his lyrics is like praying; good for my soul, while simultaneously flexing my memory.

The Pilgrim, Chapter 33. The song examines a man's life - had it all, lost it all, rose up, struck down. Still, he believes there's something better coming along. But he's not sure if "believin' is a blessing or a curse, or if the goin' up was worth the comin' down."

We end up here: "But if this world keeps right on turnin' for the better or the worse, and all he ever gets is older and around, from the rockin' of the cradle to the rollin' of the hearse, the goin' up was worth the comin' down."

Suggests to me that it is worth it to have just lived a life, whether you get what you want or not.

Right now, all I'm getting is older and around. Oddly enough, I still want more. 10% of my soul believes I can achieve that. That 10% keeps me going.

But I'm also trying hard to shift my thinking from apocalyptic to appreciative. Got a good family, don't want to lose sight of that, looking through a lens of despair.

It's a tightrope I'm walking. I'm doing the best I can. Still, I feel life draining out of me a bit more every day.

So far, my balance is good, although I am forced to reach out a steadying hand from time to time.

Dave's Gift

Dave comes into the library from time to time.

We talk.

His wife recently died, last year or two, maybe more recently - I haven't pinned Dave down. Don't want to. But I do know her death was before her time. Dave is around my age, but I suspect a little bit younger.

He talks about her a lot. He lights up when he talks about her.

"She was my best friend. She was so much fun. She was so smart. I miss her every day."

These words are genuine - I feel the love emanating from him, I see it in his eyes, I sense it in the passion of his words. He misses her profoundly. He tells me so, but if he didn't, I would still know because of the raw emotion he projects.

And he is not self-conscious about it. He puts it out there proudly, and with an obviously broken heart.

Last week he checked with me about a book he had ordered that had not come in yet. I confirmed that it was in the pipeline and he left. Told him I would call when it came in.

He came back inside a minute later to tell me that his wife's voice was still the message on his voicemail. Said he did not want me to think I had the wrong number when I called.

I think it was one more way for him to express the love he had and still has for her. One more way to say "I loved my wife so deeply."

Turns out the book came in that afternoon. I called, and got the machine. I listened to his wife's voice. I was truly moved, and sincerely emotional.

He showed up half an hour later to pick up the book. Told me he was outside, reading in his garden, which is why he missed the call. Picked up his book, talked about it enthusiastically, wished me a good day, and left.

I pictured him reading this book he was so excited about, in his garden. 

Alone.

This is the upside to customer service. Genuine human connection. Raw emotion expressed honestly. The privilege of being invited into someone else's life.

It is humbling to connect with someone in that way. It is rare.

It is a gift.

Power To The People

Carol and I watched the Power To The People Concert yesterday.

It chipped a small piece of ice from my heart, a heart that feels hopeless. It was good to see so many people with the same fears and disgust with this government gathered together in a spirit of defiance and commitment. And love of and belief in the power of music.

It was good to hear musicians ripping this government apart, quite vocally, from the stage. It needed to be done.

Many of the musicians who played were young - they played loud and they played fast. It was good to see young people speaking up, some of whom are too young to vote. We are not gonna win this thing with just the old folks - it will take everyone.

Joan Baez was there. Stephen Stills. Bruce Springsteen. Their participation was poignant to people my age. Also, a bit heartbreaking.

Joan Baez is 85 years old. Stephen Stills is 81 years old. They have been there before. They were outspoken in the sixties and still are today. Stills wrote For What It's Worth. The song was released in 1966.

Google it. Listen to it, pay attention to the lyrics. The song is as relevant today as it was then. Unfortunately.

Joan and Stephen could have been up there in a state of despair or frustration, to have to do this all again. Instead they showed the fighting spirit of people who believe in their souls that this country is its every-day people, not its politicians and billionaires. They are still up for the fight.

It was curated by Tom Morello. He was spectacular. In the way he orchestrated the whole thing from start to finish, and in the passionate way he played and sang. The man is a stunningly good guitar player. He has been passionately outspoken against injustice for his entire career. This concert was a perfect vehicle for him. And he got to play alongside his son - Roman Morello, who is 15 years old and is already a spectacular guitar virtuoso.

