A post written in the style of 90s sitcoms in which the main character has totally nothing to say at all. And yet wants to tell you about Astronomical Dawn...

Sencha on desk: check. 03:03 wake up: check. Airplane phone: check. 3-flange earbuds blotting the outside world: check. Lofi hiphop study music on: not check. Not today, satan. Thicc to-done list: check.

I'd say we're clear for liftoff.

Can't do without some creative morning loafing, though.

Boy, do I ever love the astronomical dawn.

So much so, I even wrote that into one of our newsletters or some sort of corporate mail lately. “Get your order in before nautical twilight for same day shipping” or something cute like that. And linked to the disambiguation article for nautical twilight.

That's really off-kilter, not something you'd see in a buttoned up corpo mail. So it buzzes the mind in a pleasant, stimulated way.

Because you know intrinsically, that on the other end of that sentence, a nerdy girl-friend (gal pal, not fuckbud) totally wrote emails like this.

And she probably looks hot in glasses.

And that's our corporate voice. For pretty much all the clients I've ever worked for, because this is my wheelhouse. So whatever project or pseudonym I ever punch out, it all ends up sounding

like this.

I dig it, branding is fun. Dood, Out of nowhere I even cracked out my student version of Photoshop/Illustrator after a 20 year Adobanxiety paralysis and just started making some logos and color swatches and such.

God bless alma mater #4 UW for offering me basically every Seattle-based software package for free for life. Who even pays for Microsoft Access? Not this gal. Even for fickle college dropouts like me, who've dated many unis but never gone all the way.

That extends to Adobe. The campus under the Queen Anne bridge that rains suicide victims once a month or something. (Pre-guard rail). Could you imagine working there? Creatively loafing, window gazing, then plop/splatter. No wonder they had a psych oncall for ptsd.

These little ditties are my batting practice. Just exercises for my bicycle of a mind to unfurl itself from the surrealistic slumber and flex back into the reality-flavored-dream-state.

Closed double eyes for open double eyes;

open third eye for closed third eye.

(Through the poetry though, I don't actually believe this, because I feel that everyone has the ability to be mildly third eye stoked at all times of day. It's a matter of listening to the SOUNDS — primordial or choral — in your head. They're there regardless of astronomical dawn or nautical twilight. And they point to something much deeper in reality than you're prepared for consciously. It's cool to just plug your ears and let these SOUNDS reverberate, without observing them/pointing your consciousness at them. You'll feel the top of your head buzz.)

This is the double slit experiment in your own mind.


While in the gloaming between waking state and sleep, during my unfurling in the milky darkness (a timespace I thoroughly relish, but I'll wax about that later) I was thinkin' about my old boyfriend 35-year-old-Steve-J and his “bicycle of the mind” piece. (and omg, his lisp, I can't deal.)

I was trying, in my uncaffeinated, undrugged raw state, to write some pieces in my mind, and relate some simple emotional synonyms for “that warm feeling you get when”.

And you know? I couldn't do it. Not freebrained.

At that moment in time (not all moments, but that one), I realized (ooh – quick interjection. Are you still here? If so: thank you for reading! Really cool of you. I appreciate you being here. Serious. Thank you. Ok let's go back to the paragraph.) I realized that uh. I knew how to coax the emotions when I'm in front of the computer. I know where I can read and gain relational inspiration, and interestingly, I also thought that thinking would be so much clearer if I could just QWERTY it out in a notepad much like this one.

I don't know if I'm “aerodynamic recumbent bicycle on a mountain highway pointed downward”-efficient, but “road bike on a pothole urban scattermess”, I am at least. I get there, with plenty of life threatening divergences along the way, hehe.

Honestly, man, the monospace gets me there.

Remember Microsoft's textpad in the 1990s? Man. What were the shortcut keys? Do you remember? I can't remember! But I do remember that delicious monospace. (Whattt? Was it really Ctrl+F10 for timestamp? I don't remember that combo! Whaaaat? Oh and look, its my alma mater again typing about it. Spooky lil coincidence there, eh? Like yesterday's “Writers Block” coincidence. I'm sayin' man, we can have our third eyes half open all day and catch this shit.

Fuck it. I don't close parentheticals.

I'm going to leave ya hangin'.

I'm going to try not to buy hypercolor t-shirts that I can screenprint ridiculous sayings or vaporwave retrofuture sports logos onto.

Instead, I'm going to write and earn my hypercolor t-shirt that I can... and so on.

Anyway, thanks for reading (all 35 of you!)

Let's all have a great Tuesday.

Another day in, Paradise

— .:~:..:~:..:~:..:~:..:~:..:~:..:~:..:~:..:~:..:~:. published not proofread. #NeverLookBackspace! Words, Ideas, Magic copyrighted by Zem in Paradise. this is confidential communication. Protected by US and International law.