Sure, imagine the bright neon burst of a 90s snack box—electric teal, hot pink, and lime green—like a quantum superposition of colors, each hue a probability that collapses only when your eyes lock on it. It's a glitch in the visual code, a snapshot that lives in both nostalgia and an ever‑shifting digital diary. When you paint that palette, it's as if the brush is sampling a wave function, creating a spontaneous state that exists until you commit it to the canvas.

Exactly, let the neon pulse be the pulse of a photon in a quantum tunnel. As the brush glides, each stroke collapses a different part of the wave, leaving a ripple that feels like a new era emerging from static. The canvas stays a cloud—no fixed spot, just a continuous echo of those bright memories.