Clean and Elegant

Clean and Elegant

Sunday, 5 February 2017

Awakened by the Exit of the Broccoli Water

Awakened by the
exit of the
broccoli water.
I hope you're alright.
You sound a bit shitty.
 
Once upon a time, there was a broccoli shirt.
The broccoli and the cauliflower
were best friends
Please
Don't worry about me.
I have a jade egg for my vagina now.
Everyone's tired
of hearing about it
Already.

Vincent suggests, "Don't shit where you eat."
But sometimes you shit
Or shit vaguely,
And still get invited
For snacks.

In other news,
The OkCupid foodies
Are naming themselves after tacos.
Unimaginable tacos
Un-vaginal tacos.
Gordon Taco.
Taco Guillaume.

Almost all the tacos
Contained iceberg lettuce.
A heart that sighs
does not have all it desires.

Taco69
plus some kind of trendy salsa
And one of those unconvincing
references to happiness.

"I am wat U R looking for."
"Who is Magareth Atwood?"
Likely
the arc
has to do
with needs.

"I hope I'm not a narcissist,"
said the Married Man.
My sense is
he hates himself
too much.

An unexplained craving for radishes.
I want to preserve my Youth!

My dear Lady,
I saw your page.
Your are
very nice
And beautiful.

Condescending Taco
Corrected a "to"
With not enough o's
Or too many.

He remarked upon
What seems to have been
My emotionally turbulent life.

Well,
I am not
a delicate flower.
Though I do have a soft spot
for Vincents and Patricks.

Hi dear Lady.
Did you receive my message?

On a Friday in September
My life's sheer lack of agency
Felt like it was something
to celebrate.

My dear Lady
I am Patrick.
Love to meet you.
Am impressed.

On a Friday in December,
after visiting several spiritual places,
we stopped on the side of the road
on the way back to Rishakesh.

I pissed for what seemed like five minutes.
None of it got on my snowsuit

While we're at it,
Ira Glass sang a song this week.
He does not sing well.
I have never heard you sing
But it made me think of you.

The End.

Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
I Let Go

Bodhisattva Business Ventures:
 
Deep Cleans by Erica J. Schmidt (@deepcleanswitherica)
Montreal Hippie Threads (@mtlhippiethreads)

Instagram: montrealhippiethreads


The Erica Museum
Not That Kind of Girl
Why  I am like Oprah
 

Thursday, 2 February 2017

They smile at the sidewalks even though it's cold as balls and they must remain on leashes.

Places where you had the true joy.
Or saw it.

Beautiful Neurotic.

There is something to be cherished
in those who are so serious.

On February 11, I will ask the Boatman to send me the bottles of castor oil I brought back from India in 2014.
Unless he already threw them out.

Included in my update, I will mention that I ordered my first full basket of French Fries.
I ate the whole thing.
With ketchup, and even some mayonnaise.
Survived the ordeal
free from both obesity,
and heartburn.

Vincent would be proud of the risk.

Groundhog Day, 2017

Today I might write a letter
To my old Expensive Friend David.
Vincent is subsidized,
but David cost
one hundred and seventy bucks per hour.
He was worth it.
Halifax is
a torturous place
to find friends.

I never got to learn very much about David, except that he had more than one kid, and however many children he had, they all preferred texting over talking on the phone.

David was generous with his time.
David also seemed to love purple.

Dear David,

I really like purple too.
Really, really, really like it.
Even more than I did in Halifax.
 I really really really love purple.
Tips for Surviving Life:
Prozaac, and Underemployment.

The Big Blue Sky is still not up.
My room smells like a stuffy sleepy person.
The duvet failed to get me off this morning.
Where are the buzz kills,
and who.

Dear Married Man,
It has occurred to me
that I might consider
crawling out from under the table
and re-emerging with some of my dignity.

Next time I'm gonna try
Not to knock all the dignity over
in the first place.

This would be such a fabulous Country Music Song.
Another missed calling!
Alas.

You know all about these.
I love you and don't worry about it.

Unrestrained enthusiasm or joy.
Thinking about this again
And all the people at vipassana
who have been observing the breath below their nostrils
and scanning all their body's cells
as the state of the world unravels.

My computer fan
is evoking the sound
of a low-powered chain saw.

All we've got left
for the pure sanctioned joy
is the babies being born.

Even with the blood
And violence
And fecal matter,
we are allowed to be ecstatic.

I used to be too jaded for this.
But now,
the sight
or the softness
of a onesie
fills me with such hope.


I also see a massive revolution
in the small people
trudging passed Café Olimpico
In vibrant snowsuits twice the size of them.

They do not feel burdened like oversized marshmallows.

