on language of the street: a post script

the day after writing the poem about violent language and the homeless i was walking down k st mall. it was getting close to 6:00 pm and the mall -- which used to be a pedestrian only outdoor mall, but now allows cars in the hope that vehicles will mean more commerce for the ailing mall -- was packed with people waiting at light rail stops in order to commute home.

lo, i happened upon a rather rough looking fellow shouting red anger at a man with his children in tow. i've no idea what the source of the altercation and i don't know if the rough looking dude doing the angry shouting at the man with the kids was homeless. it was a violent outburst and the guy with the kids began yelling back whereby the rough looking dude said something that alluded to wanting to fight.

no fisticuffs were exchanged and after a couple of minutes the rough looking hombre went his way. there was a vibe in the scene that was not violent, physically, at least. it seemed to my passing sense that no one was in danger of physical violence. and yet, there was tension that expressed itself in language. violent words.

then down the street i saw a homeless person, this man clearly in need of psyche medication, railing against i don't know what. the depth of his despair and anger was clearly evident in his choice of words. every third one, that i could make out, was the word, fuck.

the language of the street is violent, i think, because living on the street is a tough life. i wrote my poem out of an observation and wish fulfilment. i want the homeless to get the help they so desperately deserve. the guy who wanted to fight at the light rail stop, well, i don't know what his problem was. and yet. . .and yet. . .as the poet said, the world of dew is the world of dew. i know i'm turning into a hippie. i want there to be peace and love. that video of nicanor parra drinking milk is great because he flashes a double peace sign at us. i can dig that.

that's it. nothing else.