The most straight-ahead outspoken group there was The Dropkick Murphys. They were delightfully blunt. And they rocked the house - made it jump, got the audience up and rockin'.

Speaking for my generation, there was some emptiness there too. My generation kicked ass and tried hard to bring about change in the 60's and 70's. We got some stuff done. Most of it has been reversed, and most of us went on to become accountants. We were undermined, squashed, and defeated.

Heartbreaking, because the spirit was genuine. This country needed change and we tried hard to get it done. But, ultimately, the bad guys won.

Now it is worse than ever. The threat is even more dire and it is very real, with a good chance of succeeding. 

Success meaning the death of democracy.

That concert blew gently on the dying embers of democracy. It was hopeful. It was honest and blunt. It highlighted an awareness that there are tens of millions of people in this country who believe their government should protect them, and help them to survive in their daily lives.

Tyranny is not going to make that happen. Tyranny will do exactly the opposite. It has already started.

This fight feels like shoveling shit against the tide. Greed and viciousness are blood-sport in this country. People enjoy seeing other people suffer.

This fight also feels like life or death. It is.

Things need to turn around before Joan Baez, Stephen Stills and Bruce Springsteen are gone. They deserve to see that, considering how hard and how long they have fought to make it happen.

Things need to turn around for all Americans before they lose control over their own lives, before their life is no longer their own.

I Have A Suggestion For You

Are you bored with your life? Are you surprised that it is what it is?

You thought you would do better. You thought you would have more money. You thought that you would have more fun. But it didn't work out that way.

You are stressed out, worried, disappointed, and disillusioned. And bored.That's no fun at all.

But of course, at this point in your life, there is not a whole hell of a lot you can do about it.

You need to spark your brain. Shock yourself out of where you are to a place so far from your reality that you actually forget about your reality. For a little while.

Try this.

Watch True Romance (1993) on a Friday night, watch Scarface (1983) (Pacino version) on Saturday night. By the time you finish Scarface you will be a new person with a new perspective and unlimited inspiration. At least until Monday morning.

First of all, consider the cast of True Romance. Christian Slater, Patricia Arquette, Gary Oldman, Dennis Hopper, Brad Pitt, Christopher Walken, Val Kilmer, James Gandolfini, Samuel L. Jackson, Michael Rapaport. Can you even believe that?

Outstanding.

Both films are over the top plot-wise, and especially violence-wise. But that's what you need. You need to get outside of yourself, and you need your stomach twisted into a knot. Who knows, these movies are so outrageous that maybe it will make you grateful for your tiny life by way of comparison. An unintended consequence.

Please be careful - there is some violence in these movies that just might be too much for your delicate sensibilities. If so, immediately flick the channel to Dancing with the Stars. I wouldn't blame you. I have watched these movies dozens of times, and certain scenes still turn my stomach. And I LOVE violence.

Please report back to me. If my suggestion changes your life - good or bad - I would like to take credit.

I Hope No One Ever Says These Words to Me

 "I'm the Anti-Christ. You get me in a vendetta kind of mood, you will tell the angels in Heaven that you had never seen pure evil so singularly personified as you did in the face of the man who killed you."

Christopher Walken (Vincenzo Coccotti) to Dennis Hopper (Clifford Worley) in True Romance.

The Workingman's Lament

 "A heaviness settled on him that didn't lift as the long, dull days stretched on, spent in toil that offered neither mental challenge nor reward."

From Horse, by Geraldine Brooks

Now More Than Ever

Now more than ever, I am struggling to find peace of mind.

James Taylor's voice helps.

Enough to Be on Your Way

 "So the sun shines on this funeral

Just the same as on a birth

The way it shines on everything

That happens here on earth

It rolls across the Western sky

And back into the sea

And spends the day's last rays

Upon this fucked-up family"

And later on in the song:

"They brought her back on a Friday night

Same day I was born

We sent her up the smokestack

Yes and back into the storm

She blew up over the San Juan mountains

She spent herself at last

The threat of heavy weather

That was what she knew best

Oh it's enough to be on your way

It's enough just to cover ground

It's enough to be moving on"

And:

"Home, boy, build it behind your eyes

Carry it in your heart

Safe among your own......................

So long, old gal"

Grappling with life and death in a heartfelt and poetic way.

