It was lightning thundering when I got call. It’s terminal. Mom says Dad knows does not have to be told. I’m all twisted. Put bottle of sleeping pills in front of him while he still has choice. That’s how I’d want to be treated. That’s the most merciful. Dad, can you hear me? Dad, you’re dying. Mom doesn’t want you to know, but Dad, you’re going to die. I’m putting these pills here for you. They’re painless numbing fast. Take them if you need them. I love you so much. Self destruction has its obvious reasons, foolish or not. Fuck this fucked-up life. We all know we’re going to die. So what’s it mean? Make painting that conveys the nothingness of everything. My sister’s husband Sean mentions something about distance between the victim and torturer. How unrelated each experience is from other, the enormous pain isolation that separates sufferer from observer. When you die and leave this earth, what’s it like being so small all alone out there? Make painting of campfire deep in dark of the wilderness. I was with you Thursday you looked pretty bad. I saw you two days later just could not believe it’s happening so fast. You’ve aged hundred years, lost all your hair, your face peeling, your body swollen shrunken distorted. You lost control of bowels. Your eyes search listlessly past me. You seem resigned. It’s Mom who’s going through hell right now. She says to have confidence in doctors. The doctors say there's reason for optimism. I don’t know. Tomorrow you will go for more tests treatment. Is this medicine going to prolong your life or extend your misery? Make pencil drawing of impending fog. Gray. In art birth and death are synonymous. Creation requires destruction. Is this where the question of art and life imitating each other breaks down? The most important thing anyone can provide right now is real truth for someone who desperately needs it. Mom tells you that you will get well. I nod cooperatively. It is drawn out corridor of grief robbing everyone raw. Your voice fades in and out, sometimes almost sounding like old self. Tell me what to do anything. Make painting of love and understanding. When I was young, I was terrified of you. It was different difficult time. We went through hell together. There is such deep hurt between us. I wanted to be what you could not dare. That conflict persisted long time. Now I realize best parts of my personality sense of humor honesty originate from you belong to you. You privileged me and I owe you. Make painting of big heavy bell ringing in wind. Max was a man very funny full-of-life robust college football hero terrific salesman golfer self confident air of prosperity vodka Martini very dry sarcastic sentimental colorful charismatic excitable fastidious flirtatious worldly lovable lonely gentleman man. He brought out something playful and good in people. Paint portrait of a snow-capped mountain. We’re all kids performing in front of exclusive audience of two, Mom and Dad. Look what I can do. I try to hide in sleep. I dream of horrifying wind that destroys everything in its path. Tall buildings bend crack collapse. I wake glance around suddenly remember your funeral is at twelve. Make painting of hole covered over. Black.

previously titled crisis #9 Chicago 1991