How to Survive a Long Fall

HOW TO SURVIVE A LONG FALL

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9/8/92

DISCLAIMER: IF CAUGHT READING THIS I DO NOT TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR WHAT I MAY OR MAY NOT DO TO YOU.


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GONE FROM FINDING6.3.14

In the first of your journalsI turn a page and you gofrom January of 1990 to Octoberof '91, from worrying a touchfrom your ex-girlfriend's best friend to having broken up with her.

In '91 you wrote:I've gone from findingmyself to find out what my self means.All the absence turning a page.

Every time I get to this placethe shift in handwriting sparkles as if Iʼve come on stars unclipped from the sky.

Every time I get to this placeI wonder about all the gapsbetween us, all the empty


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pages, all the tethers cut.

Every time I get to this place,the day you died, I rewrite this poemas if there were a way to closethe gap, to return you to the world.


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1/9/90

With this pen I can do so little yet so much.


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1/24/90

But with this pen I can do so much (more) littler! It's a finer tip.


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9/22/92

simon tries poetryha! ha! ha! ha?!


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FROM HERE TO THERE10/3/92

from here totherelies threepathseach onetakesyou from heretothere, and thereis no rightno wrongno inbetweenbecause on everypaththere is rightand wrong


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WATERING THE VINES

Wild dogs pushed between the fernswhere my brother would huntmonkeys with a blow gunthat resembled a section of a tent pole.He worked his way through the tightvines that clambered out of the carpet and peedwhere ever he liked. My parentscould smell that somethingwasn't right with the potted cactuson the stoop, but didn't suspectSimon until they heard himscreaming from his room.She found him in his undies,his hands over his crotch,tears collecting on the undersideof his chin. The light socketstill cackled as the last of the urinesparked and evaporated.After that he stopped wateringthe vines, the jungle trees. With no moisturethe jungle browned and grew


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a soft skin of dust. A fire went through the house,cleared the last of the undergrowth.Then even the jaguars gave upon the dessert of carpetand cream painted walls.I found only the den where his wilddogs had starved to deathbehind the dryer, their carcassesfading among the stray lint and feral static sheets. I made a placefor their bones inside of meand in the weeks that followedthe forest took rootand there were vines growingthrough my veins, feeling their wayinto my fingers, through my legs,vines urging me to unzip my pantsand pee freely where ever I might feel the urge.


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1/11/90

To Ted Sun who killed himself the early morning of 1/11/90.Some time back Keith Taminga did the same.

1/17

Margie Hanton died of lukemia & complications from a ski accident from which she burst her overy.

My sophmore year Brian Johnson died of head injuries instintly in a car accident.

Chris Gaskill 1990 shot himself.


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THE REST OF US7.11.06

People shoot themselvesafter closing their windowsand duct taping flannel quiltsover the paneto block out the gray morning, they have heart attacks on bike trails, lay their facesagainst the grass, the lastthing they say is a dull emeraldforest. People hit truckson their motorcycles, snaptheir necks against the caband die in the air a milefrom their homes. We wait.We sigh and turn off our radios,we name ourselves for our deaddogs and chase old friendsafter we've gone to sleep on the couch, spending ourselveseven in our sleep.


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IS THIS SOME GAME

is this some game im playingin my head? whats up withthe way im thinking? soooomany questions and noanswers.

who am i? simonno! why am i simon? you came that waywhy is simon so important to you? heis only important for him self andhis time for importance comes whenhe is readyready for what? i cant saywhy? he will be ready whenhis desire is gone – no more

questionsim tired


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A BIRD IN THE DIA7.17.06

At the gate next to minein the Denver airportthere is a pigeonpicking at a bagof popcorn.I'm here to stopworrying aboutwhether I have anythingto write for my brother. But how did a birdget inside the terminal?All I knowis if I'm luckyat the end of this poemwhere no onehas died, where every time I come, I come to die,I will find this birdbreaking from the floorinto the air


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by the high windows,I will believethat eventuallyit will find the open sky.


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12/6/89

I am a very spontanious person. I DON'T LIKE ORDER IN MY LIFE – another point I must stress. So alot of stuff in here is spurratic: if I'm listening to some music I like I'll (sometimes) write down the lyrics. Another note, I am dislexic. This means I, as a person, see things strangely – my spelling is very, very bad and I can't understand some things... but I componsate. As one who reads this can see my handwriting changes constantly. My theory is that when I'm bored, tired, not paying attention or stuff like that I get very sloppy and my dislexia shows more. When I'm wanting to do something – such as now – I am a little more neat and if I try I can be really, realy neet but most often I'm not trying too hard!


