Falling Down

Mood: Dizzy
Drinking: Diet 7Up

I heard about this documentary a couple of years ago, when it was being filmed. It was very controversial (of course) and completely fascinating to me, in part because of the subject matter, but also because the infamous bridge is mere minutes from my house. I see it nearly every day.

So I did a little research on the topic and ended up writing a poem about it (“London Bridge”). I’m not posting the poem here…I’m saving it for the book (which is really, really on its way).

But here’s where the whole thing started…
The Bridge
…it’s not for the faint of heart. Or, rather, it’s not for those who fear the dark.

I myself am well acquainted with the Dark (we’ve made our peace with each other), and I would say I’m looking forward to seeing The Bridge when it comes to a theater near me, but that almost seems morbid. So I’ll just say that I will most definitely be seeing it. Who says that the deadliest things cannot also be beautiful?

-Lo, who once jumped off a cliff. (And no, it wasn’t a figurative cliff.)

“Like Christians at a suicide”

Mood: sort of Antichrist Superstar
Drinking: imaginary Absinthe

London Bridge

There were 19 in one year
who succeeded in falling
down.

It took some doing.

Because first they had to get there.
Had to find a spot in the lot.
Had to ride the bus.
Had to pay the fare.
It’s not like you just happen to end up
at the bridge on your way to the store.
You have to mean to be there.
You have to make a plan.
You have to navigate tourist traffic.
You have to walk out there on the span
and stare at Alcatraz. Watch the perfect little sailboats
bounce from wave to wave. Wait for wisps of fog
to float on by so you can get a good shot at the orange-red tower.

The experience is the main attraction.

You have to wonder if it was the first time for most
or had they done it all before? Did the urge to take a leap
just hit them in mid-stride or did they leave a note
before they left it all behind?

I want to know how hard it is to climb over the rail.

Does anyone ask you what you think you’re doing or
do they think it’s the perfect photo opp?
Do you take your time and make a scene
or do you rush into it, madly, like lovers at arrivals
with no eyes for anyone else.

At least you were somewhere really beautiful when you died.
You went out better than Marilyn.
Better than Elvis.
Falling down
down
down
beneath the blue-green waves
has got to be better than going out
with a bang. With a slice. With a swallow.
Hell, you don’t even have to string the rope,
tape the hose, close the door.
You just let go.

Maybe I’m giving you too much credit.
Maybe you’re just lazy.
Maybe it was all a misunderstanding.
An unfortunate accident somehow misconstrued as fate.
Maybe I make it all mean far too much.

After all, I’m the one standing safe
on the edge.
And you are the one falling down.

-Lo, who thinks that greeny absinthe color is really quite beautiful.