today P. and I were walking to the mall for lunch when we see a woman in an 80s Honda Accord parked right on the corner before the intersection directly in front of a Subways sandwich shop. how rude, we said, since she was blocking traffic from making a right turn. was her husband or somebody in the sandwich shop and she was waiting?

no. she was looking confused and scared. perhaps she was having car trouble? whatever it was we could tell she needed help. we could see this 20 feet away.

I walked to her window and asked if she needed help. she couldn't speak. her breathing was shallow and rapid. her car was running, and she held a mobile phone in her hand. she couldn't speak more than a word. or two. she needed help. fast.

so P. got on his phone and dialed 911. the paramedics arrived in a few minutes. while we waited I tried to talk to the woman, tried to comfort her the best I could. she managed to say she needed an interpreter. which was strange because she spoke in a plain, u.s. accent.

when the paramedics arrived they politely, but firmly, took control. I told one what she said. and that was that. the whole experience lasted not more than 10 minutes. we walked to the barber so P. could get his hair cut, then on to lunch.

but what pissed me off was the fact that the street was very busy. cars honked at me for being in their fucking way. anybody with a pair of eyes could see she needed help. I don't know how long she sat there. I don't know what was wrong with her. at first I thought it was a panic attack. but now think that is unlikely. given the fact that she couldn't speak, that she was confused, that she couldn't operate her car, or phone, it might've been a stroke. scary, scary indeed.

cuz it can happen, life can change or end, in an instant. my anger with people today might imply that I think people are callous. I don't think that at all. what I do think is that if something is not blazingly obvious, like a bloody car crash, then perhaps most persons will just walk around.

but again, my adrenaline didn't start pumping until after the fact when P. and I were eating and talking about what just happened.

two weeks ago my pal tried to help a victim of a motorcycle crash. he and his other friends were on their cycles riding in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. they were passed by a group of weekend warriors on their harleys and protected by the smallest of brain buckets. one lost control of his hog, and when P. got to him, his friends were standing round with their mouths open like monkeys before the monolith. the guy who wrecked was fucked-up, to put it mildly. his leg was shattered, the meat torn off, P. could see his kneecap in the open air. and the cyclist was pale, deathly pale. he was suffering from shock and maybe internal injuries. again, the harley enthusiasts did nothing, they were probably in shock too. nevertheless, P. goes down the mountain a few miles to call 911. his mobile wouldn't work in the hills.

I hope the woman today, and the rider two weeks ago are okay. fuck, got a shock myself today.

We have faith in the poison. We know how to give our whole life every day.
Art Rimbaud

I recall another poet-blogger asking other poets about how serious they take the art. what would you do if you had only 6months to live? for me, read, write, watch movies, listen to music, hang and correspond with friends and be with my dear family.

fucking A. amen.