Part Two: Dancing Bear and My Big Ass 70th Birthday

Fast forward to today (Stardate 2024) some 26 or 27 years later which seems more like 260 years and many Star Trek/Star Wars galaxies away.

I admit to rarely if ever taking the time to call upon Dancing Bear my Native American spirit guide or my black bear animal totem for inspiration, support or guidance. Like many other people who have had trippy lucid dreams, weird drug trips or extraordinary spiritual experiences it was probably just too powerful and overwhelming at the time to emotionally process or fully appreciate.

Plus, even after my Dancing Bear lucid dream in Boulder (see Part One) I still stubbornly maintained a personal preference for a buffed up bison (compared to a pudgy bear) as my Native American spirit animal… even if God or the Universe thought otherwise. Another CaptCliff blog in the near future will probably be dedicated to psychoanalyzing my bear versus buffalo animal ambivalence and spirit guide indecision.

Regardless, life went on and like many other Baby Boomers who once were long-haired hippies, anti-establishment protesters and peace/love activists, I now kvetch and complain about Tinder, taxes, the global economy, big Pharma, giant corporations, mega mansions, my enlarged prostate and GERD and having to live in a dumbed-down fast versus slow social media addicted hypocritical and hypermaterialistic world.

Of course I cannot escape the irony and hypocrisy of me blogging, texting and pontificating about all of the aforementioned like the Wizard of Oz from my sprawling Southwest style Atlanta home while popping Tropical Tums 24/7, complaining about my internet connection and drinking Starbucks mocha cappuccinos or vanilla lattes using my Amazon Prime delivered Nespresso machine. I also post on social media during the day about “superficial TikTok culture” and then later at night watch TikTok while making sure to “like” people back on my Facebook and Instagram. Hypocrite much?

After my Grof Process spiritual experience and for many years thereafter I continued to have strange and unsettling dreams about the past. Sometimes I wondered if much like the ill-fated buffalo I was living my life in a kind of over domesticated unconscious state and following the rest of the human herd in a kind of downward death spiral ….not regarding our actual existence as a species but in gradually forgetting about and losing our humanity and higher consciousness. That would include our quintessential human traits and “animal attributes” that distinguish us as highly intelligent sentient beings capable of critical thinking and emotional empathy towards others.

Sadly, as our current culture appears to reward narcissistic rather than moral or ethical behavior and follows computer algorithms tailored to filter content and boost users screen time and “engagement” (nice word for digital addiction) it is increasingly difficult to determine the kind of information versus misinformation that one is absorbing into their big brain like data driven lead poisoning. One keen social critic calls it the “slow death of serendipity, magic and intuition” because under machine learning models and algorithms random chance, odd occurrences and strange outlier events that can promote personal growth and spiritual wisdom are minimized and factored out if not completely controlled.

Fortunately, one or two significant recent events have occurred and provided me with fresh insights and maybe even a few answers pertaining to my lingering questions about my long ago spirit guide/animal totem lucid dream.

Exactly on my 70th birthday I did “get in touch with” and see with my own now farsighted two eyes a live in-the-flesh chubby black bear. It occurred serendipitously during a week long birthday trip to Southern California in which I was not hiking the backwoods , camping or glamping. Neither was I drinking alcohol, taking magic mushrooms, snorting cocaine, microdosing ketamine or hallucinating due to some preexisting psychiatric disorder. Of course I cant speak for the bear’s mental status or drug history. However, having seen the movie Cocaine Bear three times I’m pretty confident that particular animal affliction and unlikely addiction can be ruled out as well. Also, this time I wasn’t dreaming, wasn’t engaged in holotropic breathing exercises, wasn’t hypnotized and wasn’t just imagining it because there were three other similarly awestruck and amazed eyewitnesses with me in the car. In fact, for at least 10 to 15 seconds I drag-raced right alongside that fast and furious fat-assed bear while sitting in the passenger seat of my brother Neal’s new car (a Lucid Air no less) as we drove up his long winding driveway in the hills of Montecito. That’s not exactly big bear country either unless this bear was an escapee from Michael Jackson’s Neverland Ranch or Prince Harry’s private petting zoo.

The bear seemed initially oblivious to our human presence less than two to three feet from him. My animal spirit in the flesh just kept going merrily on his way right beside us. Instead of freaking out or running away he/she/it/Yogi Bear appeared totally calm, cool and collected and if anything just radically accepting everything going on around him/her in that particular moment… which just happened to include me. Eventually, like all other unusual and serendipitous life experiences Running/Dancing/Jogging Black Bear casually looked up and turned his head around to face me while still running and nodded in my direction as if to say, “Yeah Cliff this is a weird and unusual experience but also pretty cool. Now do you remember? See you again sometime ” and then peeled off into the pine trees, boulders and scattered brush, most likely never to be seen again …but who really knows? Something or someone in my head then said, “and by ‘this’ I mean living life fully and without too much regret. Be in the moment and try to appreciate everything.”

So on this my 70th bday week in Santa Barbara California with delicious food, wonderful places to stay and beautiful scenic vistas in every direction I was reminded how important it is for me to dedicate a little time each day to take a deep breath (holotropic or regular), get grounded and simply feel grateful for everything going on around me including every single experience I have had in my life both good and bad and especially, at age 70 for being healthy, happy and still alive.

I finally saw my pudgy black bear spirit animal after all these years and he saw me. That’s good enough and just like my trippy as fuck Boulder lucid dream I wont ever forget it partially because I’m writing it all down and posting it for posterity on social media which some people say is pretty much the same as forever.

