I had a
lucid dream last night, it was quite abstract; I was dreaming the only hell that exists is here on Earth and one of its
escape route was thru my room. Then, near the radiator, I've noticed an odd guardian of it, he looked like the
easel transformed into some kind of stained tree-robot, and as we've spoken, his
slats had started to bleed with a weird liquid light. Then I've slowly begun to turning aware that each of his numerous sticky chakras have been moulded from a various types of artistic paint. I woke up before the very end, but there was nothing except my old easle standing quietly in the corner, in the pile of empty cigarettes packs. So it was never just about colors I smiled to myself. Had a first smoke, readied my brushes...