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Sport 41: 2013

[Untitled]

page 16

The New Zealand post office rejected my father’s
application to be a mail sorter. He loves New
Zealand, but says he finds it hard to elude the
growing sense of his own uselessness. He is terrified
of becoming a burden, unable to fuck, walk or
even speak. At home in Auckland he is always at
his computer. Every email he writes is copied to
every friend he has. As a child he would climb the
Flame of the Forest in his backyard. On the roof
of the house, talking at strangers passing along the
dirt road below, safe from dogs. I like to imagine
him being mistaken for a chimney.