The Biscuit Barrel

Silliness, or a deep metaphor for modern angst?

Of stamps and paper

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I’ve noticed a few days ago while passing the mail boxes in the entry to my building that a lot of me is in the post. This is quite a new thing, my usual method of transportation is trains, it’s where i feel most comfortable, really. The smell and the texture of the old CFR seats has many memories attached to it. The idea of having so much in the post, traveling from hand to hand is frightening, it’s a release of control i dislike. There is also a certain thrill attached to this. My future is in the post, traveling to and from Sweden. Portfolios, letters certifying my trustworthyness to the world. Proof of my work, my mind and my very existence is traveling around in small parcels made of dead trees. I put them in a box and wait.

The symbols of my political ideals are also gently traveling in similar, though i hope sturdier parcels. They are late, as reactions and politics often are. It’s expected of them, in a way. You never really realize what you want until you risk losing it all. If you’re lucky you get to have a choice in the matter, or at least an opinion you shout out to anyone who will listen. Politics is a deaf old hag, isn’t she?

Fate was snowed in recently, not even managing to get going well before quitting. I guess it’s part of it’s nature. There are always two sides to a cont and many faces to a die. The only way to beat fate, in my experience is to keep going until one of you is dead. You either win or you lose but at least you know where you stand with that and have no regrets. I believe in re-rolls, and in forcing life to your will. Worked with the post, i have my symbols of fate in my hand. Now give me a roll…

I can’t decide if i want to use the post more or less, for many more things. One thing is certain, I miss the train.

Written by CyberFaust

Februarie 12, 2012 la 12:28 pm

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