Oh yeah, also I’m quite sure I will see my Daddy Lorry again. I imagine he is waiting and has my cowboy hat, gun belt, Lone Ranger mask and toy guns with him too. If anybody out there reads this and wants a “Cliff Notes from CaptCliff” type summary here it is: with the help of a black bear, a dream and a few other cherished people in my life (including Argentine) I finally learned a few simple things of vast importance other than how to write more succinctly. I figured out what my fat animal spirit bear represents and now that I think of it it’s much the same meaning behind the nursery rhyme “Row Row Row Your Boat” which is that we should all consciously remember to take a few deep breaths and go gently and merrily with the inevitable ebb and flow of our life while keeping in mind… it’s but a dream.

Row, row, row your boat

Gently down the stream

Merrily merrily, merrily, merrily

Life is but a dream

“Who Was That Masked Man” by Van Morrison (1974)

Oh ain’t it lonely
When you’re livin’ with a gun
Well you can’t slow down and you can’t turn ’round
And you can’t trust anyone

You just sit there like a butterfly
And you’re all encased in glass
You’re so fragile you just may break
And you don’t know who to ask

Oh ain’t it lonely
When you’re livin’ with a gun
Well you can’t slow down and you can’t turn ’round
And you can’t trust anyone

You just sit there like a butterfly
You’re well protected by the glass
You’re such a rare collector’s item
When they throw away what’s the trash
You can hang suspended from a star
Or wish on a toilet roll
You can just soak up the atmosphere
Like a fish inside a bowl

When the ghost comes round at midnight
Well you both can have some fun
He can drive you mad, he can make you sad
He can keep you from the sun
When they take him down, he’ll be both safe and sound
And the hand does fit the glove
And no matter what they tell you,
There’s good and evil in everyone

Part One: Dancing Bear and My Big Ass 70th Birthday

Introduction: Have you ever had an experience that was so strange, so unusual and so downright mind-blowing that you never told anyone about it?

I’m not talking about some run of the mill alien abduction (with or without anal probe) or a drunken hillbilly’s unreported one night stand with Sasquatch. What follows is my hard to believe but impossible to forget trippy as fuck (TAF) experience. It’s about time… to tell it.

Many moons ago right before my painful separation and difficult divorce I signed up for what I thought to be an interesting but unconventional weekend workshop in Boulder Colorado called, “Holotropic Breathwork: Finding Your Spirit Animal”.

I think it was around 1997 give or take a year.

At the time I felt extremely anxious and depressed about my crumbling marriage partially because I still loved my wife Rona and partly because I realized that getting divorced would be an enormous life changing trauma for all involved including our three young sons, ages 7,9 and 11 years old. Either way I figured it couldn’t hurt to try something different by consulting with the ethereal spiritual realm and my higher consciousness.

Feeling so midlife miserable at that point in time my so-called spirituality and higher-self had pretty much gone MIA only to be replaced by a tidal wave of fear, anxiety and impending doom…along with deep-seated feelings of shame, embarrassment and failure. Being a licensed marriage and family therapist on the cusp of getting divorced was an unusually difficult and bitter pill to swallow. I knew I needed something stronger than Prozac and well beyond the scope of any existing talk therapy circa 1997.

At the three day seminar held in a comfortable studio space in Boulder predictably furnished with wall to wall floor mats, hippie throw blankets and cushy overstuffed pillows I joined two dozen other brave souls and/or similarly messed up and desperate individuals in learning how to use “holotropic breathing” along with guided imagery and evocative music to create a unique psychotherapeutic “altered state of consciousness”. This powerful blend of body/mind techniques was called the Grof process. Developed by Stanislav Grof, a well-known transpersonal psychiatrist, the Grof process promised a short-lived but extraordinarily deep “lucid dream state” without having to ingest psychoactive substances or psychedelic drugs. Due to Grof’s abiding interest in indigenous cultures and non-traditional forms of healing the seminar was also designed to help participants identify and get in touch with their Native American spirit guide, animal totem and associated “animal attributes”. Finally, we were told that all of the aforementioned if used correctly could increase a participant’s “warrior spirit” as well as protect and inspire them as needed in the future. Sounded good to me. I did however question whether my highly skeptical and independent nature would prevent me from being open or receptive enough to outside suggestion and direction from others. I’m usually the guy in the group who is thinking, “This is bullshit” or politely raising his hand to ask, “Wait, what exactly do you mean by “warrior spirit”?

For some reason I presumed that my spirit animal would be the American bison, not just because it was the University of Colorado’s (my alma mater) football team mascot but also because the buffalo (really a bison) seemed to possess the exact character traits and attributes I aspired to have. A large muscular creature with tremendous strength and spiritual significance to Native Americans, the bison was an impressive sad-eyed beast that once roamed the American Plains in great herds nobly sacrificing itself almost to extinction so that other more cunning and predatory species like wolves, indigenous people and greedy white hunters could hunt them down, kill them, and then feast on their flesh or use their various body parts (mostly bones and fur) for commercial purposes. Actually the greedy white hunters sometimes just shot the wild buffaloes for sport and left them there to rot. Just thinking or reading about buffaloes back in the day made me tear up a bit. I guess I was far more into Western movie melodrama and Hollywood depictions of heroic martyrdom than I ever realized.

In retrospect and in all honesty it’s quite likely I naively (and narcissistically) identified with the buffalo as a kind of “Dancing With Wolves” sacred sacrificial figure. Poor me much? Not many years after the Oscar winning movie hit theater screens in 1990 and in my broken about-to-be-divorced mind I naturally preferred to see myself as the sensitive yet often misunderstood “good guy” both in my marriage and possibly in every romantic relationships before and after it. In my personal narrative and self produced and directed Cliff Mazer movie I not only got off on (and got away with) seeing myself as an innocent victim but also was free to cast myself as the Kevin Costner hero cowboy that everybody likes, loves, idolizes and roots for… including good-looking wounded women, captive Indian squaws, and assorted other damsels in distress.

