I guess I have to be relieved when the color scheme for cutting edge design nowadays includes sunrises and hazy beach mornings.  No more hyper color grit of high dynamic range or trippy tilt-shifts.  Check it out guys, you can see it's a new day.  Break out the snuggle blankets and lay some pillows by the surf.  We're coming down, staring at the water bottles and chew-toys from last night, gathering the last shreds of hyper awareness into a cohesive narrative, and tacking down, flash by flash a new conscience born from the trips and hits and stabs of light and sound and feeling, all sensations masquerading as diversion.

Space is in fashion.  The kind with swirling splashes of the cosmos, whipped together with supernovas and hyper-sensational wormholes, projected onto the draping shirts of jean-clad youth.  What plaid and argyle were to button-downs was the boot-up to our psychic computers, breaking out of the solid-color morass, like the masses together in a faded ball pit: here, a yellow ball, there a green one, CYMK pallets to the fashion molasses picking up speed post 80s crash.  We wear forms born from thoughts of stardust and ancient alins, and homages to ancient architecture and histories lost to the sands of time, found in the street-worn show posters of our underground youth.

The signals are here, outside in pop culture, bled out, eeking past the thin barriers of post-war statist hegemony, old forms passed down in secret, blasted across the inner-eye retinas of an irreverent youth.  Irreverence, chaos: seeds to power a new youth, a new family, a new seniority.  The signs are here.  Just as we sleep with our eyes open are we hit, even then , responding with an equal splash in our natures untethered and stretching old muscles in our gene pool, old yet unfamiliar powers in our power to envision possibilities.

It's been a long night.