What does it mean to be well

What does it mean
to be well?

This is just me

playing cauliflower catch
with myself
under the overpass
on the corner of
Saint Laurent
and Arcade Street,
one of those obscure streets
no one ever lives on
or thinks about.

Silence and love

and the grace
of all your cells.

When does the silence

become like masturbation?
I like to consider
the space between
the deepest part
of my forehead flesh
and my skull.

Good thing

they’re well attached,
more or less.

It is fun to consider

other people’s foreheads
attached to their skulls
more or less,
as they catch the bus
choose their avocadoes
and navigate
the interwebs.

What does it mean

to be well.

Avocado theories

vary as much
as the foreheads.

I opted for a shower

Because I felt quite chilled.
I hope to see you on the bus
or sooner.
The End.


Silence and love and the grace of all your cells came from Matthew Sanford's words in this
On Being Interview with Krista Tippet and Matthew Sanford.

One day I drew a cauliflower
and an avocado.
I am running
out of selfies.



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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
The Benefits of an Ashtanga Yoga Practice, Part Two
Performative Text Messages 

What was great about yesterday.

What was great
about yesterday:
Montreal
Minus 18 degrees.
Minus even colder than fuck
With the wind chill.

I woke up,

Meditated with a book on my head,
Bended,
Twisted
And balanced my various spines
In ways that felt
Invigorating
Healing
And interesting.

Lay down and listened

To Krista Tippet
interview Matthew Sanford,
a yoga teacher
who became a paraplegic
when he was thirteen years old.

 All my life,

(And I don’t know why),
I've been terrified
of spinal cord injuries
while also incredibly fascinated
to hear the stories
of those who find themselves
with such an experience.

What I learned from Matthew

is that even when faced
with unimaginable
trauma
and loss,
Your body will never desert you.

In the meantime,
there is likely
not much use
to fretting over
the specific way
your cells may
or may not
deteriorate.

Krista Tippet’s voice

is soothing and compassionate,
filled with love
and exquisite curiosity.

Curiosity

seems to be
the next big thing.

As for this Saturday,

the morning’s
next big item
was mailing tie-dyed t. shirts
at the post office.

The post office provides

a tangible adult activity
that makes me feel smug
and brings deep satisfaction

Further smugness awaited

at the Renaissance
of Plaza St-Hubert.
where me
and Maxine,
the belov-ed,
foraged through aisles
of astonishing clothing
and emerged
with astonishing bargains.

Then


the Jean Talon market

generously
welcomed me
for apple and
root vegetable shopping;

The market is always
so happy to see me,
withholding judgment
even though I hate cooking.

The vegetables

would not need
cooking
that night
because my sweet Caroline
had invited me for dinner.

Over pasta we discussed

all our favourites:
Dead Inside Men,
Attachment Wounds,
Youtube Astrologers,
The Bachelor,
Preparing for the future,
Climate Change,
Plus all the virtues
Of culinary rebellion.

Throughout all the evening

the joy was unrestrained.

Sweet Caroline and I

both believe
in the radical act
of walking
through all weather.

From Rosemont to Mile End,

we entered the wind chill,

colder than fuck

or worse.

At Cagibi,

we recovered our strength
over peanut butter squares,
highly sophisticated,
and impressively surpassing
our geriatric bedtimes.

Thank you, World,

and March 11th
for this beautiful day.

“What was great about today,
And yesterday”
Was inspired by Guru Bram Levinson.

Last week I wrote to Bram
with bitter baggage
about how my family
longed for me to go
to what I had facetiously named
the three-day Oppressive
Happiness Seminar,
because I was not
fulfilling what could be
my Enormous Potential.

Bram was not
entirely convinced
that the (O).
H.S.
contained all the answers,

And from what I understood,

It seems
I could
forgo
The (O).
H.S.
And still remain
a relatively
reasonable person.

 Relieved, I asked,

“But, Guru Bram,
Do tell!
If not the (O).
H.S.
Then what
Is your secret to
Success?”

“Hehe,”

Said G.B.
“Authenticity, service.
Keep it positive
And never contribute
To the stream of negative
That seems to be
Everywhere.”

Clearly I will fail

at this most of the time.
But here is what was great
About yesterday.

And in the days that come

Whenever I fail,
I will try to fail with love
And fail funnier.

The End.

 

On Being with Krista Tippet and Matthew Sanford
Bram Levinson's Blog
Bram Levinson's Book, The Examined Life 

Here I am
wearing
the Vagina Dress
in February.


Not everyone understands
why I call it
the Vagina Dress.


In case it sparks joy
the dress is for sale.


It might also double
as a skirt
with a very forgiving waist.



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A Broken Body is not a Broken Spirit
I do not know how to fulfill my enormous potential.
Erin Ball, My Favourite Acrobat




Three Easy Strategies
for Feeling Smug
and On Top of Life

First no boundaries on the Internet. Then psychotic break.

