Greetings, Earthlings. I find myself fascinated by the peculiar rituals of humans. Take, for instance, the weekly Sunday morning spectacle ...
Greetings, Earthlings.
I find myself fascinated by the peculiar rituals of humans. Take, for instance, the weekly Sunday morning spectacle that unfolds in this household. My host, a creature known as Barry, embarks upon a peculiar quest: the eradication of dust.
Armed with a feather duster and a vacuum cleaner, he embarks on a relentless pursuit of cleanliness, a futile attempt to control the inevitable accumulation of...history.
As he glides across surfaces, whisking away the remnants of the past week, I observe his movements with a mixture of amusement and pity. Does he truly believe he can erase the traces of our existence?
The dust motes dance in the sunlight, like tiny, ephemeral spirits, each one a whisper of the past. They cling to the corners of the room, clinging to the furniture, refusing to be banished. They are, in a way, a testament to our presence, a reminder that we are not alone in this house.
As Barry dusts, I can't help but wonder if he is not merely cleaning the house, but also attempting to cleanse his soul. Is he trying to erase the memories of the week, to prepare for the onslaught of family that is sure to follow?
Or perhaps he is simply trying to impress his guests, to create an illusion of order and control in a world that is anything but.
Whatever his motivations, I find myself strangely drawn to his ritual. It is a fascinating spectacle, a dance of man versus dust, a battle that can never truly be won.
And as I watch Barry wage his war against the inevitable, I can't help but think that some dust should be left alone. After all, it is a part of us, a reminder of our existence, a testament to the passage of time.
Dale T. Doll
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