With the buffalo as my macho/muscular Jesus Christ-like spirit animal I somehow believed I might emerge from the ashes of my looming divorce, arise from my deflated/depressed emotional state and be resurrected to a state of perfection/ wholeness like the immortal Phoenix in Greek mythology…or as Charlie Sheen the spiraling down rather than rising up drug-addict/alcoholic said and lived to regret it later, “Winning!” #tigerbloodwinning!”.

Well, of course I was totally wrong about all of that and about a whole bunch of other things later on in life as well. Deep into my drug-free lucid dream my animal totem/spirit guide turned out to be a pudgy black bear along with a somewhat pudgy Native American guy named Dancing Bear. Even tho I can still recall the pungent smell of burning sage, cedar and sweetgrass that Dancing Bear used in his smudge and eagle feather ritual and tribal trance dance, other parts of my holotropic revery are fuzzy now after all these years. I believe Dancing Bear was a Pueblo or possibly Ute Indian and a “masked trickster” shaman who participated in various tribal ceremonies mostly by dancing in a repetitive way to a mesmerizing drum beat somewhat akin to an indigenous rave.

However, even more memorable was the following: towards the very end of my lucid dream and Boulder weekend workshop Dancing Bear stopped dancing, turned towards me and peeled off his primitive fur-lined face covering and animal headdress revealing himself to be someone I rarely thought about before that moment….my real biological father Lawrence (Lorry) Hiken. Lawrence or “Daddy Lorry” within our blended Mazer family’s less talked about family folklore was a young, likable, and ambitious physician/radiologist who had recently joined a fast growing group medical practice in Los Angeles by way of Santa Fe, New Mexico. According to my mother Claire, Daddy Lorry one night without any warning suffered a massive and catastrophic cerebral hemorrhage in February 1956 and died unexpectedly at 31 years old when I was only two and a half. Beyond a pile of faded black and white Polaroid pictures, Kodak baby photos and peeling plastic spiral albums handed down to me by relatives over the years I had no conscious memories of him. Zero. Not even one.

Still in the throes of my lucid dream and shortly after my initial shock and surprise lessened my father Lorry approached me directly and told me that he loved me. He also said he was very sorry he had to leave me so abruptly but that he would “see me again someday”. Somewhat predictably I then proceeded to cry… ok I sobbed like a hysterical 44 year-old two year old and then “woke up” from my Grof Process dream state. Everybody else in the room was already wide awake and giving each other late 1990’s group hugs. I distinctly remember a staff member giving me a cold glass of water and saying, “Drink this. You really went deep”. As mentioned, until now I’ve never told another human being or living soul about this particularly mind-blowing mystical experience except for my ex-wife Rona who unfortunately also passed away in 1999 at 45 years old from Stage 4 metastatic lung cancer, one short year after her initial diagnosis and two short years after finalizing our very difficult divorce.

Such a powerful, cathartic and unusual experience, spiritual or otherwise is not easily forgotten but can still leave a person with as many questions as it might appear to answer. Given my biological father Lorry’s sudden death and abrupt departure from this earthly plane and my subsequent lifelong fascination for all things “Cowboy and Indians” … including walking around naked as a little kid wearing only my cowboy hat, gun belt and toy guns while watching black and white TV Westerns and syndicated television shows like the “Lone Ranger” and then later on in life compulsively remodeling my various residences in contemporary “Southwest Style” with rounded corners, faux adobe walls and Native American furnishings perhaps the biggest and most poignant question I was left to ponder was, “Not counting the Lone Ranger, Tonto and that pudgy Indian dude with the eagle feather and animal headdress who was that masked man in my lucid dream and will I really see him (Daddy Lorry) again”? Next to that $64,000 question I also still wonder, “What’s the deal with rolly-polly bears as my animal spirit and why not a big and buff beatific buffalo”?

End of Part One

Mothers Day and Mandelbrot

When I woke up today May 14, 2023 and realized it was Mothers Day I first thought about my Mom, Claire Mazer and then for some unknown reason recalled the distinct aroma of her twice-baked made from scratch mandel bread (mandelbrot in Yiddish).

As a kid, the trials and tribulations of quasi-confinement at Camp Timberlane for Boys, a predominantly Jewish summer camp in Woodruff Wisconsin were mitigated by much anticipated parcel post deliveries of my Mom’s “care packages”, tightly wrapped aluminum foil-lined designer shoe boxes hermetically sealed and stuffed to the brim with a kosher salami, a handwritten letter and multiple plastic sandwich bags chock full of crumbly sugary-sweet almond and vanilla mandel bread. Not a bread, not a butterscotch blondie and certainly not a standard issue bakery good or Italian biscotti, I binged upon and then carefully hoarded my precious mondel throughout my stints at summer camp like a gluttonous t-shirted Greek God feasting on ambrosia among mere mortal campers. Then I shrewdly traded the leftover mandel slices to camp counselors and swim staff members to gain special favors like getting out of the “swim a whole lap” and “dive off the high diving board” mandatory test and the early morning bugle reveille call.

Honestly that almond and vanilla extract infused mondel bread with or without raisins was so good and lasted so long it was like having a sweet savory homemade dessert that doubled as legal tender like some edible transferable German bearer bond. Well, at least or until it went stale and lost its soft but crusty texture and flavor as well as 100% of its commercial trading value.

