I dreamt about my dad liking anime. He was a bit sick, I think — nothing serious, just something that stilled his active nature — and we were watching an anime movie full of short stories. He liked them and dream-me was so excited about going to the library and getting more anime to watch with my dad. He was petting my feet — they had blisters or something — it was an utterly unsexual intimacy, uncomplicated in a way that when it comes to my father I can only dream of.

I wish I wasn’t non-binary.

I’ve really tried…


This text has been written thanks to the support of my Patrons and first published here. My love goes to them and the volunteer editors, who looked this over for me.

I’ve been telling everyone that I’m going to write about trauma in improv, like writing is going out of style.

The truth is that I don’t want to. The older I get, the less I want to tear myself apart for other people’s benefit. But also, I haven’t yet invented a better way of processing. Therapy does help, but there is something reassuring about words that are written down…


Before I say anything else at all: SILENCE IS VIOLENCE. White allies, we must support the Black Community. Here is a petition to include Black British history in the school curriculum. There is, in fact, an existing social enterprise that aims to do just that — support The Black Curriculum. There will be more resources at the end.

Now, about me… My name is Rita. I am white and Polish. I come from a country that is racist, sexist, homo- bi- and transphobic and ableist and I, despite efforts, am all of these things, too. I have now lived in…


Conversations, conversations, conversations. Think pieces I read (and shared) for the past week or so; conversations with other women where we reveal insecurities and battle stories ("it didn’t seem bad enough to complain"; "I think I forget the incidents in self-protection", "I’m so sorry it happened to you"). I am tired, I am weary, I am (here and there) cautiously hopeful.

And then there are the men.

It feels bad to make a blob of sameness of them. They aren’t some amorphous faceless group. Some of my male friends also shared their stories of abuse, made difficult to voice by both homophobia (in case of abuse…


Some Thoughts On Diversity And Aesthetic In Improv

I am very late to this party. Back in February, Michael Such wrote A Thing about improv, titled “If it’s all improvised, why does it often look the same?”. Because (full disclosure) I am part of the cast for Michael’s new format show, Machine For Fools, I’ve been stalking cast’s social media profiles (don’t we all? Also, work was boring), happened upon it and now I have Thoughts. Frankly, big thanks to Michael – he put words to a lot of vague feelings I have had.

Disclaimer: the following text describes my experience as an improviser in London (white, foreign…


This review is being published late due to the writer being chickenshit.

Not so long ago it was my thirtieth birthday. Clearly the only way to celebrate was a movie marathon. My partner suggested La La Land and I was conflicted: my Facebook timeline was fairly divided on the topic (from abject adoration to scorn) and the trailer looked bleak and uninviting. What if I hated it and it RUINED MY BIRTHDAY? We agreed then to see two films, with La La Land as his choice. Mine was Paterson: it’s been a while since I’ve seen a Jarmusch movie, but they never failed me yet. Spoiler alert: they didn’t this time, either…


Warning: the following review contains a lot of feelings (remember, you can’t blame me for having those! They’re feelings!) as well as valiant attempts to be fair towards creative choices made. You have been warned.

Okay, I saw “My Country” yesterday, and let’s just say, I was NOT the target audience for this play. I mean, I guess the clue was in the title. Silly me, I just pay taxes and live here, but of course it’s not “my country”.

The good things! There were good things. There were good things, as you’d expect from a National Fucking Theatre play…


It’s Thursday morning and anxiety is being a bit of a bitch. I slept badly — too cold, rough dreams — and struggle to make myself do things. I talk myself through it — through shower, nice breakfast, a bit of calming exercise — but I still fail at time management. I’m late. A bit mad with myself. Make that very mad. I don’t know what to do.

I’m late to a very nice theatre workshop that I attended last week too. It’s made for and by refugees and free (donations for food) and it makes me feel conflicted. Those…


Great physicality, well matched ensemble and thoughtful vision.

The East London Shakespeare Company has been on my radar for some time. (Full disclosure: I Know People In The Company). I’ve seen one or two previous productions and it struck me how doggedly they kept to the principles of diversity. No tokenism in that – the company structure is to do with its creators – but it is somehow symbolic that they represent East London with its multiple cultures and accents. Even if purely incidental, based on friendship and collaboration, they embody the idea that everyone can do Shakespeare, that Shakespeare belongs to everybody – by which I don’t…


(and why I should try one day)

NaNoWriMo. It’s November again and this thing rolls around and oh my god, I want it. Do I want it. Does it scare me. If I ever end up doing it, I muse, I might not tell anybody; not for me #Nanowrimo tweets, I’d be too terrified that I’d not finish and people would laugh.

Come to think of it, the laughing people exist mostly in my head. Alongside the terrified people. Anyway.

Nanowrimo. I always thought I had a book in me. Or seven. But it also seemed that:

1. I’d have to deal with my personal history before…

Rita Suszek

Polish, artsy, frequently angry, rants, comedy, weirdness. Always revolution, sometimes naps.

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