News

Posted on: danjoyceart.comCategory: Books, Art, Madness, Philosophy Dan Joyce’s latest book, Manic Manifesto, is more than a title—it’s a declaration, a warning, a prayer, and a punchline all in one. We sat down with Dan—and his loud-mouthed inner sidekick Bonkers—for a wildly entertaining conversation about creativity, mental health, and why a little madness might be the sanest thing of all. Interviewer:Let’s jump right in. Dan, what is Manic Manifesto? Dan:It’s a scream from the rooftops. It’s a laugh in the face of the system. It’s what happens when an artist, a schizophrenic, and a philosopher walk into a bar—and they’re...

When my family found out I had nothing to look forward to in life, everything started to spiral. The emptiness, the boredom—it all fueled my smoking habit. I was lighting up more often, slipping deeper into the trap of addiction, and finding it harder and harder to climb out. It wasn’t just the cigarettes; it was the sense that nothing ahead mattered enough to quit for. But then something changed. My mom, bless her, stepped in—not with criticism or guilt trips, but with action. She bought me a new computer and a tablet, giving me the tools to dive back...

Let’s face it, quitting smoking is like trying to wrestle a slippery snake—blindfolded, in a thunderstorm, while your brain is whispering, “Just one more.” I’ve tried going cold turkey. I’ve tried tapering off. I’ve tried prayers, promises, and patches. Now I’m trying something in between: switching to lights. Yes, I’ve been smoking light cigarettes lately. And while they might sound like the skinny jeans of the tobacco world, they do something sneaky—microscopic holes in the filters allow more air in and deliver a “lighter” dose of chemicals, including nicotine. Science says it’s not exactly healthier, but it feels lighter. That...

Two weeks ago, I got the news no one wants to hear—cancer. Thyroid cancer, to be exact. It’s already spread to my lymph nodes, and I’m staring down surgery, treatment, and a long recovery process. They tell me it’s treatable. Curable even. But tell that to the pit in my stomach and the racing thoughts that keep me up at night. Tell that to my cigarette cravings. They also say smoking didn’t cause this. But after 40 years of lighting up, it’s hard not to blame the habit that’s stuck to me like secondhand regret. I’ve tried quitting more times...

Almost two weeks ago, I received the kind of news that shakes your entire foundation—I was diagnosed with cancer. It started with a lump. Then came the scans, the biopsies, the long silences from doctors who don’t want to say too much too soon. Finally, the words landed like a wrecking ball: thyroid cancer. It’s already spread to my lymph nodes, and there’s concern it may go further. They say it’s treatable. “Very treatable,” they emphasize, trying to reassure me. And I try to believe them. But the doubts creep in, like smoke under a door you thought was closed....