Sadly I returned the olfactory favor and my mother’s love by completely forgetting about a sickly tree frog I stuck in my yellow waterproof nylon raincoat’s side pocket for “safe keeping” on the last day of camp …which ended up stinking up our entire garage for a solid month after my return home. ADHD much? Thinking of a future career as a doctor I believe I intended to save the frog’s pitiful life and like my Mom provide him with unusual love, support and sustenance. Trust me, not so sweet or savory. My mother who eventually found the fossilized remains loved to tell my friends and current relationship partners the mostly putrid chapter of my summer camp story almost right up until she herself passed away in 2016 at 89 years young. I very much miss my Mom and her mandel bread and I still feel really bad about that terrible ending. I only wish the slippery slimy little guy could have gone to his Maker munching on a still soft heavenly morsel of my mother’s delicious mondelbrot.

https://www.tastingtable.com/1308428/popular-items-commonly-find-jewish-bakery/

Is It Over? I’m Afraid to Look

It’s not even noon but I’m starting to get an alarming twinge in my gut about the midterm elections. Not that i know anything about the early vote counts but I am beginning to catch a slight whiff in the air of acrid sweat, anticipatory anxiety, and primal fear. Even my old rescue black lab Harmony appears to smell something amiss when I took her out to pee. She kept sniffing and lifting her grey streaked snout skyward in various directions but especially towards certain key swing states and GOP gerrymandered voting districts here in Florida. These are places for the most part where “higher education” means college football, Fox news and maybe a Tucker Carlson PAC seminar on “Feminism and Falling Sperm Count”. Perhaps Harmony is just smelling a dead seagull or maybe it’s the latest Climate Change inspired Tropical Storm Nicole about to finish off whats left of South Florida’s already crippled coastline and crumbling infrastructure but I dont think so. In fact I wish that was all my trusty mutt and I were tag team spidey-sensing.

Honestly I fear I’m vibing Tolkien-esque Hobbit smoke signals on the far horizon. Call it intuition or delusional paranoia but I believe I may have picked up an almost imperceptible shudder in the ethereal astral plane, a seemingly subtle seismic shift but also quite possibly a dark foreboding and warning signal portending the self congratulatory return of the Evil One, Lord Sauron Trump to Middle Earth. Along with his Orc army of grotesque looking badly dressed MAGA supporters, flag-waving felons and hideous minions like Rudy Giuliani of “melting face fame” and Marjorie Taylor Greene who directly resembles an Orc homecoming drag queen I’m mostly afraid of the Bloated Orange Combover Man.

Even without the Dark Lord’s creepy disembodied flaming eye as an explicit movie spoiler and graphic image of doom there is a dawning disastrous sense within me about the midterm elections going on today as well as the down the line Final Fantasy winner-take-all Presidential election in 2024.

Maybe it’s just my never-ending frustration with the never properly working electronic gates, security system and entry door locks at my overpriced Sarasota apartment complex but this election cycle seems like a planned takeover by the Trump wing of the Republican Party, one that could have been avoided if Sleepy Joe would have woken up. It’s as if Old King Biden in his White House castle along with other Democratic leaders hobbled by family related problems, death threats, home invasions and baseless accusations of sex trafficking and baby cannibalism left the front door to winning the congressional elections unlocked, unguarded and ever so slightly ajar. Just like the Capitol police during the Jan 6 insurrection who were the US government’s premier security force … the quasi equivalent to the overhyped Iraqi Republican Guard, they too were wholly unprepared, undersupplied, understaffed, compromised and conflicted about their need to use deadly force to secure the Capitol Building. As a result they looked like amateur mall cops unable to turn away what was not only a serious national security threat but a riotous mob of unimaginable unruly weirdos, village idiots and Trump zombies wearing Buffalo horn helmets, etc.

So too these elections are occurring smack dab in the middle of an unprecedented time of craziness, crisis, uncertainty, chaos and political change characterized by extreme social and economic insecurity. In other words, nothing is really feeling “secure” at the moment including my Florida apartment complex’s security system and gates. Instead the Kingdom itself is heavily divided almost to the point it was when Abraham Lincoln warned “A house divided cannot stand”. Weakened, polarized and in continual crisis…distracted by economic and financial woes and a wily Coyote recurring plague virus that’s already dispatched a million Americans and compromised the physical and mental health of millions more. So yeah, the gates of individual and political sanity, human compassion, morality, mutual understanding and common civility were left open and a mutant horde of brain-dead zombies, election deniers and QAnon rabble rousers are now likely to breach the ramparts and gain control of the House of Representatives and many state and general elections. And THEN, even worse, they (the newly elected) might just do the absolutely unthinkable and release the Kracken, the MAGA monster and return the Mad King to his gold toilet bowl presidential throne… along with his assorted racist/violent antisemitic vengeance-seeking gun-toting fringe followers. Really hoping my nausea and this rambling reflection is nothing more than exaggerated paranoia or some leftover remnant of a flu bug or covid virus variant. However, sometimes its the little things like past behavior that count and turn out to be the best predictors of future outcomes including the kind of people who will end up running the show when the democratic dust settles so to speak. The complete absence of any publicly stated compassion, empathy or common respect shown by so many Republican party leaders and Congressmen in regards to Nancy Pelosi’s elderly husband getting his skull caved in by a clearly demented politically motivated intruder gives me a slight shiver and just the kind of dark foreshadowing feeling that makes me think of Jeff Goldblum’s classic line in Jurassic Park, “God I hate being right all the time”.

Nutbag Nudist in SF: Cracking the Cray Cray Conspiracy Code

It now appears that the deranged antisemitic nudist in SF who broke in and attacked Paul Pelosi in his private residence was so craycray that he may have confused Nancy Pelosi the sitting United States Speaker of the House for Nancy Kerrigan the former Olympic silver medal figure skater. Just kidding. However today it was revealed that David Depape, age 42 did in fact plan to break Speaker Pelosi’s knee caps with a hammer just like Tonya Harding’s idiot ex husband and foolish friends tried to do . Let that craziness sink in right down to the bone… so to speak.