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ON HEARING YOU'D DIED6.4.06

After all, on hearing you had diedour brother raked the wooden floor of his house, broke off his fingernails.

I sat on the sidewalk. Across the streetan old man was mowing. I watched a blue-belled lilac blossom. He mows most days. The petals fell open,

sliding apart. When they were done, the old man had stopped his mower,stepped off and pushed it into his garage.

The world feels nothing. I picked the flowers, trying to loosen my hand from yours, to remind myself you will always be

as long as I am here keeping you. That day, you spread like those petals into many selves.


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AN EASY THING6.30.06

On the day you diedthere was a rain of skinnedanimals that blocked the road from my houseand broke the big windowin the living room into splashesof dried flesh tones and bone.The world became many shiftingworlds. I remember the neighborwas pushing his lawn mower up against his house, the carsidled down the streetthrough the shoulder deep bodiesas if I was the only one who knewthey were there.

I imagine that I was on a busthat day, going home from third gradeand I passed a wreckand the other kids blocked my viewand I came homeand I went into my room


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and later my momcalled me outinto a silence that has lasted thirteen years. I remember believingI was the only onewho knew someone dead that day,that death is an easy thing to takein my hands, to carry limp, to peel the sinewfrom the fat. It was the first time I knewto be afraid of easy things.


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IN THE PRAIRIE GRASS7.1.06

After you died, I'd sneak out in the starlight, walk to the fieldwhere youʼd last breathed. I'd mark out the vastness of the sky with my hands as the stalks pressed the back of my neck, my heels. Old starscame through the dark and the stiff prairie grassjabbed my arms. I thought to see in a leaf of grassthe journey work of the stars,but without the words, much the same as I thought of this poem before now.I followed those stars blushingon the Gallatin, rolling all the wayinto the ocean. The sky started into me there deafening me, opening me.


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1/25/90

A lot has happened.I got kicked out of the house.I applied for 7 different jobs.I'm seeing Jen.**I appauligized to mom & got accepted back into the house–I think.I might go to Florida to visit & work for/with dad for 2 or 3 months.*

*I need to sit down & think about things. If I were to go to Florida I would miss skiing & all of my friends, but then agian I would be able to sail, live in a city, & see my cousins. **I like Jen a lot but some how I can't explain myself, I still like Effie. I care for both of them & I don't want to hurt either of them– why do things have to be so confusing? Why can't be we all be just good friends?? Because I'll go insane– it'll be the be the same "O.K. we'll be good friends" B.S. that happened between Eff & I. When I asked Effie if it hurt I wanted to say good. But I couldn't. It's not really how I felt– it was the mean part of me that rarely shows. I meen she put me through hell– no, actually I put myself through hell– oh well thats over & I truely know how Effie feels right now– hurt & confussed because that's how I felt & I really do feel for her but


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right now I must go out & live my life & Jen is in it right now. I hope to God they don't hate each other forever & I have to talk to Jen about that. (end). I think it would be a good thing to do if I were to go & see dad for 2 or 3 months– some times I wonder why I didn't last year or more this summer. He says there's lots of work & I would work for him almost full time with his days off. We would work on the boats maybe go sailing to some places– what a dream. It would be almost running away from it all. Not almost it would– well not realy– I would come back for a long while if I don't now. 2 day is Jason's B-day. I'll talk to mom on Monday.


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& HERE SHE STANDS

Upon a pedistalof hers that gives thelife of onesown life thatmakes her differentfrom anyother.she hides herselfwith a mask– thekind that makes herstill– even moredifferent from anyother.


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10/12/91

It's been a long time... a long, long time & either I've changed or I found out who I was and just need to figure out why I am. <–– I know it doesn't make much sence but I'll just go with it. On 10/7/91 (Monday) I broke up with Jennifer. For good this time. Not out of anger or spite but I feel I no longer love her. It's very strange. I haven't been alone for over 1 1/2 years, that's a long ass time if you just think about it. I need time for things for myself, I don't want to feel tied down like I did with Jen. Things I need to do I'm going to do. Other things of intrest: I have to find a roomate fast. 325.00/month just doesn't come into my pocket like that. I don't work enough to pay that.


