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...