poor dust. lying there innocently, minding its own business, staying out of trouble, doing its own best to decorate the property. And suddenly, without warning, without provocation, without mercy, it is attacked from above, entrapped in gooey dust-collecting slime, or feathered into disarray, or enclosed in a dingy, already inhabited dust cloth. And all because of a terrible misunderstanding, doubtless stemming from some horrible incident in the attacker's unhealthy youth, possibly attributable to some warp in the parents' perception of what constitutes an acceptable upbringing, where was I, oh yes, a dastardly deed perpetrated upon an unsuspecting layer of dust. All in the name of cleanliness, a most overrated concept. Did you know that when children contracted polio when they were very young - say under the age of four - and particularly if they were from one of the grubbier sorts of populace - they rarely had any problem with the disease? Whereas, if they were from more "advantaged" backgrounds and were a bit older, they had paralysis, etc. Dust is good for you. Dust is your friend. Dust keeps.
You'd love my place!
Wow. Zen.