Ecstatic Adventures of the Exuberant Bodhisattva: Property of Facebook

Preamble: I used to hope that I could somehow transform my Facebook statuses into wonderful and engaging material. Then I could publish it and create a great scandal since Facebook apparently owns everything I post. So here it is. My poetic lines, compiled. Enjoy! I look forward to the imminent lawsuit.

Property of Facebook

by Erica J. Schmidt

She can only find eight ways of looking at a goldfish. Now she is learning about low-frequency words. Today, we get out of jail free. If you look, you might find the joy of sex in your school bag. Enjoy everything in moderation, except for yoga and protected sex. Ensure that you release your groins and do laundry before Ricky Bennet and Jesus Christ have birthdays. Hurry up, or else you’ll miss out on the immaculate conception. Tis the season for kidneys and bladders. Urine, not tinsel. Falala.

Now she is giving her garbage can a shower. In the meantime, she wraps herself in straps above her traps and under her crotch. Stopping at the kitchen, she facilitates sex between cabbage and kitchen appliances.

Liver, she says, take rest with the merry gentlemen. Despite this, she wonders what all the cool people in Montréal are doing for New Year's, with the hope that they’ll ask her to participate. She wants to make a bake with a bean in. How very cool. She wants to bake a cake with a bean in it AND prepare her relationship with consonants. That’s what she imagines the cool people are doing, but she could be very, very wrong.

Today, it seems she must run away before her fertility turns to mushrooms. A cartoon about a pinball is teaching her how to count to twelve. With rhythm and song. She peaked at ten and stagnated at eleven. She stagnates in Mushroomland.

Listen to the voices of psoriasis. The ulcer potion tastes like tree. Brew piss in your bed. This friend is false. False friends. If nobody understands, then nobody wins. Trevor Fraser wins dandelion tea.

The dormouse said, Feed Your Head and you forgot. Notes may have bodies, and still be of no help. Mushrooms cannot be inundated. No more clenching her asscheeks. Or his. Hereby, she solemnly declares. Here, she plagiarizes a man who has not yet killed himself.

"The afternoon passed as slowly and as painfully as a walnut sized kidney stone."

Mushrooms cannot be inundated. Once she dreamt she hopped like a crocodile, but it was in outer space and there were clouds in her coffee. She wanted it to go on. She wanted to go commando. Then she maxed out on self-indugence and hence did not elaborate. So much depends upon sewers and REM sleep. A queer erotic thesaurus. Temporary can last a long long time. Longer than it takes to move beyond Mao with breasts. Many people never move beyond Mao with breasts. Or that’s how it seems. Things may change after their unborn foetuses sweeps away their fungus and digestive organs. Someone tagged her as vegetarian abalone. She stepped to the right of her left hemisphere. Lu and J Dick to the end. Unless some crazy tropical disease gets them.

Two weeks later she returned from her right hemisphere trip. In a dream, she hopped around like a crocodile, but it was in outer space and there were clouds in her coffee. Twinkle, twinkle, little sweet. Rest in peace in the land of Cud. A brain is a mediocre commodity. Non-public-nuisance-fresh-eggs.

Unlike, unlike, unlike. Buckyballs are perplexing and non-addictive. Thank you for your compassion. It was better than the clap. The J. Dick room is now open for practice. Have a great lunch. The head she fell on was the size of a sandwich. The sandwich he ate was the size of her head. All in all, it was an excellent lesson in non-attachment.

Everyone is saying EPIC these days. 1000 folded red napkins. 1000 grams of fibre. 1000 years of Chaturanga. I am yours til the pelvis tilts. Art Deco and Delicious Psoas.

Hip, hip hurray! She caught the bouquet! Does anyone know of a reputable hypnotist? His raincoat could be less attractive, but then it probably wouldn’t smell as bad. R.I.P. blender. Every morning, groins are different. Welcome to a Domestic Holiday. No papaya seeds are necessary. The groins display unlikely stoicism, but the voice eludes them. Legs up a tree.

Shit went up the drain and she felt the need to evacuate. Bad Lady. This has been a short-lived, inefficient vocation, with questionable hygiene. With Great Conviction. Too invincible. Uninvincing. There’s infection in the forks.

Ring-a ding-ding. It was a five-star day at a two-star hotel. The beautiful and charming can be physically physically dyslexic and forever alienated from 103 million deep breaths. Worse things have happened in On-terrible. Patents, trademarks and smoked salmon.

There are dead pigeons everywhere. The kapots are kaput. And every time you go swimming you release two teaspoons of urine into the water. Every time. Whether you want to or not. Happy Labour Day. Happy Labour Day to the Hawks and the Kapotasanas. Spank a needle fish in Marshallese. The pigeon looked up, the pigeon looked down, the pigeon ate bread and turned around. Chloramines form form when chlorine combines with urea and/or fecal matter. Sniff. Someone should make the yamas more practical. Knowledge isn’t a contest.

The drain is fixed and now she’s back. She’ll never wear pants again. Pas de pantalons. Someone should also buy her more pantyhoes. Hos? How. Outside her apartment, there are still dead pigeons everywhere. Although they possess wings, they luxuriate in gravity. One of them has an open wound. She could obtain a free lunch, but the Buddha wouldn’t approve. As a rule, the Buddha does not approve. But the Buddha is always right. Stevie Wonder too. Mrs. Vanden Bosch, sometimes.

Ninety Minutes of Weekly Anonymity. During this time, she breaks it down, trying to be a real, funky lov-ah. Unfortunately, God didn’t give her the right face. Fortunately, everyone can benefit from the vibrations. She is fucking neurological pathways. The joke is old, but the benefits are eternal. Her overhead costs are over her head. She subsists on Lice and Rentils.

Party Time. Lice and Rentils. The people in this room have several pink elephants on the go. They are waiting for Santa Claus. If he doesn’t show up by nine o’clock, they’ll begin to make collages. With the right attitude, she can feel fortunate and prosperous. Despite his nipples being bigger than her breasts. It’s important to be unfacetious at times. So that not everyone on Earth will bring immense pain.

You can't spend the rest of your life with the tip of your tongue stuck to your alveolar ridge. You, I or she. Hence, she employs her pulmonic egressive airstream mechanism. Cleansing the nerves, before the kitchen. Complete liver function is useful whilst dropping back.

Life may not be the party we had hoped for, but while we are here, we may as well decorate mason jars. Doing so will change your life as much as the diva cup.

Schoolwork is like dirty diapers. Although shitty, you’re better off dealing with them slash it. Naomi has learned to make Brussel Sprouts. Nothing can ever take anything away from you, but just the same, you may as well let it all go. She is still changing diapers. Some dis-equilibrium is self-perpetuating.

Strapped into Supta Baddha Konasana reading, "Comment faire l'amour avec un Nègre sans se fatiguer." Only six pages to go. Anything Is Possible When You Skip Linguistics.

The End.