I woke up with a strange blend of holographic images and overlaid phrases and songs. They mesh together perfectly as if I'm breathing them. It's very much like a music "earworm", but with more layers added in, like synesthesia. I get this feeling a lot on cars, buses, trains. This morning's inclues the Janelle Monae song "Faster" (several bits at once), someone I know's screen name ("janky hellface"), a line from a Yeats poem "and all the trembling flowers they bear", a rocketship-house i was imagining yesterday in a game I'm playing (Glitch), the junk-shelves at my hackerspace and the things hanging from the ceiling made of toothpicks, and something a bit oceanic in movement which I keep feel-seeing in the bamboo shifting in the wind outside my window and the piece of ship's glass prism that is on my bedside table. This happens a lot, but I don't try to describe it. Ideally what I do with it is add in like 30 other things and surround myself with a little array of books open and bookmarked and concentrate it all very fiercely into a poem that might have absolutely nothing to do with the original bits of the holographic earworm overlay but that are contained in its atmosphere and that for me privately can re-evoke all the things so that I can go back in time and swim in it again.