How to Wash the Robot: A Care Manual for House of Eternal Return

Some call me the Robot Whisperer, others call me a janitor. I say that it’s all about perspective.

What do inexperienced otherworlders know about the grit, heart, and soul it takes to properly maintain a creature in House of Eternal Return? I’ll tell you what: not much. They come in wide-eyed, poking at things, sticking their hands where they shouldn’t, calling everything “an installation,” as if that word explains anything. 

I’ve been doing this for ten years now. That means ten years of listening, watching, and learning which hum means “all good” and which hum means “you better fix this before it notices you haven’t.” I’ve taken it upon myself to keep this House and its creatures clean.

I care so much that I decided to produce a Care Manual for anyone who wishes to follow in my footsteps. As they say, it ain’t much, but it’s honest work.

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Before You Touch Anything

First rule: Nothing in this House is an object. You call it a “thing” and it’ll prove you wrong. Everything here is either alive, used to be alive, or is thinking about becoming alive the second you turn your back. You don’t maintain the House, you participate in it. There’s a big difference.

Second rule: If something reacts to you, that means you’re already involved. No take-backs.

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Supplies 

You’ll need:

• A soft-bristle brush (no shortcuts - stiff ones make things… defensive)
• Clean cloth (or close enough)
• A flashlight (works both ways, keep that in mind)
• A song you can hum without thinking
• Lowlies feed (no, your personal snacks don’t count)
• A steady hand
• A willingness to be perceived

Optional:

• Gloves (personally, I like to know what’s touching me back)

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General Maintenance 

• Announce yourself out loud. I don’t care if you feel silly.
• If something hums, you hum back. That’s just manners.
• Move slow unless told otherwise.
• Don’t unplug anything labeled “temporary” - it’s not temporary.
• If you feel watched, that’s because you are.

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Field Notes

The Robot

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Location: Front of the House. You don’t miss it. If you do, that’s on you.

Now this is where folks get confused. They think The Robot’s just standing out there, holding a flower, minding its business like some kind of roadside attraction. Thirty feet tall and still, people underestimate it. That’s your first mistake.

Care Instructions:

• Start with the feet because you gotta keep him grounded.
• Wipe down the exterior - dust builds up from folks staring more than anything else.
• Speak while you work. The Robot doesn’t respond much, but it listens.
• If you’ve got a moment, stand still with it. You might learn something.

Warnings:

• Don’t climb it. I shouldn’t have to say that, but here we are…
• Don’t rush past it either. That’s worse…
• And don’t call it a “decoration.” It’s doing more work than you think!

Lowlies

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Location: The Forest. Aspen Grove mostly. Though they’ve been known to settle where they please.

These are definitely not decorations. They’ve been described as imps “calcified by extreme laziness,” which sounds like an insult until you realize they’ve outlasted just about everything else in the room. They move at a pace that makes you question why you’re in such a rush. It’s as if sloths were mystical beings from another world. 

Care Instructions:

• Place your hand gently on their head - they’ll respond when they feel like it.
• Listen to the sound they make. That’s the whole exchange.
• Don’t rush the interaction. You’ll only hear yourself.

Feeding Schedule:

• Morning: crumbs, threads, bits of whatever you’ve shed
• Afternoon: attention (full attention - yes, they can tell the difference)
• Evening: a question about your love life that you’re not necessarily looking to fix

Maintenance Notes: People say the Lowlies give advice. That’s sort of true… they make a sound and you do the translating. If you don’t like the answer, that’s on you.

Warnings:

• Don’t mistake stillness for absence.
• Don’t assume they’re not keeping track.
• And don’t call them lazy like it’s a flaw. Challenge your internalized capitalism!

The Raven

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Location: The Forest. 

I respect The Raven in a very straightforward way: we understand each other’s boundaries. It’s mechanical, technically, being made up of metal and wiring. Don’t let that fool you, though, because it’s one of the most attentive presences in the Forest. It stays still most of the time and lets people walk past, take photos, move on like nothing’s happening. That’s how it analyzes you. Every now and then, though,  if you slow down enough, it’ll open its beak and speak what folks like to call “ravenly wisdom.” You’ll know it when you hear it. Whether you understand it, that’s a different story.

Care Instructions:

• Don’t approach head-on.
• Stand nearby, but not too close.
• Stay still long enough to be noticed (most people fail this step).
• If it speaks, listen the first time.
  
  

Maintenance Notes: You don’t maintain The Raven the way you maintain the others. You maintain your presence around it. I’ll take care of the dust when needed, but that’s not the real work here. The real work is not rushing past something that’s paying attention to you.

Warnings:

• Don’t try to trigger it! It isn’t a pet and doesn’t perform on command.
• Don’t ignore it either! It remembers faces.
• And don’t assume the message was for you.

These are only some examples of creatures in the House. The most important step in this whole Care Manual is how to dust a wormhole without collapsing it:

Wormhole Instructions:

A real wormhole’s got a feel to it - the air goes strange around the edges, time gets a little slippery, maybe your elbow feels six seconds ahead of the rest of you - or maybe you catch a smell from your grandmother’s kitchen even though you’ve never been there. That’s how you know you’re close.

Now, dusting a wormhole is delicate work. You are not cleaning through it, you’re cleaning around it. A lot of amateurs hear “dust the wormhole” and come at it like they’re scrubbing a shelf. That’s how you end up with two Thursdays stuck together and a staircase that won’t make up its mind.

Here’s the proper method:

Step 1: Announce yourself with a polite, clear tone. It could be something like: Maintenance. That’s enough. You don’t need a speech.

Step 2: Approach from the side. Never head-on. Head-on is for people looking to get folded into a memory they didn’t ask for.

Step 3: As said before, use a soft cloth or soft-bristle brush only. If your tools make a scraping sound, you’re already doing damage.

Step 4: Dust the edges in small circular motions. Clockwise if the room feels stable. Counterclockwise if it doesn’t. If you can’t tell, stop and come back later.

Step 5: Never look directly into it longer than necessary. You are there to clean, not to have a main character moment by getting sentimental about alternate outcomes.

Step 6: When finished, leave quietly. No slamming doors, no big exhale, no congratulating yourself. Just let the thing settle.

A few final warnings: 

• If you hear your name, ignore it the first time. If you hear it twice, wrap up. If you hear it in your own voice, you waited too long. 
• Whatever you do, don’t dust a wormhole angry. These things pick up on tone. The last person who tried that knocked a whole corner of the House half an hour sideways.

So remember: light touch, steady breathing, no heroics. You’re not there to conquer the wormhole. You’re there to keep it respectable.

Okay folks, there you have it - A Care Manual for House of Eternal Return. Here’s to another ten years of maintaining the House that is also our Home!