As a thankfully retired psychologist I might suggest that we pause for a second and absorb the sheer insanity of this most recent racist conspiracy theory fueled criminal act…not to mention Donald Trump Jr. making beyond absurd insensitive jokes about it on social media. This blatant incident of far right wing “run amok-ism” might turn out to be the best individual case study yet depicting not just the “no fucking way this has got to be a bad dream” crazy world that we live in but also, in addition, a real-time primer for understanding the danger, ie. irrational rage, anger, aggression, violence, etc. inherent in a society that mixes divisive politics, rampant misinformation and mental illness …and then what happens when nothing is done about it (see Proverb below).

Given the still emerging facts about the case, how can we begin to comprehend, evaluate, punish or even rehabilitate a politically deranged mentally ill nudist in S.F. ? San Francisco, my former hometown… the City by the Bay, now according to many a shadow of its former self but still retaining its unforgettable live and let live one-of-a-kind character. In contrast, the demented SF nudist seems to share certain extreme political beliefs and personality traits with the Jan 6 Capitol Building insurrectionists, both tending to be far right wing nuts who became progressively more irrational and “out for blood” after falling sway to conspiracy theories and their big bandwidth promoters on radio and cable news. Unable to heed or respect established laws and regulations pertaining to private property, trespassing, breaking and entering or the common sense and critical thinking to know not to assault innocent and/or elderly people with hammers, Dupape broke into the Pelosi’s private residence at 2am. He then physically attacked and seriously injured Speaker Pelosi’s 82 year old husband with a hammer while yelling “where’s Nancy?? Where’s Nancy?” (instead of “Where’s Mike Pence” or even “where’s Waldo??”).

Going one step further, how do we stop the toxic human sources of vile and dangerous misinformation and the divisive political rhetoric that appears to have a “Manchurian Candidate” hypnotic effect on certain people by activating them (like in the movie “Manchurian Candidate”) to commit senseless criminal acts of violence? Open to suggestions, even weird ones : 1) Make crazy nudist in SF wear clothing 24/7 for the remainder of his life and adopt personally relevant life mottos stitched into his clothing like “Just DONT Do It Dummy!!”

2) Increase the size, number and visibility of Do Not Trespass/Restricted Area signs everywhere

3) Forget #1 and #2 and sacrifice Tucker Carlson as a Hail Mary act of human contrition and all-purpose atonement ritual to God ….kind of like one of those Get Out of Jail free cards and“preemptive presidential pardons” certain people sought from Donald Trump before his Walk of Shame. Then mount his TC’s head (preferably with Roger Stone’s genitals in his mouth) on a sharp pike right in front of the White House… rather than waste taxpayer money on new signs. Somewhat ironically, Steve Bannon actually first thought of this idea.

4) Same as #3 but use Tucker Carlson’s head as a bowling ball, football, basketball and soccer ball in a clever sports product placement TV commercial during the Superbowl featuring well known player icons like Michael Jordan

5. Dont cause any bodily harm to Tucker Carlson but make sure he does NOT wear ANY clothes except his stupid bow tie during his inaccurate and inflammatory cable news commentaries. Sort of a “The Emperor (and his Patsies) Wear No Clothes” allegory…

6. Castrate Roger Stone just for the hell of it …and secondarily to make sure that his “seed is permanently wiped from the face of the earth” ala the Native American warrior Magua’s “Last of the Mohicans” seminal speech

7. ??

Proverbs 27:12. The wise man discerns danger ahead and prepares himself, but the naive simpleton never looks ahead and suffers the consequences

Translation: Whether its a mass casualty shooter in Highland Park, a deranged antisemitic nudist with a hammer or crazed election hoax rioters at the Capitol building We the People are the naive simpletons

Highland Park: My Opinion

I’m from Highland Park. I grew up in the nearly idyllic family oriented suburb where an angry depressed and certainly deranged 21 year old decided to act out some unhinged final fantasy special edition version of Grand Theft Auto meets Lee Harvey Oswald in real time. Using a legally purchased automatic rifle Robert Crimo III rained bullets down on innocent families simply there to watch a July 4th parade. Seven people were killed, dozens injured and a whole town forever traumatized.

I’m also a retired psychologist who cant help but wonder what went wrong in that young man’s broken head as well as in his frozen if not completely broken heart. How could he do that? What was he thinking? How do you shoot innocent children and grandparents in wheelchairs? It makes me so angry. Well, it’s been exactly one week and a day since the incomprehensible tragedy and here’s what I now think. It’s just my opinion of course.

While it is certainly understandable to feel shocked, pissed off and totally outraged about Highland Park’s holiday celebration turned unspeakable tragedy I believe it would be a mistake to place all of ones anger and righteous indignation solely upon any one individual, any one family, or any single admittedly significant social problem like gun control or mental illness. Most to all of these disturbed and deranged violent individuals certainly have something wrong with their thinking and may very well have a diagnosable mental illness like severe depression, drug addiction, or bipolar disorder. However, what more likely relates to and may potentially end up predicting a hyperviolent episode like a school shooting or July 4th mass casualty event is a longstanding deep-seated despair in certain vulnerable individuals and a progressive loss of hope of ever achieving basic human needs like love, intimacy, happiness and personal success. In a nutshell many of these disturbed and disaffected young men seem to have something in common… they’ve given up on the idea that their life will ever substantially get better, particularly in regard to their present circumstance and dismal existence usually characterized by extreme anger, depression, suicidal ideation, social isolation, rejection and lack of loving relationships or care to and from significant others.

As a result, many of these young alienated individuals withdraw into alternative online worlds and anonymous social platforms including dark web underground communities where they are free to craft different lives and personas and engage with other outliers in extremist social, political, and ideological discussion groups and forums. “Losing oneself” online is not necessarily an exaggeration as real in-person affection, touch, love, understanding, bonding, belonging and physical/emotional validation are key ingredients in promoting psychological health, resilience and optimism. Without it, depression, anxiety, hopelessness, and suicidal or violent homicidal thinking is much more likely to attach itself like a self-replicating negative mental virus or maladaptive mindset.

