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.

Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook

Twitter: @mypelvicfloor

I LET GO by Erica J. Schmidt

My name is Erica. I love coffee.

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Day 69 of Not Puking in Your Mouth

Hope for Rumination Syndrome:  How to transform your esophagus into a one-way street.
(Alternate Title: Surely Regurgitated Foodstuffs Will Not Follow Me All The Days Of My Life.)

I recently received some fan mail from a lovely young lady who is embarrassed by her seemingly bizarre condition. My friend, Annabelle Gordon, chews and reswallows regurgitated foodstuffs for minutes and sometimes hours after she eats. Annabelle began her struggle with eating as early as 9, when she began to diet and over-exercise. At fourteen, she was taking laxatives, and at fifteen, she suffered from a full blown eating disorder, involving severe restriction, compulsive exercise, self-mutilation, as well as binging and purging. Her family intervened early on. Annabelle was hospitalized twice and underwent a four-month day-treatment program for adolescents with eating disorders. Over many years, Annabelle has worked to hard to maintain a healthy weight and eliminate most of her eating disorder symptoms. Unfortunately, she continues to struggle with rumination, an unusual but pervasive symptom that significantly diminishes her quality of life.

After talking to the experts, I discovered that there is much confusion around Rumination Syndrome. The condition is mainly seen in infants and people with intellectual disabilities or autism. Because it is so rare in other populations, Rumination Syndrome in adults is frequently mistaken for Bulimia. However, in Bulimia, the patient ALWAYS purges the regurgitated food/vomit, while in Rumination Sundrome, the food is most often reswallowed. Annabelle says that one of her doctors also dismissed her symptoms as Gastro Esophageal Reflux Disorder (GERD). But unlike GERD, the act of regurgitation in Rumination Syndrome is voluntary.

I believe that this is one of the reasons why Annabelle is so ashamed of her affliction. Who would intentionally vomit in her mouth over and over again? One would think that such an unpleasant experience would be easy to avoid. I beg to differ. Read on.

Dearest Annabelle. I urge you to put your shame on the shelf. True to its name, your condition is a syndrome. It is absolutely an illness and not a vice. You did not choose to perpetually endure vomit in your mouth any more than I chose the infected ingrown hairs which emerged following my last bikini waxing. Last week I taught yoga at a benefit for Breast Cancer Research. It would have been absurd for me to berate one of the survivors for having required a mastectomy. So too is it absurd for you to blame yourself for having rumination.

For some reason, in the area of mental illness, people tend to associate the illness with the patient. Alas, this fact impedes the most crucial ingredient to your recovery: self-esteem. No one ever flew to the moon by calling herself a piece of shit. In order to transform your esophagus into a one-way street, you must transform the way you see yourself. Hence, in the following list, along with some physical strategies which may help reduce your symptoms, I offer some suggestions on how you might learn to love and approve of yourself unconditionally.

1) Find your person. Choose someone, a shrink, counsellor, friend, family member, yoga teacher, barista or mail carrier who you can talk to about anything, no matter what. I don't want to get hokey or new age on you, but did you ever consider that there was something symbolic about always having vomit in your mouth and throat? Are there issues in your life you're afraid to talk about? Are you ruminating about something you're afraid to say? Practice communicating with someone you trust. It may also be useful to meditate on your throat chakra. Stimulate this chakra by repeating its beeja sound: HAM (pronounced HUM).

2.) While we're talking about chakras, you might want to bring your attention to your navel chakra. Among many other things, the navel, or manipura chakra governs our digestive organs. On an esoteric level, it is related to our ability to digest life. Therefore, dear Annabelle, you might examine your life to determine if it contains any indigestible elements. If this is the case, perhaps chanting the navel chakra sound "RAM" (pronounced RUM), will accelerate the elimination process. So too might digestive enzymes.

3) Relax around food. Eat slowly, without being neurotic about it. Eating too fast may aggravate your esophagus and digestive organs. Also, be sure to eat regularly and to eat enough. Often, rumination is used to compensate for undereating. It creates the illusion that the person is taking multiple bites of a certain food when really she is simply tasting the same morsel over and over again. Being well nourished will help reduce the tendency to prolong restrictive meals with rumination. Acquire the support you need in order to establish a healthy, eating routine. Try not to worry about getting fat. Send cosmic love from your heart to your thighs, and any other tortured body part. In time, you'll realize that they're as beautiful as diamonds.

4) Find healthy substitutions to ruminating. Typically, this does not involve drinking in solitude. That said, life's a bit much sometimes. Most of us require a safety net to run away to occasionally. Personally, I escape with my magic silver horse at least once a week. I also enjoy Grey's Anatomy in all its seasons. Perhaps you're more partial to musical theatre.

5) Although understandably, you probably wish that your esophageal transformation had occurred last Easter, try to have a moment-to-moment approach as you make these courageous and lifelong changes. When you and Rumination Syndrome finally part ways forever and ever Amen (which you will!), no ugly God is going to throw pizzas at you because you didn't do everything perfectly all at once. Your mistakes and stumbles are merely aberrations, but your moments of victory and transcendence remain forever etched upon your soul. Don't let anyone try to convince you otherwise.

Best of luck, dear Annabelle and let me know how it goes!

Much Love from the Exuberant Bodhisattva. 

The End.

 

 

Much Love from the Exuberant Bodhisattva.
Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor

I Let Go, by Erica J. Schmidt

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