The sun over Liberland neither rises nor sets.

This is more than obvious. To be able to rise, it must set, and to be able to set, it must rise. So, would it suffice to write: The sun over Liberland does not rise? No, it would not suffice, for this statement would not inform whether the sun over Liberland does or does not shine – the sun might have risen only once and never set; then it would shine constantly; the sun might have not risen, then it have not set, thus it would not shine at all.

It seems, and it can be observed, that the sun over Liberland now turns on, now turns off. And it does so very irregularly, unexpectedly and unpredictably.

The shape, the form of the sun over Liberland is not known. To tell and to write the truth, nobody has ever seen it. Suddenly it's getting bright, and suddenly it's getting dark. That's all. There is nothing like dawn, dusk or twilight. Nobody knows how it can happen that brightness and darkness replace each other so abruptly and without any warning.

Usually suns are spheres, balls, with rough, frayed, tousled surface. Well, this is a kind of simplification, a supposition. In reality something we want to consider the sun's surface may not exist – a surface as it is understood and perceived in the case of the earth, ground: something hard we can walk on; nor as it is understood and perceived in the case of water: something soft, clearly visible, that can be pierced with a finger, but not hard enough to stand on it. Because the other suns we know are this kind of sphere, balls with no surface, with bunches of rays and beams radiating in all directions. The conclusion based on this observation is that the sun over Liberland is also a kind of ball with smudged, unclear, imperceptible surface with rays and beams projecting in all directions. Something like a huddled hedgehog. But this conclusion is not right. No hedgehog can be seen here.

Either it is too bright to see anything – everything merges white hot.

Or it is too dark, and nothing can be seen, either.