Why should everything be clean?

Not that I don’t feel sorry for myself when I see that a lot of dust has piled itself on my bookshelves.
Not that I don’t feel ashamed that when my mother is visiting me the gas cooker is covered with so much grease stain that you can’t recognise the gas cooker as a gas cooker.

I don’t mean that.

I mean: do you see the paint that is not paint anymore?
Do you see all kinds of colours where lots of work with Photoshop would be necessary to hide the age of the machines?

Can you imagine me laying down, looking at the ceiling to think of figures that they supposedly or unsupposedly put in the structure of it?

Do you see the clouds? They are different from yesterday.

And hey, they’ve changed again!

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