James Taylor, Enough to Be on Your Way

I Sing Pretty Good

Had to run out to do errands.

Had to go to Lowe's to snag a barbecue grill cover before the massive rain storm rolls in. Armageddon, baby - keep your head down.

The old cover has a gaping rip in it, which I've been ignoring because procrastination is my strong point. In fact when I lifted it off, my poor grill was wet.

Had to stop by Walgreen's to pick up drugs for Carol. I just love the way that sounds.

It is 74 degrees. There is a pleasantly insistent breeze. Brilliant sunshine. Windows down, sun roof open.

So the errands didn't hurt as much as usual. In fact, they didn't hurt at all.

And then...................................I dialed up Classic Vinyl. A Hard Day's Night comes on.

Holy shit - suddenly 62 years of my life melted away. I was young again. I was smiling - until I started singing.

I sing pretty good. Maybe as good as a Beatle. I should have called them up and asked to join the band. Of course I was 10 years old at the time - I don't think my parents would have gone for it.

In any event, on September 25, 2026, I was cruising down the road, happy.

The magic never dies.

A Saturday Morning in September

 It was a fine September Saturday morning, the kind of day that deceptively teases a longer life for summer, while the truth is oncoming winter with all its misery.

Johann felt peaceful, he was day dreaming, giving his mind a break from poisons and terror. Tom popped into his head.

Tom was a guy who ripped through life on his terms and at his speed. He didn't drink, he didn't smoke, religion guided his every thought. He exercised relentlessly - running, hiking, climbing mountains - the man was in shape.

He was intense and quite disciplined, but he had a sense of humor. A sly, sneaky, delicious sense of humor.

Cancer killed him at the age of 70. For no particular reason. The man did everything right, he improved the world through the sheer force of his personality and his goodness, and cancer killed him anyway. He should have lived to be 97.

Johann compared his life to Tom's and came up short. Embarrassingly short. He did nothing, accomplished nothing, controlled nothing, achieved nothing. He was less than. The only attribute he ever perfected was whining. That, and wasting time. At these, he excelled.

He began to feel morose. He was much closer to death than he would have liked. The major drawback to whining and wasting time is that time itself is relentless. It doesn't stop, it doesn't wait, it doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath and change direction.

As Johann began to feel sorry for himself, to wallow in self-pity, inventing hollow excuses, it suddenly occurred to him that Tom's story was as inspirational as it was sad. Johann still had time. He could do, he could move, he could re-invent. With just a little of Tom's focus in his mind, Johann could change his life.

He was energized. He got up, shook off the wallowing, and started to consider options, determined to change his life in ways that would deliver him to pride and peace.

That's how you win the game.

Cake or Death

 "I'm so tired. Tired of all of it. I don't want to do this anymore. I can't do this anymore. My whole life, my whole fucking life, I worked and paid bills and did what all the good little obedient people do. I don't know why. It ripped me apart. Every minute, every conversation, every obligation, every sacrifice. It ripped me all apart.

Because I knew better. This game we all play, it is futile. It is a sad, cruel joke. I knew that going in. But for unfathomable reasons, I put my head down, put one foot in front of the other, and marched dutifully forward towards regret. I built up mountains of it, regret, and carried it on my shoulders. I kept adding to it, growing it to skyscraper heights. My knees sagged and screamed under the weight. So I added more to the load, piled it even higher, and staggered forward. To nothingness.

There is no reward for this. Only emptiness. And suffocating suffering. You reach a point where you either give up and die, or keep on staggering forward to die. Neither one a pretty option. But sickeningly commonplace.

If I was smart I would have retired years ago. Many years ago. But I never made provisions. When you have nothing, you have to give everything. Physically, psychologically - trudging forward like a donkey with a broken back. Repeating the daily cycle. Getting nowhere, despising the obligation, mourning the lack of freedom, unable to escape it.

I don't want to do this anymore. But they make me do it. The people I owe money to. The people who control my life. The money lenders. The greedy, soulless monsters who take everything I earn, then demand more. The people who arbitrarily raise food prices, gas prices, interest rates, insurance costs. The people who keep me in my place, grinding, struggling, suffering the indignity of a shattered ego.

