Negative G

The little boy is dragged into one of the street painter’s paintings. There’s a whole new world awaiting him in there, a world to be painted.

Somewhere out there, far away

There’s a universe beyond might and may

Paintless, limitless, this paintbrush fakes it

It’s all your senses to have their say

No lingual explanation, definition

No heavenly knowing smile

No provisions for your visions

He is not alone though. There are both good and evil forces shadowing him with the evil taking over. He struggles to get out, but the window back to his home world has disappeared.

Wait a bit, there’s a man in a cloak, what a look!

Having me by the throat

Shouting me out; no desire, inspiration, no move

I possess you, don’t you tell me what I do

No desire, inspiration, don’t breathe

I possess me, don’t you tell me what I see

Things are turning enigmatically adventuresome. The boy finds himself in a one-way journey, never knowing what to expect next.

He feels like his soul is possessed by an unknown evil force. The vertiginous sound of a galloping horse rotates inside his head. As the sound gets closer, a cavalryman appears. The boy begins to run a fever inside. The fall breaks out by his passing out, but the hearing remains. The cavalryman takes the boy and begins a journey through a pitch dark desert. The boy hears the desert talking…

It’s midnight. The street painter is standing on the edge of the desert expecting the cavalryman. He

 appears from distance. It’s time for the boy to wake up, time for the visit. The street painter walks the boy through the enigmatic world where neon trees, hanging lakes and blue shadows are all around. It’s the street painter’s own favorite painting. The boy is too intrigued. There’s an ongoing conversation between them whereas their lips never move. They, together flow like water in the painting.

As the boy keeps watching and sensing the landscape, the colors begin to blur. The vertigo is coming back and he begins to fall again.

Opening his eyes, the boy finds himself in a bed owning an aged body. Much more than a little walk in a painting could cause! It’s been in fact a life-long coma he’s been in for a many years! He’s now an old boy surrounded dreadfully and disturbingly by a world he cannot relate to. He can’t take it. He feels like a fish out of the fish bowl.

Take me back to my midnights where the moon never sets, never hides

Take me back to my midnights where the moon never sets, never hides

Where the life’s eternal, immortal, suppressed fever

I plead, take me back

I plead, take me back to my neon trees to breathe my moments in

The world has for long lost its meaning to him. To be alive has become the greatest torture the old boy could suffer from. There is no single day he does not wish to get back to where he last was.

My numb eyes stare at the crowd

It feels like there fast

It makes no sense, not to me not to them

Wrong time to belong

Aging fast watching this all through frozen tears

I will light someday, somewhere; I will light my last cigarette

There isn’t much left for the old boy to do here. He is sitting on a wall right on the edge of the world watching the nasty picture of it. He is tired of being a human, being part of this great mess. He lights up his last cigarette with a solid determination to do what he’s got to do once it dies.

We didn’t have to do it to ourselves, did we?

We didn’t have to end up being stuck in a world we never wished for

Is it the promised utopia? Walking on each other’s head to seek a technological hell? Climbing our corpse to make sure we get a bit of the sun?

So, should we die? Would it make it any better? Or we’ve already passed the no-turning back?

I’m eager to know how worse the doomsday could be, how more paralyzed the world’s picture could seem. Eager to know when I signed for this.

And what if I decline your invitation? Would you be capable of punishing me any harder? I doubt if you were. And I doubt if I were.

So, let’s call it a day and refuse the game. Rest assured you’ll get paid.

But I won’t see you off by telling you “keep up the good job”.

The old boy falls from the wall; a seemingly never ending fall into a limitless dark space. As he floats, he hears a bobbly voice singing something familiar.

No desire, inspiration, no move

I possess you don’t you tell me what I do

His feet finally touch the muddy ground of a grey land where everything feels evil. He prepares for a confrontation which he hopes to be the one leading to his parole.

Once more I’m trying to revolt

I’m hoping to reach you

I’ll take you down

Rat race is what you put in place

I’ve been played too much

My life is for trade

My parole is what I have yearned for

I’m ready to pay for an early redemption I prayed for

Redeem me

He has neither won the battle nor lost it but feels he’s one step closer to the right direction; the one towards his freedom. He though feels ceased by a power too strong to ever dare. The grey world is dissolving him.

Time slows down. He can feel presence of a mystical power. He recites his last words before his voice fades out forever.

My dancing soul

You wrote my role

You battled me out

This funny fate

You know the end

You heard me break

You made me give in

The old boy feels like he’s rising. Things begin to reverse. Something is pulling him out of the muddy ground. The higher he goes the better he feels. The gates are showing. It’s time to run, perhaps the time for the ultimate relief.

Wake up, wake up

it’s all right

Don’t know where you are

Do you hear that?

We’ve been running for so long

These tall trees

This grey sight

What am I?

I don’t know

I don’t care

I’m so lost in this place

Am I dreaming?

Am I dead?

Is this real

or I’ve gone mad?

Gently, falling on the ground like a feather, a voice from the inside wakes him up. He is deep inside a forest. He knows he is the closest to an everlasting freedom. So, he walks and walks until he finds his way out of the forest and faces a dark desert; the dark desert. He hears sound of music from distance and involuntarily walks towards it. As he gets closer he can see a few tents and dozens of nomads playing and dancing around a fire. They are all in white as the old

boy is. The crowd notices the old boy but not surprisingly, as if they knew he was coming. A woman approaches him and says “Welcome street painter”. We have been celebrating your arrival.