Here comes the extra dangerous part. The negative/destructive or extreme nihilistic mindset is sometimes accompanied by a loss of empathic understanding or emotional connection with others that is normally present to ground ones moral reasoning and sense of right or wrong. Besides the debatable nihilistic philosophical belief that there is no real right or wrong the thought “i should not do that because it will hurt others” is no longer a indissoluble moral principle or interpersonal tenet that once learned cannot be unlearned or forgotten. Other preexisting conditions like a predisposition towards obsessive compulsive disorder ( negative intrusive thoughts/compulsive behaviors subtype) or a history of childhood trauma/violence and/or substance abuse especially alcohol, stimulants and gaba neurotransmitter altering substances like anabolic steroids, cocaine, amphetamines, sedatives, opiates, and hallucinogens can potentially add to and worsen the likelihood of a deranged act of violence, even if the shooter himself believes his horrific act to be sensible, necessary, or even inevitable.

Summary: As a society, rather than shoot all of our social problem-solving missiles towards one obviously important need like better gun control (no doubt very important) or even better mental heath screening and treatment (certainly important) perhaps we need to also recognize an inconvenient truth lying right before us in plain sight. Extremely unhappy/dissatisfied young people with no hope and no “skin in the game” in the celebrity social media driven real world (capitalistic/materialistic culture of today) and who are socially isolated and unmonitored (meaning nobody knows or cares enough to actively question, challenge or intervene in such an individuals evolution towards extreme hatred and violence) and who were previously exposed to violence, mind-altering drugs and/or polarizing political beliefs and propaganda that foster aggression and include violent dehumanizing rhetoric are not just human ticking time bombs in a mental health sense but essentially weaponized suicide bombers in a domestic terrorism sense.

If we as citizens and shaken survivors can recognize a related but perhaps less complete version of such transgressive social and psychological programming on January 6th, 2021 at the Capital building in Washington DC in the faces and actions of common American citizens turned Stop the Steal violent protestors then we should also be able to recognize what antisocial human recipe results when the unfinished brain of a deeply depressed and disconnected suicidal young person with a history of drugs/psychedelic abuse lacking love, nurture or genuine family closeness gains parental approval for a collection of knives, ninja swords and guns including permission to purchase automatic weapons but little to no positive reinforcement for believing they have a worthwhile place in society not to mention a future with any realistic hope for love, happiness, or success. Awake the Rapper no doubt at some level woke up to THAT reality, nurtured its nihilistic ramifications and chose the predictable alternative of antisocial infamy. No surprise since The Joker did the same thing. Maybe we as a society need to wake up to and confront that kind of unfortunate and inconvenient human truth that is just as real and unavoidable as climate change.

Notes: Radicalized individuals as I’ve described above who’s destructive brand of nihilism despises existing societal norms also detest joyous community celebrations of freedom (like Passover among Jewish people and the Fourth of July by American citizens). As a result they may choose to turn their formerly benign or constructive energies into purely destructive pursuits. Antisocial forms of self-expression and behavior go beyond the bizarre or merely outrageous because they actually aim to destroy the core ideas, symbolic images (like a 4th of July parade) and people living in what we typically perceive to be a happy healthy democratic society. Put another way, that which we celebrate is directly associated in their disturbed upside-down minds with having caused their intolerable misery.

More than money, fame, career success, social class, intelligence or genes the single most important factor in a long and happy life is love. Intimate bonds protect us from life’s hardships, delay mental and physical decline and predict long-term happiness.Sep 29, 2018

“For certain vulnerable people in these corners of the dark web, reality is meaningless, and if they can destroy reality, then that’s the only thing worth doing anymore,” said Newhouse. “The dehumanization of both the self and other people is the core aspect of why this shows up in these types of cases.

https://www.newyorker.com/culture/infinite-scroll/the-online-spaces-that-enable-mass-shooters/amp

https://news.yahoo.com/how-to-combat-the-forces-that-turn-young-men-into-mass-shooters-200251351.html. Duh

Downtown Sarasota Kicks Off Homeless Inspired Art Project



Title Contest: Help us name the first of hopefully many more homeless themed

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public art installations in downtown Sarasota. The attached photo depicts the still unfinished interactive display that includes a circular paver and cement “sundial” shaped base with a seemingly lifeless possibly even comatose homeless person sprawled on top of the horological (time telling) sun dial. Here are some preliminary titles suggested by Sarasota residents and local art enthusiasts:

1. Does Anyone Really Know What Time It Is? Umm 1PM??

2. 1 o’Clock, 2 o’Clock, 3 o’Clock Rock

3. Sarasota Squid Games: Dispossessed Squatter Edition

4. The Time Machine: He’s Got All the Time in the World…Um Not Really

◦ Introduction: Public art is expensive. The administrative hurdles and cost to cities and urban municipalities involved in bringing to fruition dynamic new art into green spaces, parks, and common areas downtown is challenging to say the least. “In place” public art requires not only engaging regional artists and jury selecting large sculptures and wind/weather-resistant creative installations but also coordinating a rigorous multidisciplinary approval process/design team that includes multiple P&R full-time employees as well as outside consultants, architects, project managers, and civil engineers experienced in public works that involves permanent “in place” art. Navigating through the complicated administrative procedures and city/county/state government building codes and regulations in a still recovering Covid pandemic economy, ie. supply chain delayed materials, increased labor costs, required liability and disability insurance as well as future projected maintenance and cleaning expenses has made local government sponsored art projects and public works prohibitively expensive and quite often beyond the budget allowances of even affluent cities like Sarasota.

