Catalogue of Lessons Josefin ullberg
I learned nothing from eating the baby beets my mother cut onto my plate, and the hiking guides I read on foreign lips that asked first about my accent and then all else, like favorite color or gender. Or when my neighbor invited me for tea and cake with the image of Israel’s president in marzipan, I learned nothing from eating a piece of his blue tie while she preached about turning the other cheek. I learned nothing from rolling a cigarette in the thin pages of a Bible. But really I am too indoctrinated into the notion of sin that I decided on using the badly burning paper from a phone catalogue instead. I learned nothing from the countless affairs with imaginary beings and then kissing my best friend’s brother and not being able to think of anything except not doing it again and doing it again.
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