About me.

I am a box.
I hold things.
I am used every day.

New!: Apparently I have fans. I am proud to be a representative of Box-Kind. I soon will add my story as to how I arrived here. Thank you for your patience in this matter.

Sincerely, Box
Warehouse 1337
Row 1338

Song: By TYPO.

"So you're pretty useful, I think it's fair to say"
"Yeah, I'm a box"
"Okay, so take us through a day in the life of a box"
"Well the first thing I do is...

Hold papers! (like a box)
Shelter hobos! (like a box)
Store presents! (like a box)
Make forts! (like a box)"


Ode to boxes
Each flap opens like a waving hand welcoming an old friend,
Hoping that their use is never enough.
They steady and hold with passion,
Decreasing every time they hold a precious item.
Confined to the depths of cobwebbed basements or dirty attics
Settled where time alone,
Is its only friend.
Leaving the dust to softly sleep
On the top of them and make homes for moths or bats,
That infiltrate the comforts of the dream state.
Where they lay.
Yes, boxes.
They come in all shapes in sizes
For every use or misuse;
They deteriorate or hardly take a dent.
Waiting for the next time of their use,
Holding Christmas ornaments for the same 15 years.
The same ornaments that smell like old tree branches soaked
In your grandfather’s sweat drenched socks.

+1 Internets to you.