1001 Ways to Embarrass Yourself While Avoiding Injuries

Shhh, says the mother, dressed in rags and tags to the daughter who wants to look through the looking glass- Shhh. She understands not the silent plea kudos to the life of the rich the confusion to which we run around the mills of the bourgeoisie- hand in hand , their hands in our pockets. Shhh. Stop trying to look through the looking glass out of the life of the working class into halls rich and varied, coloured drinks and dresses like faux minx cats drape around the shoulders of the fortunate boys who do not cook and girls who do not work fathers who stay at home, mothers who have companies. Out of the glass into your life, The proletariat doth dream of scones and clotted cream, Privilege to be free and have trinkets and wink at anyone they wish. Voices made loud and clear, encouraged to be brash from young and risks taken. Shh, the mother says to the daughter, pulling her away from the looking glass and into the dank reality of life- Shutting quietly the...

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they p...

I never knew I had a secret grandmother- one who didn't exist in paintings or photographs but who painted and took photographs. I never dreamed we had secrets tucked under saris in the dusty attic or that I had a grandmother who hated wearing them.  I didn't know that she was tempestuous and stubborn but also sometimes quiet and kind. I didn't know  she liked films, especially the quiet kind , the black and white kind and her favourite was- well, they never told me so I don't know.  I do know she was haughty and proud like a peacock. She had elongated, oriental-esque eyes, and a square jaw. She hated her nose for it was large, sharp and unapologetically Semitic.  They didn't tell me she was named Rachel, nor that she was Dreyfuss. She was born in New Delhi but you'd guess either Tel Aviv or Nepal, depending on the lighting. They said never to say her last name, or speak of her at school.  This made her certainly very cool to the 10 year old me. ...

Im so ready for life/take take take take. shout out to ADAM