Clean and Elegant

Clean and Elegant

Saturday, 25 March 2017

We have no idea if the squirrels are happy. Or / if anyone is.

Human supremacy is
assuming the squirrels are happy.


We have no idea
if the squirrels are

having a good time,
or
if anyone is.

Sometimes I struggle
to find an outfit
that matches  the day.
So far
my best option
smells like the thrift store.

Now that I’m going off Prozac,
I think someone else
might have to
take out
the recycling.

Hormone curation,
myoclonic jerks.
These seem fewer,
but I feel more inclined
to be grumpy.

When I get old,
I hope there is time
to watch the squirrels
carry bagels
across telephone wires.
 
Telephone wires,
and clotheslines,
though by then all the telephone wires
will be buried underground.  

Who knows what will happen to the clotheslines.
 
Time for the squirrels,
and a window.
And jigsaw puzzles.
 
I will not die of loneliness,
but this may seem surprising.

We have no idea
if the squirrels are happy.
Or
if anyone is.

The End.


This outfit matches the day
better than the others.
It does not smell
like the thrift store.


Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
I Let Go

Bodhisattva Business Ventures:

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First no boundaries on the Internet. Then Psychotic Break.
This was my calling on the corner of Rue Boucher and Rue Drolet just around yesterday's sunset on Friday, March 17
Rumplestiltskin


Five Days of Creative Recovery

Thursday, 23 March 2017

The Permafrost is melting in Siberia


Money Issues,
Daddy Issues,
Poetry
and oil.


The Permafrost
is melting in
Siberia.


You have always made things
more beautiful than
they needed to be.
More beautiful and
more complicated.


Now that I'm going off Prozac,
I await my brand new orgasms.


Today I slept
past 6 a.m.
Just like
a regular person.


Regular person
Regular French fries.


My body contains no permafrost,
though I heard that once I'm dead
large maggots will crawl
out my mouth.
I don't quite understand
how they'll manage
to do this.


I was thinking of becoming
a gardener,
but doubt that I have
enough patience.


Plus most of my backyard
is covered in pavement.


You have always made life
more beautiful than it needed to be.
More beautiful and
more complicated.


The End.


Making things more beautiful than they need to be
comes from Elizabeth Gilbert
in a conversation with Krista Tippett
in the Onbeing episode, "Choosing Curiosity Over Fear."


Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
I Let Go

Bodhisattva Business Ventures:

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


Tuesday, 21 March 2017

What does it mean to be a woman, part Two

What does it mean
to be a woman,
part Two.

In grade five
my science fair project
considered
which kind of music
made bean plants
grow best.

The categories were
Classical - both live and recorded,
Broadway musicals - Les Mis, The Secret Garden, Beauty and the Beast,
The Vacuum Cleaner,
Easy Listening
Pop Music,
And Billie Holiday.

For most of their lives,
the bean plants grew
on the bathroom windowsill
each of them privy
to my sister's singing
and the sound
of the hairdryer.

Back then
I was quite the scientist.

To gain further insight
for my research,
I watched a biographical film
about Billie Holiday
whose name was once
Eleanora Fagan.

This is when I learned that many women
have to change their names
if they want
to be famous.

Judy Garland too.
Judy and the Wizard
of Oz
were my favourites.
I even named
my stuffed orangutang
after Judy
and from a young age,
I drew rainbows compulsively. 

"Them that's got shall get."
"Them that's not shall lose."

Growing up I was lucky
to own more than one
stuffed primate.

All I remember
from the Billie Holiday movie
was the song, "God Bless the Child,"
and Billie slash
Eleanora
shooting heroine on the toilet
and singing in a bar
where she caught five-dollar bills with her vagina.

"Mama may have.
Papa may have."

At nine or ten years old,
this was the first
I'd seen of such things.

"The strong gets more while the weak ones fade."

The bean plant
that listened to
"pop"
was the winner.

Curated by my sister,
the "Pop" cassette
opened with
"The Leader of the Pack."

Bean plants
it seemed,
responded quite well
to whining
and pining
about dudes.

It's my party
You don't own me
Birds all sing
as if they know.

Billie's bean plant
grew an average height.
Now I might remember
Billie dying her skin white.
Or Eleanora.
Or was that someone else.

My last Fat Day
failed to apologize.
My last Married Man
never climbed up
through my window.
I invited him so many times.

As for me,
when I grew up
I did not become a scientist,
or a singer,
or even a gardener.
Or,
anyone's mother.

It was never clear to me
if Billie got to keep
the five-dollar bills
she retrieved with her
vagina.
Or if that would have made
any difference.

The End.

Good morning
heartache.


Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
I Let Go

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What does it mean to be a woman, Part One
Not That Kind of Girl
First no boundaries on the Internet. Then Psychotic break.





Monday, 20 March 2017

What does it mean to be a woman


This is just me

menstruating
on some obscure corner
of the Internet
on Mother's Day.
 
I meant for it to be
more groundbreaking
and edgy
than it actually
turned out.
 
Slides of the in-
side of the vagina
don’t look much different
from slides of the larynx.
 
Both appear pinkish
and alive.
 
This is what I learned
from the only speech pathologist
I know.
And I trust her.
 
