The rise of schizophrenia on the streets. Here’s one: walking bow-legged down the sidewalk, compressed torso, broad grin; making slow progress, step by lurching step, mumbling to the (at the moment) friendly voice. And another: white painted face, not the clean lines of the professional mime, but roughly splotched about the face, like an abstract painter flinging gobs of oil onto a canvass; his head jerking up and down, back and forth, violently shaking – a horse trying desperately to buck its rider. And yet another: huge tanned bald dome, snake earring, matching arm tattoos, pointing at the tall leafy shrub throwing shadows on the old sidewalk, shoving his beefy finger into the green tangle, shouting at the surrounding sprouts and flowers – not a conversation with nature, but an argument with life.

All this on the streets of Encinitas early in the new year. Too many humans, too many distractions, too little faith in the future? Or perhaps a squeezing of the tube, a constant increasing pressure, creating a bulge here and there, then suddenly a pop. Everywhere.

– by MJB