Ideation moves over my skin; moves like I’ve dived into a pool of electricity. The fluid waves spark my palm as they billow synchronically with the wave of my hand. Forget the traditional, I long for the abstract. To submerse into the layers of a subconscious mind would be… quite electric. I want to know what the inside of my own mind looks like. I hope it’s not… traditional, because that’s all that seems to spit out of my pen. It spits out blanks in blue and red. My pen. I want the latest contraband. Ideation, take my hand.