Once I had a speech pathology.
When I said,
“Menstruation,”
I pronounced it like
a three-year-old would.
 
“Men-
Stuation.”
Very cute.
And edgy.
 
What does it mean
to be a woman?
 
You might have
three to seven
fat days per year.
 
I tried to cancel these
the day I turned thirty,
and had mixed results.
 
The last time I had a fat day
Vincent was on vacation.



As a woman,

I can make

my own choices

about fat days.

 

As a woman

I’ve become

mostly well-versed

in forgiveness.

Phrases that begin with
“As a”
truly help a person
to feel smug.
 
But making a whole list
of such phrases
is annoying
and seems pretentious.

This is just me
wondering if
my eternal tits
have finally grown
and if anyone will notice
and if that makes me more
of a woman. 
As a woman,
I am better off
avoiding coming off
as pretentious.
 
This is just me,
once again hoping
some dude will enjoy
my performance.
 
The first play
I ever wrote
in my life
was called
Back
When I
Used To
Have a Prostate.
 
You don’t need a prostate
to have a urethra.
You don’t need an s,
to have two urethra
at least not today.
 
The Dépanneur Café
no longer serves jujubes
at least not today.
 
This is just me
hoping the dude
will find me delightful,
charming,
witty,
sincere,
possibly good-looking.
Cute.
Edgy.
 
This is just me
Feeling hungry,
But pretending I’m not
Hungry
Or dissatisfied
In any which way
Whatsoever.
 
The End.

This is just me
wearing the blazer
I am trading for Kombucha
Tomorrow
on the Trade Hole


Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
I Let Go

Bodhisattva Business Ventures:

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What does it mean to be well
This is just me menstruating on so obscure corner of the Internet on Mother's Day
Hi my name is Erica. I'm having thoughts of death.


My Eternal Tits


Saturday, 18 March 2017

Finally and undoubtedly I feel grateful for my life.

March 18, 2011.

Me and my Cool Friend Fern
vowed that from this day forward
we’d refrain from puking
in our mouths
or in the toilet.


A day or two later
Fern called me
In desperation.
I was eating
an obscene amount of cantaloupe.


“Get over here,”
she said.
“I need you.”



So I went to her house
in Saint Henri

and hung out with Fern
and her emotionally fragile dogs
who drooled and farted
as Fern and I 

ate our favourite versions
of non-hazardous
green and brown foods.



I remember falling asleep
on the fresh clean white sheets
of her king's sized bed
with the television on,
the dogs snoring,
and Fern downstairs
sipping hot beverages
and perfecting
her next great advertising pitch.


By the time
it was morning
I think I had
a cold sore.


Day One,
Day Two,
Day Thirty-Three.


Day One Hundred and Seventeen.

One Year and Twenty-Nine Daysé
Four Years and Eighty-Six Days.
March 18, 2017.


Sometimes I find myself
waiting for my prize.


I guess the prize
is no more vomit.


Though every now and then I still vomit in my head
and instead of at the sun
upon the world,
my eyes keep looking at the wall.


Once I had a therapist
who thought I seemed to struggle
with life's less exciting moments
such as putting on
my pyjamas.


This does not seem
to be true
anymore
even if
I'm still me
and still here.


Emotional Digestion
is not always Spectacular,
but I love
to put on my pyjamas.
And usually,
once or twice a week,
I have the pleasant thought
that finally
and undoubtedly
I feel grateful for my life.

The End.
I love
to put on
my pyjamas.
These pyjamas
are for sale.



Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
I Let Go

Bodhisattva Business Ventures:

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Why I am like Oprah.
What does it mean to be well
Mythological Unconditional Love


This was my calling on the corner of Rue Boucher and Rue Drolet just around yesterday's sunset on Friday, March 17th.

This was my calling on the corner
of Rue Boucher and Rue Drolet
just around yesterday’s sunset
on Friday,
March 17th.


“Natasha,”
she yelled,
up to the window
of the fifth or sixth balcony
of a tall building.


“Natasha.”

Tall
for her old age,
the woman was wide,
wearing a long brown coat
and a dark green hat
and glasses.


“Nata-sha.”

Everybody watched,
but nobody did anything.

I looked at the building,
labelled
habitation
and something about
the golden age
of elderly people.

“Natasha.”

To me
it seemed unlikely
that the door
would be locked.

I crossed rue Boucher.

“Ça va?”
I asked the woman
who was looking for
Natasha.

“Pas clef,”
she said.
No key.

I walked her around
to the front of the building,
pulled on the door and it opened.

“C’est ouvert,”
it is open,
I remarked.                                                     

We walked in together.
“Merci,”
said the woman
who was looking for
Natasha.
“Très gentille.”

This was my calling
on the corner
of Rue Boucher and Rue Drolet
just around yesterday’s sunset
on Friday,
March 17th.

Every once in a while
the doors you seek to walk through
are already open.

The End.





This is Simon's building
in the summer.
Natasha does not live here.


Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
I Let Go

Bodhisattva Business Ventures:

Deep Cleans by Erica J. Schmidt (@deepcleanswitherica)
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This is just me giving myself grace on the corner of Saint Laurent and Saint Viateur at 3 P.M. on a Tuesday

What does it mean to be well
They smile at the sidewalks even though it's cold as balls and they must remain on leashes.