Stories are neat parcels with neatly tied bows. Sad bows, happy bows, puzzling bows, sexy bows, always neatly tied. Stories are useful as blunt lessons or rules of thumb but they can only reflect a part of this life.

Life is messy. And we try to wrap it with silk ribbons granny knotted to old twine stuck to corroded tape, holding myriad fragments of rich gold and red velvet, cheap plastic bags, old newspapers, magazines, album covers, postcards and photos in place, as our life’s  juices, organs, dust and memories uncontrollably burst through for a time.

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