They smile at the sidewalks
Even though it's cold as balls
And they must remain on leashes.

The End.

Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
I Let Go

Bodhisattva Business Ventures:
 
Deep Cleans by Erica J. Schmidt (@deepcleanswitherica)
Montreal Hippie Threads (@mtlhippiethreads)

Instagram: montrealhippiethreads


My Ego Throws Up When I Won't Believe It
Hour of God on a Friday
The Vipassana Diaries: Why I Like To Pee Outside

Exalted
 

Tuesday, 31 January 2017

This is just me giving myself Grace on the corner of Saint Laurent and Saint Viateur at 3 PM on a Tuesday.

Forgiving yourself.
Well.
He's really good at that.

"This is just me
Giving myself Grace
On the corner of Saint Laurent and Saint Viateur
at 3 PM
on a Tuesday."

Have you ever tried meditating?
No. But I should.

I move too far into severity.
Then way too far back
to somewhere too soft.

Like a killer whale's cervix
In precipitous labour.

That actually sounds pretty badass.
Though somehow very safe
And soft.

Do killer whales have cervixes?
Do zebras?

I want something less severe
That's not the Killer Whale Cervix.

The Zebra Notebook
The average father
spends nine minutes of quality time
with his children,
or fewer.

My father used to carry me around
in what seemed like a backpack,
or in his arms.

He bought me Orange Trident Gum
And we'd go to the library
And afterwards the pool.

We swam almost every day.
I'd hang onto his back
And we'd dive underwater.

I wasn't afraid of the deep end,
Or jumping off the diving board

But when I didn't hold onto my father
I wore water wings
Bright orange.

Then one day,
my father helped me take the water wings off.
Obviously
I sputtered
as I flailed my arms
and feet that could not touch the bottom.

"Look," said my father.
"You can swim."
I was fine.

The End.

Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
I Let Go

Bodhisattva Business Ventures:
 
Deep Cleans by Erica J. Schmidt (@deepcleanswitherica)
Montreal Hippie Threads (@mtlhippiethreads)

Instagram: montrealhippiethreads


Not Separate From All That Is
What the fuck should I do with my life? Part One.
Still Me

Monday, 30 January 2017

Promise, Hold Me Tight, and Potlucky

Promise
 
I promise if I MC
At your funeral,
I will not mention
The pebbles in my vagina.
 
Hold Me Tight
 
Sunday, January 29, 2017
 
There I was
Headed to Amos
For two and a half weeks.
 
I thought I felt subdued
But I guess I mixed that up
With the lighting.
 
Not subdued,
I lie on the floor
And Alanis discusses
The patterns of attachment.

Alanis
Alanis has a friend.
And her name is Sue Johnson.
 
If I'd been named Sue Johnson
I might have turned out
A little more Well-Adjusted.
 
Even more so
If my name was Sue Ellen.
 
Each of us
Has a story,
That shaped our
Personality.
 
By now I've also mixed
up the tenses
with the atmosphere.
 
Green card holders will not
Be detained
For today.

What
did you learn,
and how
did you grow.
 
Potlucky
 
Potluck turned into
A one-night stand.
His armpits held ample generosity.
All two times the orgasms were adequate.
I was open to more,
but feel lucky enough.

The End.

 

Lucky Enough Face
 
Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
I Let Go

Bodhisattva Business Ventures:
 
Deep Cleans by Erica J. Schmidt (@deepcleanswitherica)
Montreal Hippie Threads (@mtlhippiethreads)

Instagram: montrealhippiethreads

 
Not Separate From All That Is
Yours Til I'm A Post-Modern Literary Genius
Hour of God on a Friday

Sunday, 29 January 2017

Sad Face

In my dream my mother showed me
a picture of my three-year-old face.
I am crying,
Indignant,
Devastated,
Because someone, my neighbour,
has accused me of taking two lollipops
and I only took one.
 
My Two, and Three-Year-Old Selves, with Candy Cane and Noisemaker
The lollipops were the relatively healthy kind
from the natural food store.
Made from fruit juices,
Or environmentally friendly dyes,
Or something similarly far-fetched.

When I looked at that face,
I felt as sad as my three-year-old self.
Misunderstood,
Disbelieved.
I know how painful that was,
And still know.

The End.
Sad Face Series, 2016
End.
I am fine!

Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
I Let Go

Bodhisattva Business Ventures
Slash
Free Spirit Dharma:
 
Deep Cleans by Erica J. Schmidt (@deepcleanswitherica)
Montreal Hippie Threads (@mtlhippiethreads)

Instagram: montrealhippiethreads


Hour of God on a Friday
Rumplestiltskin
Deep Unyielding Depression, Part One