40" x 54"
Oil on Canvas

In the middle of dark, crimson space, sun seemed to be suspended in space.  I got the feeling that it suddenly stopped on its own tracks and turned its flaming face to me, glaring at me, with disappointment and reproach.  It paused as if to say something.  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

I felt that a thousand of ants were crawling up my spine.  My trembling body and soul froze.  Instantly, I was covered with cold sweat.  I could not utter a word.  Sun just glared at me.  Why?  Then it dawned on me:  our beloved orb kept us alive, bathing us with bright light, warming us so we could go on living.  We turned our back to the sun and thus we betrayed ourselves.  We suddenly lost our reason;  we believed we could do everything we wanted, but we didn’t know what we wanted. 

With great enthusiasm, loud songs, waving multi-colored flags, we are marching into the underworld.  We are marching into the tunnel of the night.  We arrived  into the kingdom of blinking multi-colored light bulbs to never-ending melodies, to deafening noises of the machines, and to the continuous banging of musical instruments, flickering movies, and  thundering entertainment forever…ever. 

Finally we are free.  Free of thinking;  free of making choices.  Now we are going to tepid rosy future and joyful culture of Parkinson’s by night, and Amnesia in the morning.  So, here we are.  What to do now?  Drugs?  Well, it is probably easiest for temporary escape from suffocating, noisy, rosy “heaven“.  Drugs?  Maybe it is the way to isolate oneself and have a dialogue with one’s own alien soul.  Far behind the crimson space, I barely hear screaming of the rooster, chanting its morning song. 

I feel my Sweetheart’s hot body clinging to me, I hear her light, happy breathing.  I open my blue eyes.  Oh!  Through the window I see a bright sunny morning;  through the treetops I see a bright, sunny morning breeze.  On the other side of the lawn, I see sparkling radiant tulips, yellow and red, which ever-creating Carol planted in the big box.  I hear cluckling of chickens;  chickens reminding me to open their door for them, so they can run out into the glorious morning.

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