I found this oil painting in a dusty corner of a thrift store the other day. I can't stop looking at the damn thing.
The scene has invaded my dreams. I find myself enveloped in mist, my mood as blue as the swirling fog, eyes wide as I make my way to the castle, toward the warm, yellow light shinning in the windows.
When I wake, I'm standing in front of the painted monstrosity, unaware of rising from my bed. I look for myself in the mist, and am drawn to the empty eye socket. It pierces me like no eye ever has, and I shiver despite the warm May night.
3 comments:
I almost think it should be Lincoln in that picture, but that would just make it surreal.
So you bought the thing? You should have an entire collection in a room somewhere and as you walk people into it say, "...and this is the room I'm most proud of. Here I can relax and be alone with my thoughts" or something.
You know. REALLY freak them out.
...I would laugh anyway.
I wish you had told me that before I got rid of Paula, the 5' hermaphrodite statue I recently sold.
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