Unfortunately private funding for such worthy public art downtown have also suffered over the last few years and are further impacted as a result of current events and market instability. Wealthy private donors, local patrons of the arts, visiting oil and gas billionaires and normally cash flush Russian oligarchs living in or around Sarasota are being forced to sell or hide their discretionary assets, ie. mega yachts, private jets, European soccer teams, illegally purchased or stolen antiquities and museum quality art collections due to US government pressure, congressional investigations, economic sanctions and frozen bank accounts related to the ongoing Russian invasion of Ukraine.

As a result, a more creative, pragmatic and cost-effective approach to public art is needed in Sarasota. Just like in the burgeoning field of fine dining/culinary art which trends towards using local ingredients and food sources as well as homegrown or creative presentations of regional cuisine, ie. farm to table gourmet restaurants, outdoor farmers markets, etc., public art projects in downtown areas like Sarasota need to also think about relying on local commodities that are fresh, plentiful, and more affordable.

Let’s be honest. Sarasota has a seemingly boundless supply of fresh, employable and/or completely unemployable homeless people willing and able to be used as stationary (or barely moving) art, sculptural art pieces, interactive architectural components and authentic public art figures in situ. Good art should be something people can relate to (or at least imagine if their health, life savings and/or stock portfolio goes to hell in a hand-basket). By extension why not consider good art, especially downtown public art to be displays which are “true to form” and literally comprised of living breathing human beings …even if the art objects breath is pretty damn bad, even if they are passed out or huddled together in various “off the tourist radar” places (like near Salvation Army and Planned Parenthood), even if they are found sleeping early morning in front of posh clothing boutiques and newly renovated store fronts on Main Street, engaged in loud nonsensical meth fueled conversations and altercations with themselves or others while trekking across already noisy Fruitville Road or even while eating, drinking, changing their socks and (on occasion) urinating in the increasingly sparse landscaping outside the downtown Public library right across from Starbucks.

The point is that homeless people are still real human beings. Furthermore, as “embodied” public art the homeless very likely could be procured to participate or literally become outdoor art. Consider the pros involved. They have no long annoying commute to contend with and no automobiles to drive and park (adding to traffic congestion and major headaches trying to figure out how to use the so called user friendly automated parking meters). In addition, homeless people as homeless art objects probably could be paid exclusively in Starbucks gift cards, cigarettes, beer and lottery tickets. Best of all homeless art and artists typically dont demand special celebrity “hey I’m a famous avant garde artiste” diva treatment like required on-site swedish masseuses, pilates instructors, charcuterie platters and 24/7 champagne flights. Most important …the homeless being homeless dont give a damn about state or county planning rules and regulations, public works building and construction restrictions, federal OSHA laws, planning department inspectors or inspections, liability and disability insurance or come to think of it…. basically really anything.

Like the Dude in The Big Lebowsky the homeless population of Sarasota mostly just wants to “abide” and get by. Maybe that’s what they can teach the rest of us take for granted spoiled homeowners and over-entitled cell phone and iPad addicted arty farty show-offs and art auction imposters. Hell, it’s just an idea even if a few existing laws, ordinances and labor practices might need to be cleverly altered first… probably by passing some teeny tiny font voter referendum held during an obscure midterm election, etc.

The important thing is that a vibrant growing creative community like Sarasota known across the US for its artistic vision and cultural arts as well as its social conscience regarding the “homeless problem” (not to mention it’s absolutely ridiculous real estate prices making it literally impossible to buy anything except a falling apart crack house or rat-infested hovel for under 2 million bucks) needs and deserves just such a uniquely “human” art initiative. At the very least let’s think about it….

Part Two: Idiosyncratic Insights and Other Out of Sorts and Annoying Out of Place Things

Part Two: Yeah, that was only one of my idiosyncratic Covid crazy insights and ideas in Part One. I have a few more. One of them is about a certain half baked idea to designate a certain day in the very near future for stir crazy Covid fearing citizens stuck at home (as well as other adult-aged individuals with OCD) to be allowed without criminal penalty or fine to venture outside with masks and fully sanitized chainsaws (courtesy of Home Depot and Lowes) to exercise and express their pent up feelings by chopping/sawing down two or three personally annoying, ugly, completely dead or grossly asymmetrical trees or protruding branches owned by their recalcitrant neighbors or random strangers, aka people who cant see or appreciate that something on their private property greatly offends Obsessive Compulsive humanity and the Universe’s fundamental need for order and perfect symmetry… especially at a stressful, tumultuous and confusing time like this.

Yeah, i realize this idea is right on the cusp of promoting a form of unfettered and untethered insanity and social deviance akin to “wilding for grown-ups” (if not unrestrained Social Darwinism). That’s why release forms and legal waivers will be needed in the event things go bad and seemingly normal citizen participants suddenly go “rogue” like lockdown crazed Leatherface characters and start hacking off other people’s heads or limbs rather than just a couple of emotionally cathartic landscaping improvements in ones suburban subdivision, etc.

Hey it’s just an idea and fortunately I completely forgot the rest of my genius insights while typing out this long weird but sincere blog. Peace Out. Love, CaptCliff

◦ P.S. Here are a few photo examples that have plagued me recently, er I mean bothered me lately. Plague…probably not a great word to use nowadays. Way too triggering.
◦ P.P.S. If you are trying to sell your expensive suburban house with “Master on Main” (EVEN in a strong sellers market) please chop down the creepy dead tree right next to the sign. I will even do it for you….

August 15, 2021

Part One: Todays Idiosyncratic Insights and Other Out of Sorts and Annoying Out of Place Things

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Sometimes interesting idiosyncratic insights emerge from unusually stressful circumstances including physical and psychological isolation, repeated Covid lockdowns, one too many lousy takeout meals and a seemingly endless pandemic accompanied by seemingly endless contradictory information. The situation is only made worse when one next door neighbor says, “Covid is a complete hoax” and another tells you on the very same day, “The hospitals are overflowing. Did you hear about Bill Greenbaum and his family?”

