Chemtrails over Yuchbunar

 Yesterday, I went by the house. I usually don`t go near there but I used a shortcut from the subway. Really hate that neighborhood, it is the epitome of all thrifty matters, petty endeavors, and cheap bargain deals, on all levels of life. It has been like that at all times and throughout my existence, with no change for the better. Time has stopped in Yuchbunar, and it`s like a city of dead people; the solitude there is even more lonesome. Actually, I prefer the most pedestrian and uninspiring apartment complexes, it`s easier to breathe there. 

So, in this image, I depicted myself on the foreground, being sick and relieving myself through vomiting. In fact, my vomit is my reaction and only connection to the house behind me. A lot of suffering has brought me that house. A lot of agonies and silent screams. First, I was born there, then I spent there my early years, and later on I had three studios there. In the same house but in different rooms. 

So, why did I decide to create something with it? First of all, the house is really beautiful. It has so much character. As a matter of fact, I can`t think of a more beautiful house in the entire city. There is one, built in the same style, but it`s a one-storey. Yes, there are better and more imposing buildings, with structural excellence and opulence but this one is special. The red bricks are extremely hard, just like stone. Arrangement inside is peculiar; on the second floor there is a long hallway with many rooms lined up, beside one another, just like in a post office. My great grandfather built it, and I don`t know much else about him apart from his name, and that he was a really fine mason. Then my grandfather lived there, don`t know him as well, my dad, me, even my son, we all were born and lived there. I created nearly a thousand paintings in the studios. A lot of them were produced at once, others were reworked many times. They are all gone now, lost forever. No one really needed them. People like colors, they don`t like staring at other people`s problems, and I can`t blame them.

So, now the house is an Indian restaurant. I like Indian cuisine very much, and my high appreciation of it has nothing to do with the puking person in the picture, nor is that condition a direct consequence of my dislike of such recipes. I am very fond of Indian dishes, as opposed to my late wife, who did not like a meal to be cooked excessively long, or with too many ingredients. She was an amazing cook and had the talent for it. She could also see the future and had other extraordinary abilities. On the other hand, I like the exotic spices and the heat. Or the hotness. It`s not a sharp and spicy taste that makes you cry, but a slow and steady buildup of heat that increases, until your head starts spinning. Adorable. If you are a real sucker for Indian kitchen, visit an Indian restaurant in London or in Queens, New York City. Not in Manhattan, go to Queens and treat yourself a meal. You will not find any better joints than these. Certainly not in India.

So, I met with the manager of the restaurant in the brick house in Yuchbunar. Me, my son, my daughter-in-law, and my grandkids went to see the house, but never entered inside. We were in a hurry or something. Also, I had no desire to look at people eating tikka masala where I slept or where I painted. As we were standing outside on the sidewalk, a woman came out crying and rushed straight towards me. She was pointing at me and shouting. I immediately understood that, for some reason, I was the most important one. I had never met her. She was speaking fluent Bulgarian, and proceeded to ask what is my occupation. Given her upset situation I put on a friendly smile and explained that I am a painter and photographer. She gave an even louder cry and started praying. So, then we heard a chilling story that she frequently sees an apparition, ghost, shadow figure, whatever you may call it, wandering inside the restaurant... and that shadow entity looks just like me. Exactly the same guy, but very pale, holding a brush and walking across the rooms, swinging the brush as if he is painting. I kid you not. She was explaining her encounters with a few words, not being able to control her emotions, staring at me with sheer terror, and trembling each time I spoke. Also, she was convinced that it is some kind of a curse. On the other hand, I was very calm and not especially moved, but did my best to comfort her. If you don`t believe what I just told, you can always ask my witnesses. 

Back to the puking guy. His act is natural to the extreme, the most visceral deed associated with release. Probably that`s just my side of the coin. I have been watching it for years. And maybe, just maybe, that ghost is on the flip side of the same coin. I don`t know. I suffered a lot there, and it was long. But now I am a happy man. I`m far from that house, those periods are long gone. Now there is just a restaurant with a nasty paranormal creature. Today, I like being anonymous. Anonymity gives you many freedoms and access to many futures. You slide along just like a ghost. You don`t get that when you play a role. 

So, this image does not show the invisible connection, but the reaction is quite natural. Once you overcome a nasty issue, it stops being important to you, and it`s as if it never existed. 

But the beauty of that house stays to this day.