The appeal of a deck of card lies in the satisfying way it neatly collapses into complete organization. Fifty-two objects (fifty-four if you count the jokers) that divide into four complete sets – matching combinations of ten numbers and three people in strict hierarchy. There's a pleasing flexibility with the ace which can be either head or tail of the hierarchy, top dog or bottom, and in that way, permits the hierarchy of the set to be circular if you want to philosophize. Two colors, black and red, give that us-them divisiveness and attraction. The deck arrives in a compact packet, cards completely organized, hearts before spades, spades before diamonds, diamonds before clubs, all as it should be, all’s right with the world, the structure of the universe clearly divine.

Humans that we are, we shuffle the deck again and again, creating an apparent chaos in the card universe. We then spend our time solitarily or with other people following (and breaking) formal game rules to re-establish a predetermined organization once again, whether in the form of clever poker and gin hands or reattaining the order of the cards at their birth from the little box.

Playing with cards is a pastime that has consumed countless hours across many many centuries. As we build perfect hands from the random shufflings, we practice managing the dissarray within our own lives, lives that often feel like the game of 52-pickup.

And the jokers – ah, the jokers.