The Love of Dust

How much do you love dust?

Oh, for the love of God, I am not talking about the germs and all the crazy microscopic creatures that we are told share the same space as ours. How unromantic.

Why not take it as the inseparable, sticky particles of the Motherland that reminds you that you are only going to be reduced to it one day?

Or perhaps a golden opportunity to reconnect to nature? Oh wait, Mother Nature.

Or even an opportunity to recreate and relish the environs of an Arabian Desert in order to stimulate piety?

Where I am sitting right now, or living right now, is a great bowl of dust.

It’s as if I am back in time in the American Great Depression and am in the middle of the Dust Bowl.

Well, watch what you wish for, because it actually is the case.

Miserable economy, unemployment, power cuts, misery, poverty, frustration, dry country, no breadlines but all sorts of other terrible lines, and most importantly, dust. It could not be more perfect.

I have heard that history repeats itself. But I never thought that it would be true in such a horrific manner.

But hey, let us see the lighter side of things. After all, what cannot be cured, must be endured.

I have dust particles in my mouth.

Isn’t that amazing? Isn’t that simply divine?

I just went to the roof of my house in order to write better while being closer to the stars. The cloud of dust in my neighborhood was so thick, I could hardly make out any bright dots in the blackish brownish what-appeared-to-be-the-sky. Despite the fact that it was pitch dark all around. Power cuts, mind you.

What is even worse, I could smell the dust.

Ah, the divine, maternal smell of the earth you belong to. One of the most disturbing and irritating feelings in the world.

And you know what is even crazier?

I seem to be the only person who has a problem with it.

It has been raining inches of dust on my part of the town for the past few weeks and it seems that there is no end to it.

And what is ironical, all that has occurred in the name of developmental construction, whatever that is.

OK, I’ll tell you what I think it could mean. It means vote for dust.

What is the most disturbing aspect about it is that it ruins the outdoor environment and you are greatly deterred to even step out of your house. Not that it would help you escape dust any better, but somewhat at least. You must hope to stay alive, while eating dust with your food and drinking dust with your drink.

For all the lamentation about the dusty air I breathe, let me inform you that I am a person who is accused of having a pretty dusty room myself, and partially rightly so. I do not usually appreciate foreign interferences in form of excessive dusting of my room, which through experience, I have often found counterproductive for a myriad of reasons, both in terms of time and the energy that keeps you patient.

Still by my shabby standards of living, the current unending storm of dust has succeeded in getting under my skin. It now seems as if I have developed a completely new sub-layer of skin which is made out of dust particles. Proving the Koranic revelation that “we made you out of dust”.

Wish they hadn’t.

But this disaster of a dust bowl surrounding my habitat is anything but divine, unless by divine, you mean manmade. And this colossal effort has been put forth in order to connect the misguided, naïve and degenerate people of my neighborhood to the soil of their Motherland.

And fortunately, people seem to be loving it. They are thanking the architects of these majestic pillars of dust every minute by ritually circling around them, celebrating their love of dust by not giving a fuck.

As much as I find it repulsive, it is about time I give in and announce my love of dust too.

Oh, how lovely it is to have its particles meet the taste buds on my tongue.

I can hardly tell the difference anymore.

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