I am too old for this. I expected to retire. I thought it would happen. I know I deserved to. But I can't. They won't let me. I don't let me. Bad decisions, no passion or dream to drive me. A lost soul in a vacuum that sucks up lost souls.

I'm so tired. I don't want to do this anymore. I can't do this anymore."

His words ran into silence.

Krakatoa Karl looked up to realize he was alone. Of course he was. He thought he was having a conversation with a loved one but there weren't any loved ones. Not anymore. He drove them all away.

Not purposefully. His wife - divorced. His kids - not speaking to him anymore. His friends - too embarrassed to come around. Even his enemies - did not feel he was worth the effort. 

Because he was a loser. No one likes a loser.

He did not see himself as a loser. He was just a guy. A guy who never fit in and did not know what to do about it. As a stranger in a strange land, you got to kick, scream, slice flesh and break bones to make a little space for yourself. If you don't do that, your bones get crushed. Your spine collapses and you crawl through every day dripping blood through broken teeth.

Karl shook his head. When he did, tears flew onto the sleeve of his flannel shirt.

In bed that night, he prayed to die. As he did every night. To close his eyes and never wake up.

The following morning, the alarm shocked him awake. He put his feet to the floor and wiped the first drops of blood from his lips. He staggered to the bathroom, a walking corpse enduring a life. Preparing for another day of drudgery.

What else could he do?

The Author Knows Me

 "No disrespect to the golfers and gardeners and so on but activities don't work for me. I don't want to go gently into a future of activities. I want a whole new life to replace the one that's wearing out. I know this is unrealistic. I'm not asking to be young again; I'm not asking to be exempt from time and its punishments. But I don't want to spend the rest of my life playing games or doing exercises or taking bus tours overseas. I want to find something that will kick my discontent in its fat ass and carry me to the finish line feeling that I'd finished strong, finally grasping some sort of intensity or richness or bold embrace of life that eluded or intimidated me when I was young."

From Falling Into The Mob by Steve Zousmer

Just Another Life

 A close friend said to me:

"I am barely functioning. I wake up in fear and go to sleep defeated. In between, I pray for a miracle."

I had no words of comfort for him.

So I left.

Two Quotes of Consequence

"Old age is the most unexpected of all things that can happen to a man."

Leon Trotsky

I like that, but the quote has been misstated and erroneously attributed to Leo Tolstoy in a scene from the movie Elegy. I like the misquote better - it's more direct and hits a little harder:

1) "The biggest surprise in a man's life is old age."

2) "I wasted time, and now doth time waste me." 

William Shakespeare from Richard II

I printed these quotes in bold to really hammer them home. Turns out it was unnecessary.

Broken Dreams Defined

 "In the evening hours my brothers and I filled mason jars with lightning bugs to keep as night lights after the candles were blown out so Dad could chase the neon lights of fame, playing low-ceilinged honky-tonks up and down the Carolinas and sometimes into Georgia. When I woke each morning, Dad was always sleeping the deep sleep of whiskey and defeat on the couch with his cowboy boots still on, his guitar in its case by the door, and my lightning bugs upside down with suffocation in the grass at the bottom of their jars."

From Low Country by J. Nicole Jones

Pet Lovers Unite

This country is boiling over with hatred, violence, and disregard for the opinions of others. We excel at it. 

We are all in the same boat, striving for the same things, fighting the same daily battles, but for some fucked-up reason we have decided that if you think differently than I do, you are the enemy.

Used to be you had an opinion, I had a different opinion, but we could still drink beer in our folding chairs at a neighborhood cookout and laugh. Now you end up with a black eye or chipped tooth for disagreeing with the person next to you.

Not sure how that happened. Maybe it reveals the weakness of human nature rapidly deteriorating over time, maybe it results from this thing we used to have called democracy, maybe it's a combination of both. Whatever it is, we have crossed a line that we can never cross back. The concept of people getting along is wishful thinking at this point.

Pet lovers can save us.

I'm talking about people who genuinely love their pets. People whose relationship with their pets is sacred. People who see them as living breathing things with thoughts and emotions and sensitivity, not just as animals.