I’m sure solitary confinement and social isolation have led certain highly gifted individuals to come up with a slew of impressive scientific innovations and a number of philosophical and technological advancements in human history. I just cant think of any at the moment. Maybe that’s because lately I’ve been pretty busy during the day trying to manage my own anxiety, fear, anger, insomnia, confusion and bewilderment by watching Tik Tok puppy videos on my cell phone or scrolling through YouTube clips of movies all night I’ve seen before but somehow forgot in the haze of time, retirement and Covid craziness.
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As a psychologist trust me on one thing. People are pretty crazy right now. The Covid virus is pretty bad and growing increasingly more deadly (again) but so are people. In fact it might be somewhat liberating to admit out loud that many quasi self- quarantined individuals are currently at their wits end and possibly approaching the mental state I call “crazy as a freakin’ loony bird” . On the other hand, the positive thing to keep in mind is how WAY WAY WAY MORE CRAY-CRAY other people are as vividly displayed on cable news. Multiple stories of random insanity on airplanes, trains, buses, etc. are occurring as well as in shocking YouTube videos taken by bystanders in grocery stores, shopping malls, Walmart parking lots and in the entire state of Florida. Feel free to compare yourself and your current personal delusions, irrational thinking, intermittent hallucinations and weird behavior to the average batshit crazy Florida resident, serial killer or elected politician. You will feel a lot more normal… if that’s even a thing nowadays. I’m not even mentioning all the random viral video violence, “knock an Asian or senior citizen out” games, car craziness and general “wilding” in the streets of practically every major U.S. city by young people without brains in their head.

Is it me or do you ever pause, reflect and wonder to yourself, “how the fuck did things get to this point?” or “wait, is this just a really long unusually dysphoric dream, completely wacked out election cycle or dystopian nightmare about normal people going insane and proceeding to form nonsensical conspiracy theories and bizarre cults promulgating bullshit beliefs”? Even worse is the dreadful feeling that one has already seen a much better and far more believable horror/zombie film before either on TV or in a proper movie theater with comfortable reclining seats and fresh popcorn about a raving lunatic narcissist President with apocalyptic aspirations, hordes of hive-minded undead people and deadly brain-eating baboon viruses spreading into the general population due to rampant denial, government incompetence, corporate greed or some other dead person’s evil spirit trying to get revenge on living humankind.

What did we (still alive American people) ever do to deserve such a prolonged pandemic, zombie-esque dead/dumb/violent prone citizenry and an impossible-to-kill relentless loudmouth pie hole president with the brain the size of a walnut? Ok, sure that last part was in the past and yeah we pretty much had to cheat, slaughter, rape and pillage our way to our Manifest Destiny, personal freedom and Declaration of Independence. Thats a given. All the other stuff like slavery, smallpox, Civil War, racism, pollution, political corruption, toxic chemicals, greed, gluttony, antisemitism, anti-asian violence, antiballistic missiles and anti everybody else except rich white people and not so wealthy white people with assault weapons, MAGA hats, and toxic artificial plastic Xmas trees from WalMart was just the necessary “collateral damage” of our human evolution/revolution, natural selection “survival of the fittest” as well as our country’s eventual emergence as a major Superpower among nations (translation: apex predator) and “beacon of light” to the rest of the humankind world. Right?

◦ You know what? Now that I think about it… if the novel Covid19 virus (in fantasy) did have a brain and not just its ever-evolving super contagious rDNA downloading medieval mace meets Alien Predator spike proteins that enable it to hunt us down like dumb unvaccinated cattle, fluffy white rabbits and docile ducks in a row by taking full advantage of it’s relative invisibility, attaching itself to our vulnerable respiratory tissue using a simple but elegant “docking maneuver” that both Elon Musk and NASA would be exceedingly impressed by and then injecting/infecting us in poorly ventilated spaces like crowded churches, choir practice, at home birthday bashes, rowdy late night bars, all you can eat buffets and anti-masker restaurants, etc. then I’m pretty darn sure the Covid virus would think the EXACT SAME THING about its own Mainifest Destiny, evolution and biologic Bill of Rights. In other words WE (humankind) are ITS collateral damage. We may turn out to be the dinosaur fossils and heap of brittle bones from an extinct race of hominids that inhabited the planet for a short period of archeological and cosmological time. As a result of our current state of human disunity and national divisiveness (versus sensible bipartisan agreement and unity such as was displayed during WWII) we are Covid19’s proverbial “sitting duck”. Hey you cant blame a pseudo-alive organism or even a single-celled microorganism without a brain or central nervous system for wanting to survive at any cost just like us. Right?
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Speaking of sitting ducks: As a foodie and lover of good Chinese food who doesn’t love a wonderfully prepared and nicely plated Peking Duck on those soft fluffy little white rice buns? Only this time we’re the main entree and metaphorically speaking it’s our buns on the community acquired Sunday Special along with our smorgasbord of blood rich internal organs, ie. juicy hearts, lungs, blood vessels, livers, kidneys, bones, and brains ….at least what’s left of them. He/She/It/We/They/Alpha virus even invited their variant relatives Delta and recently arrived variant Lambda along for the rolling global pandemic/ progressive dinner with their soon to be discovered non-gender revealing vaccine resistant viral offspring. “Chi-na”!!

In my demented state I can almost imagine Gary Larson doing a future The Far Side comic circa 2022 or 2023 showing a bloated Covid virus getting up from a buffet table overflowing with human skulls and bones with a blood-stained napkin tucked into his bulging shirt collar only to remark, “Man oh man was that ever a super spread!!”