Dear Vincent,
Some other Vincent coerced me into a blow job. Tinder's great, except for the high risk of rape. I don't quite feel raped, but you'd think the sentence, "I don't want to take my clothes off," could be interpreted in some way other than, I'll just stick my hands down your pants in as many different angles as I can think of. Hard to say.
"Are you gonna go out with the Fake Vincent again?" my friend asked.
"Are either of them real?" I replied.
I went to the movie, Loving Vincent, and it was pretty good. When I was in grade twelve, I did a project on Vincent Van Gogh, and called it "Vincent and Me." Or was it, "Me and Vincent?" All I remember is that somehow I compared my angsty, agonizing, excruciating creative process with Vincent Van Gogh's, and I included a picture of a rainbow papier maché dinosaur I'd been inspired to make with a balloon and toilet paper rolls in grade one. The caption under the dinosaur photo read, "It's gorgeous."
And I remember the Vincent Van Gogh quote,
"Well, what shall I say? Do our inner thoughts ever show themselves outwardly? There may be a great fire in our soul, but no one ever comes to warm himself at it, and the passers-by see only a little bit of smoke coming through the chimney, and pass along their way."
Like Vincent's fire, my fire felt lonely, unvisited, and possibly futile. All of the fire was not yet all over the internet.
Well, what shall I say?
I quit Tinder again, and will have to find the next Vincent elsewhere, if there even is one. Each non-self-soothing day is about as poetic, or non poetic as the last one. Since two Tuesdays ago, there have been three or four and a half non-self-soothing days. At the end of the second non-consecutive non-self-soothing-day, I found a cassette tape on Parc Ave, right on the sidewalk in front of RONA.
The tape was called RELAXATION - SAILING and its tracks were,
Gaze Beyond The Top Of The Mast And Into The Heavens -
Time Will Seem Endless... /
The Ocean Gently Lapping Against The Hull Speaks of Life and Immortality.
It all sounded very soothing, but I still went home and drank most of a bottle of wine. I have never been an excellent drinker. Terrible, in fact. Thankfully, infrequentIy.
"I want to touch people with my art. I want them to say, 'He feels deeply, he feels tenderly." -Vincent Van Gogh.
On the third non-consecutive, non-self-soothing-day, in the free book box in a park below Van Horne, I found a copy of the Celestine Prophecy, The Tenth Insight, and Curtains: Adventures of an Undertaker-in-Training.
I opened each book, and read only each one's first sentence. The author of the undertaker book was trying very hard. His name is Tom and Tom warns against stopping at the drive-thru while transporting a dead body, because this puts doughnut brands at peril. It's a bit like opening a blog post with a blow job. I don't think the undertaker author gets to be as famous as the author of the Celestine Prophecy, and the Tenth Insight, who is the same person. In the Celestine Prophecy, the narrator begins in a car, and in the Tenth Insight, he walks. I decided not to keep any of the books, and put them all back in the free book box, and passed along my way.
Each non-self-soothing-day is approximately as poetic, or non-poetic, as any other.
When there is fire in the soul, and no one comes to visit, it does kind of feel like a waste, doesn't it. See you tomorrow.
Love,
Erica.
p.s. Two Mondays ago, I was interviewed by Nighttime Podcast host, Jordan Bonaparte about my series I wrote on the disappearance of Emma Fillipoff, who vanished into the night in Victoria, B.C. on November 28, 2012. We are coming up on the five-year anniversary of when Emma was last seen. This November 28, families and loved ones lighting candles, and holding vigils in Emma's honour. You can check out Jordan's interview with me, plus a bunch of other fascinating interviews her on the podcast, Emma Fillipoff is Missing.
Some other Vincent coerced me into a blow job. Tinder's great, except for the high risk of rape. I don't quite feel raped, but you'd think the sentence, "I don't want to take my clothes off," could be interpreted in some way other than, I'll just stick my hands down your pants in as many different angles as I can think of. Hard to say.
"Are you gonna go out with the Fake Vincent again?" my friend asked.
"Are either of them real?" I replied.
I went to the movie, Loving Vincent, and it was pretty good. When I was in grade twelve, I did a project on Vincent Van Gogh, and called it "Vincent and Me." Or was it, "Me and Vincent?" All I remember is that somehow I compared my angsty, agonizing, excruciating creative process with Vincent Van Gogh's, and I included a picture of a rainbow papier maché dinosaur I'd been inspired to make with a balloon and toilet paper rolls in grade one. The caption under the dinosaur photo read, "It's gorgeous."
 |
| Vincent and Me |
Like Vincent's fire, my fire felt lonely, unvisited, and possibly futile. All of the fire was not yet all over the internet.
Well, what shall I say?
I quit Tinder again, and will have to find the next Vincent elsewhere, if there even is one. Each non-self-soothing day is about as poetic, or non poetic as the last one. Since two Tuesdays ago, there have been three or four and a half non-self-soothing days. At the end of the second non-consecutive non-self-soothing-day, I found a cassette tape on Parc Ave, right on the sidewalk in front of RONA.
The tape was called RELAXATION - SAILING and its tracks were,
Gaze Beyond The Top Of The Mast And Into The Heavens -
Time Will Seem Endless... /
The Ocean Gently Lapping Against The Hull Speaks of Life and Immortality.
 |
| Time Will Seem Endless... / |
It all sounded very soothing, but I still went home and drank most of a bottle of wine. I have never been an excellent drinker. Terrible, in fact. Thankfully, infrequentIy.
"I want to touch people with my art. I want them to say, 'He feels deeply, he feels tenderly." -Vincent Van Gogh.
On the third non-consecutive, non-self-soothing-day, in the free book box in a park below Van Horne, I found a copy of the Celestine Prophecy, The Tenth Insight, and Curtains: Adventures of an Undertaker-in-Training.
 |
| Curtains |
Love,
Erica.
 |
| Send your letters to Vincent or Erica to ericaschmidt85 (at) gmail (dot) com. |
p.s. Two Mondays ago, I was interviewed by Nighttime Podcast host, Jordan Bonaparte about my series I wrote on the disappearance of Emma Fillipoff, who vanished into the night in Victoria, B.C. on November 28, 2012. We are coming up on the five-year anniversary of when Emma was last seen. This November 28, families and loved ones lighting candles, and holding vigils in Emma's honour. You can check out Jordan's interview with me, plus a bunch of other fascinating interviews her on the podcast, Emma Fillipoff is Missing.
 |
| Making these chakra cards
is quite soothing.
And they are for sale.
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 Dear Vincent, Today I might tell you that I love you, or else I might just ask if you too are a Scorpio, and if so, is it your birthday The Best Thing I've Ever Done Where is Emma Fillipoff (One) |
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