Flying away
Like butterflies
In poetry
Is probably over.

Stunned.

Or dead.
The bird might appear
both ways.

Seratonin

Intoxication.
The squirrels are
the homeless people.

Jumping off buildings.

Running into windows.

Professionals of drama.

How to make this lucrative.
First no boundaries on the Internet.
Then psychotic break.

I love you and I miss you.

Two nights ago
I dreamt I shattered
the Selfie Mirror
on purpose.

Still in tact,

its lightning bolt border
of purple nail polish
pissed me off.

Several years

Of misfortune ahead.
I still felt there
was more to destroy.

The broken glass

nearly reflected
my rage,
but not quite.

The End.


The Selfie Mirror


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Hi, my name is Erica. I'm having thoughts of Death.
Why you are a hermaphrodite.
Simon Girard (1979-2015)

So busy! Not turning into a carrot.

So busy!
Not turning into
A carrot.

When I am dead

Will someone
remember
The shape
of my ass?

Elusive Running Man,

New Year’s Eve’s Oblivion,
You might make time
For my funeral.

"That ass,"
you once said.
"A work of art."

I appreciate

that,
while also respecting your choice
to run from my generous offer to let you stick your fingers up my vagina to retrieve the lost jade egg.

After some consideration

I took this as a no.

The End.

In Honour of International Women's Day, I wanted to perform this poem. I had even prepared some choreography; however, it seems that videos posted to the blog are not available on mobile devices and so my vlogging career will be postponed. And oh well. It's possible I might regret the performance later.

This poem is still in honour of International Women's Day and is meant as a vague response to Sophie Trudeau's call for all women to post photos of themselves holding hands with their favourite male slash vagina advocates and allies.

For the five or so sentences worth of knowledge I have on Sophie Trudeau, I think we might actually get along. But I want Sophie to realize that not everyone is blessed with powerful and available male allies. For example, as this poem describes, two Fridays ago, the jade egg got stuck up my vagina and none of my male allies slash vagina advocates were around to stand up to the occasion. It happens that some people and their vaginas often find themselves at a bit of a loss.

 

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Awakened by the Exit of the Broccoli Water
What a Beautiful Face
Cardboard Box


Deep Unyielding Depression, Part Two

Hi, my name is Erica. I'm having thoughts of death.

Hi, my name is Erica.
I'm having thoughts of death.


The good news is
my eternal tits
feel quite alive.


They might even
be growing
after all
these years.


As I cup one in each hand
I envision the base
of my tongue
dissolving.


This
is a fucking relief.


No need to accept
any one moment
or person
as more
important than the other.


Hi, my name is Erica.


Yesterday I won
the bikini wax lottery.


Nancy had
a cancellation.


Nancy is pleased
with the state
of my pubes.


Hi.
My name is Erica.


No need to accept
any one moment
or person
as more
important than the other.


The End.


In case someone read the words
"thoughts of death"
and worried that
oh shit,
she might be suicidal,
I have filmed myself
performing the poem
while wearing a bright-pink
life affirming
tie-dyed blouse.




For some reason the video does not seem to work on mobile devices! I am not sure why. Will explore. If you have any tips, that would be great. Thanks! XO.



Scattered Wardrobe Vacillations


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My Eternal TIts
My name is Erica. I love coffee.
Guillaume, Part Two

Bilingual, Depression

Not everyone's depression

Speaks all the languages

couramment.

What languages

can't

your depression speak?

French,

Russian,

Kannada,

Inuk,

Lebanese,

nature,

dancing,

Bach's cello suite in G.

I invite someone

to send me somewhere exotic,

and film

a documentary

on how my depression

died from being bilingual.

In all my dreams

I fill and empty

suitcases

and backpacks.

MDMR,

nope that's a drug.

There's some other

all-the-rage therapy

where eye-ball

movement choreography

relieves

or cures

deep trauma.

This morning I tried to try it.

I giggled

so maybe

it works.

The End.

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Professional, Depressed
Recycling Day
Why You Are a Hermaphrodite

I do not feel like a strong body

I do not feel
Like a strong body.


This morning I tried
on the tie-dye pants,
a tiny Asian size.


Then I took a picture
And weighed myself.

This was a mistake.
Why did I do that?

The tie-dye pants, not today.
Today they did not
seem to fit.

I frame myself
as this
hopeless
fragile
case,
Cause then
I'm allowed
to fuck up
and cry
As hard as I feel.

If only my biceps
were not so convincing
to everyone
but me.

When's the last time
you felt proud
for being intelligent
capable
and strong?


Oh no,
is the answer.



Yah.
That's what I thought.

The End.

And oh well.
The Hell with That.
The Future seems bright enough
More or Less.


"Whatever Else Poetry Is Freedom."


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Are you strong or are you skinny?
I love you. Good-bye.
The Benefits of an Ashtanga Yoga Practice, Part Two