I am not talking about people who keep pets for amusement, or to make a statement. People who pay attention to them only when it suits them or when they have the time. I'm talking about people who talk to their pets, who hug them and kiss them, who continually acknowledge their presence just like you would a human being.

That kind of love is pure. It is sacred. It feeds your soul, it saves your soul. Pet lovers of that caliber experience life close to the bone, life as it is supposed to be lived. These people are powerful.

We need to establish a country-wide network of genuine pet lovers. Online, face to face, in local communities, state to state, and in nation-wide groups.

The love generated in the get togethers of genuine pet lovers and their  precious pets anywhere and everywhere would be so intense it would defy explanation. It would be a love of a magnitude never before experienced in the history of the world. It would be self-feeding and self-escalating until it would become invincible.

We could use that love to defeat all the hatred and violence, close-mindedness and stupidity, that is strangling the lives of everyday people.

We could become human again.

Huh, what? Oh shit, I fell asleep again. Was I dreaming? Oh yeah, I remember now - the pet lovers thing.

Forget it. It is only a pipe dream. Hatred is a blood sport in this country now. 

Love your pets deeply and honestly. It is good for you. It is healthy for you and your pets.

Then go out and spit on your neighbor.

Two Thoughts

1) I need to pull a rabbit out of a hat.

My situation is dire.

Of course, with my luck, the rabbit will be fucking dead.

2) I recently learned that deep breathing temporarily relieves anxiety. 

As a consequence, I also learned that, at my level of dysfunction, hyperventilation results.

Good Ideas Have The Lifespan of a Mayfly

Johnny Dinklethwaite took a job in a library.

Part Time. Two days a week.

Seemed like a good idea at the time. First of all, he needed the money, paltry as it is. Sad but true. The burden of old age unplanned for.

More importantly, Johnny loved to read. He loved books. That was enough of a justification for him to bullshit his way into the job. He thought that's all there was to it.

In the beginning, it wasn't too bad. Checking books in, checking books out - not much to it. And he got to shoot the shit with fellow readers - his people - people who read and read and read. For whom books are a religion. He had as much affinity with them as he does with drinkers. So it was a kind of sin and redemption thing - sinning with the drinkers, salvation with the readers.

In the beginning there was turnover. The director left. The assistant left. This was even better because he didn't have tyrants looking over his shoulder. It was a small, local library so there were long periods of quiet. Thirty people was a big day and cause for celebration.

Johnny enjoyed long stretches alone, when he could read, daydream, or search for better part time jobs online, jobs that paid $50/hour and required little effort and even less customer contact. That job has still not materialized but Johnny remains optimistic.

Then a new director came on board. And another assistant. Things picked up because the director wanted to make her mark. Who could blame her.

Suddenly there were four or five book clubs. Book clubs that met five feet away from Johnny's desk and spent an hour or two talking about the book. Actually, 20% of the gathering was spent on the book; 80% was spent gossiping and whining and dissecting life's mysteries.

Suddenly there was a summer reading program for miniature humans, which required Johnny to actually have to interact with these kids. Stamping schedules, handing out cheap toys, distributing gift certificates. He had a college education, for Christ sake - this was how he spent his time? Stamping smiley faces for Little Bobby?

Suddenly there was a Mah Jongg group that met on the afternoon of one of Johnny's days - every week. Two to two and a half hours of ten or twelve people meeting five feet away from Johnny's desk, rattling Mah Jongg bones, talking, yakking, loudly and indiscriminately.

The job Johnny Dinklethwaite took expecting peace and reflection, became tumultuous, irritating, and downright insanity-provoking.

When he was alone in the building, which was rare, he would pound his fist on the desk, yelling Fuck This Shit.

It was unprofessional.

He began drinking in the morning on work days. And sneaking nips into the library for bracers later on in the day.

One day a young kid came in with his Mommy and his reading program tracking sheet. Johnny was broken and a little drunk. He said "How'd you do, Little Bobby? How the fuck did you do?, you little shit. Did you read all your stupid little kid books? You want me to give you a cheap, plastic toy? Will that make your life worthwhile, you little asshole?"

The kid cried. The Mommy complained. Johnny was fired on the spot.

Johnny Dinklethwaite moved to West Virginia and took a job in a coal mine. He figured it was healthier for him than working in a local library.

It was a crafty move.