Or Was it Grey?

Acrylic on canvas, 2012

Unknown Layer (yellow?)

Trudo had awoken to find himself sitting casually, one arm wrapped around his right knee, left arm propping upper body. Vast yellow hued landscape captivated any thought of possible end to such bleak and embered surroundings. He felt so heightened, light and able. So agile. As if naked of clothes, skin, fat and muscle alike. Looking down he had expected to see only bones but was with beach-y attire wearing a white muscle shirt and khaki shorts. Very unusual as he could only imagine himself wearing a neat dark navy blue suit, his staple since childhoo-Wait,-What?!?

Trudo awoke to find himself sitting casually, both arms wrapped around his knees. Before noticing the peculiarity in this fact alone, he was overcome by the extreme lightness he could not feel. So light he could hardly experience his own physical being at all! This sharpened fluidity brought with it a sense of empowerment so intense it was inconceivably acknowledged with conscious thought. (.. but with a possibility to the vibrations between them?)

*If observing for a distance, Trudo would’ve been the only resting spot for ones gaze to inhabit. His airy binding wires of flesh lightly covered with pale clothing a little lighter and darker than his skin. Aside from this intriguing anomaly, abrupt and rocky terrain with such never ending seamlessness! Eternal depth is the illusion looking up proves as a hazy orange (or was it yellow?) obscures the option of hope. Bewilderment! As you look down wondering how the ground beneath your feet, the pebbles appear so lucid, detail without end, the longer one stares the more they see. (New and intimate continuously.) These gems still. Comforting to know the paradoxical depth has caught a breeze of infinity..

No longer entranced by this foreign feeling of acute nimbleness, Trudo started to stand noticing how strange it was he has already been sitting up. And how strange it was..
Not afraid of the sickening vibrance which surrounded him he jumped, hands stretched upwards, focus horizontal. Instantaneously (it felt so..) the boney fingers on his hands touched the.. ceiling? (just) as he grasped the inexorable bleak solitude which bore no end in sight. Standing still with feet back on the ground Trudo felt perplexity in such obtrusive abundance that he was not sure whether or not his eyes were opened or closed. (Or if any of it was real, or if it really was.. for that matter.)

After several eternities of infinite questioning he started walking on and on and on, time passing with the dull fragrance of.. nothing. No smell. No taste No feeling. Trudo need not eat. Or sleep. He must not be real? Man?!

Then, after a few more eternity's of endless mindless walking he looked up; for the second time in an unknown span of ages. The now terrifying boldness of musky orange (or was it grey?) struck with vengeance as if it was alive and sadistic. For Trudo had gone nowhere, and has especially not gone up. Could there be? There was a tear, a break in such density? He did not bother to think of (anything at all) such nonsense anymore. He had lost his mind long ago and ceased to even notice he had left it behind.

Trudo III (Hypothetically)

If one could be aware of how the circumstance Trudo had passed consummated his horizontal endlessness, one may be inclined to delve into the aspects of hope.

For if one were to wander through blank perceptions of time with (the diversion of) an upward gaze constant, would not eventually imperfection be realized of the apparent boundaries? As a feared abysses of dramatic pure meaning mold disfigured input, such an inwardly turbulent system of paradoxical coherence must also in its paradox allow for soliloquy. Surrounded as it may be by heavy tumultuousness, without this otiose implication disparage of this great wondrous miasmic brew surely takes heed. (This is to the conjecture that mortal minds much more keenly find relativity to be of optimal absorption, and idealistic observances with a curiosity towards flaw..)