cogent; and i believe in the art of space. as a light sleeper, i would wake up at twilight to observe the silent scenery outside my window. the blinds would make hazy reliefs from the whimsical flashing of street lights. an array of radiance to one side of the block would complement the others, providing security among tired and weary vehicles. the cricket sounds reverberate through my weary ears; they seemed like white sound or subliminal messages embedded within a dubbed relaxation music. or in a positive way otherwise. the observation would go on from 5 minutes to over an hour, and i would fall back to sleep.
like meditation or enhanced hypnotism, nothing happens the next day. deja vu or something similar to rigor mortis, the brain is like a solid lightning rod hit by an illuminated trident coming from a rumbling sky.
the art of non-premium privilege
shit did work. now i wonder why the text is centered?