O God The Mail

It's the lingering dread engine of any scatterbrained adult. A small pile that grows and gets pruned and always reminds you that there's probably something you forgot, or probably someone you owe money. I hate that thing but I have to respect it, to serve it, to let it rule my life in some ways. "O god, the mail." Textures and elements are a mix of found and created, blended with things from long ago and things from recent.

Originally a series on Known Origin and then Hic Et Nunc, now migrated to this manifold creator contract.