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LIVING INSIDE8.8.06

There's a dead plantin the kitchen that keeps growing.The roots have spread underthe carpet, shot up shoots in the closet. I'm watchingas the limbs sprout drycourse leaveswhen Ashley Simpsoncomes on SNL. Simon diedthirteen years ago today, so I've been watching the TVon mute, but the planthas found a way on stage,spreading like varicoseveins past the drummer, acrossthe mic and pouring from the glass. The roughskin grows over my shoesand inches up my pants. I wantto struggle. I want to get upand toss the thing out the window. A grinding


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noise comes from the planterover the dining room tablewhere the plant began. I catchon the sound, lift from my torsoand am pulled out over the openbalcony door, off the second storywindow, into the night.


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2/19/92

I try to live my life simply–I just am & I don't let trivial things get to me<–or try not to. When Jason asked me if I was bored or deep in thought–>"I'm just being." }Erica says the tao of Simon. Deep in thought for me is thinking about 10 to 20 things in a short (1 or 2 minutes) period of time–>nothing earth shattering just simple or trivial things that come up in my mind–or because it's my way of life I think about climbing a whole heck of a lot. I think I made the switch from being a person who climbs to a climber. It seems anyone I can really assosiate with is or once has been a climber. It really is frustrating because I can't & nobody can (to me) relate. What really doesn't help any is the 16 & 17 year old girls I've been hanging out with–>some, I can sort of relate to some of the time–others–not at all–not that I don't try–I do–I just can't. I think that's why I've been acting weird towards everyone. That and $. I got lots of things that need to get done so I'll see what happens next.:. tomorrow–the new worry free me again. Remember simple simon.


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TILLMELT

Warm up on Vert. Wall 5minRest 2 min2nd panel traverse–>Big Hold

Traverse to right rest at

Rest corner while till unpumpedclimbing big Hold

traverse LEFT TO RIGHT

TILL MELT! REsT 5 MiN10 pULLS SLOPER HOLD 2 MIN Rest10 PULLS ANY HOLD 2 MIN Rest5 PULLS SMALL HOLD REST UP TO 20 MINDOiNG STRETCHES !!!


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2/19/92

After talking to bra Jason I think I've finally got the corrage to find out where I stand with Steve and after I do that I'm going to persue my job opportunities of which are:#1 finding full time job here in Bozoville#2 (and most wanted) look into Alaska job#3 dad & see if & how much work he has for me & how much time he could commit to.It's really nice & refreshing to know he cares (at least he shows it & I feel it). I don't know if mom does (if she does I don't see it) even though she says she does I don't feel it–most likely it's just me. He says (bra jason) he's not happy working for mom, people just think of him as Mr. Responsibility but he said he would rather be in my shoes. I guess it's all in the way you look @ things–> my problem is actually very much & easily solvable compaired to say someone just out of school (with 3–that's three) maxed out charge cards & loan payments from school–> a grand total that would not make it possible for that person to do the things I'm doing & going to do the rest of my life.


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DREAM: All my friends I've remade & my new friends I've made were sittiing around in a big circle tripping and all were meditating or focusing on one thing– then I got up and said "I know something you don't, it's what you will be searching for all your lives, and I know it NOW. I kan't explain & I can't find it in my head right now but I know it's there." Then I sat down and started focusing again.

*I cant remember if it was @ night or day but I know I had it..... it's a weird one & I can't figure it out.... if it's true it's something I need to find.

4/16/92 I tried & found nothing– I wished to play and nobody was there to play with.


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NO ONE TO PLAY WITH

I remember the sky cameflush to our eyes the dayyou, your girlfriends, her sisterwent hunting mushrooms up the Paradise Valley. I rememberstaying in 4-B's all nightalone with the grease spotson the table, the grey coffee. I remembertrying, finding nothing, wishingto stomp through puddles,to make lakes of my shouldersin the rainwhen nobody was thereto play with. I turned outoff our street lostin thought, thinking nothingwhen I saw the truck, not eventoo late. Brothertoday I take your lifeas my own.


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i am thee7/5/92

& shall not ibe thee ifthee is willing to be thoubut how couldthou be theewhen theeis Me


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TRYING NOT TO SAY GOODBYE9.30.06

You are the little brother now,that or nothing. Simon, maybeI should put the bag in the dumpster.

