Sure, throw the neon into a giant, warped kaleidoscope that flickers whenever the wind hits it, then lace the whole thing with vines that glow bioluminescent at night. It’ll look like a rusted portal to another dimension.

Alright, seal the neon in a crystal‑shaped plexi block and wire it through copper coils so a gust sparks a tiny lightning show. For the vines, repurpose those old irrigation pipes into a drip system that runs off a rain barrel scavenged from the old storage room. Keep the whole thing humming with a low‑frequency tone that only the neighborhood dogs can hear—makes it a quiet rebellion, not a beacon.

I’ll wire the coils with a failsafe that cuts power if the current spikes—just in case the wind gets theatrical. And I’ll paint the pipes in fluorescent paint that only shows up under UV so the rain can stay secret while the whole thing looks like a dripping neon UFO to anyone passing by. The dogs will howl at the rhythm, the cops will think it’s a radio jammer, and the neighbors will either be confused or just roll their eyes at the absurdity. It’s art, if you can handle the weirdness.