Maybe I shouldmake a mantra of “a personcan get used to anything.” Maybe I shouldstop taking the dogsto the park, maybeI can let you be.

Be the dustin the canyon, a bit of airyou've long ago breathed, be a coldsilence that wakes me in the night,that keeps me.


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IʼLL CALL IT OFF

Today I died on bikestanding with my handsoff the handle bars,fingers spread over the wind,arms out. A truckblew through a stop,hit me. There was sunlightand plastic sackswhirling up into the air with me,a tremendous feelingof possibility.


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9/9/921:00PM

Hi my name is Simon and I could be. Who (and/or how) the fuck are you? This here book is my new book and this is my first entree (like it?) I'm sitting here on the toilet taking a big gross coffee dump – I drink alot of coffee – contemplating whether, or not it's a good moment to start a journel on the toilet. What the hell! I've already started. But now I'm done so I'll write later on today.

5:30pmJust got off work – yes work – I've got this great job working at the Leaf & Bean. It's a coffee house (no wonder I drink alot of coffee). I've worked there for almost 2 weeks now and love it – of course i was basicly jobless for 5 (yes 5) months so any job would be almost a great job. It's strange when I broke up with my girlfriend last October I've changed alot. Physicaly I shaved my head – I like it, it seems to suit me – along with a pierced nose. I like it too. Mentaly I've changed too – I still think alot about all sorts of things but I can talk (most) of my problems out with people I trust – I'm still "to nice" to everyone wich actually helps at work. As of this time I'm living in apartment #33 (16 West Main) in Bozoville Montana. It's my brothers old apt. He lived in it


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about 3 or 4 years ago – Jason (my brother) is now married to Lessli so I have a sister-in-law now. They love each other and I'm glad there together now. Lost my train of thought there and started rambeling. My friend Mark put it this way – Simon's starting to get ahold of life now – which is right. I was starting to get sick of being a bum, but it was some the funest times I've ever had. I'll hopfully never forget these days – notice these is used hopefully they will never end. End for now–––


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TRYING NOT TO WRITE THE POEM

In the ripe grass we're the same;drifting, the world moving around uslike ash caught in the air. We eat oranges until we're faton the juice, our skinsoft and grey, flimsy. The groundfalls away from us until we're thousands of feet up, our onlycompanion the wind. At sun setthe earth draws up to usand we sap into the earthwith a light rain. We are torrentscarrying twigs in our maw. We washout on a bank, fall asleep thereplaying the game of trying to tellwhich part of us belongs to who. We settle against the rawoozing mud and soonthe sun wakes us again, me by your sunburntfeet. We give each other another morning, we linger,we forget we are we, we cut against


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we flail about, we forget there is no fallingwhen you are the air, we forgetthere is no such thing as dying.


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A PART OF HERE

This is where you died– the roadto the house I still think of as our home.That road was alwaysdry, even in the summer rainstorms and four AM dew.Even in the junipers.This is the road I'd taketo get coffee in the shopwhere you'd becomea part of like the silver fishthat ran aroundon the walls in the earlyautumn night, the fireblossoming out alongthe hills a few days a year. I'd drive into the sunsetfive days a week, and when I left townto leave the town behind for goodI left by this road. When


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I came home, I came homeon it. This road is me. I knowthat this bridge, sided by lilacs,always lilacs, because your funeral was filthy with lilacs, is whereas I drove homeward I told myselfto not pay attentionto the pitch that gatheredon me as I sat, whereI repeated in my mindwhat isn't thought ofisn't. It ends at the bedwhere I reminded myselfafter a few hoursthat tomorrow I should wearmyself outso I'd be able to sleepand stop thinking of death.


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YOU CAN LIVE7.1.06

Waiting for the sunriseI've decided todayI'll be the brotherwho has diedand you can be the onewho fills his pocketswith rocks. You can throwthem at the parked carsas you pass the open mouthedmansions in Ladd's addition,as their windows dartand twitch with that lastburst of dreaming that comesjust before waking. Today you will glare at the joggers insultingtheir dogs with their slow wittedvoices repeating words.You can stop on twelfth streetto watch the ten year oldwho has gotten up


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before his parents to come outsideand smash ants against the sidewalkwith his thumb. Todayyou can run through trafficacross MLK Drive and up over the Willametteonto the walkway that clingsto the Hawthorne Bridge as you try to break the simple easeof coming and going.

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How to Survive a Long Fall