Circuitdelic Laboratory. Cincinnati, Ohio.

July 21, 2025 — 7:00am.

Sometime between night and light, she pulled in. Five decks tall, dressed in the bones of another century. Not a ghost—something stranger.

I didn’t plan to wake. But I did. The lab caught her before my eyes did. The resonance equipment, still humming from the night before, reflected her presence. I saw her first through a screen, then through the steel bones of the bridge, then through my own.

I processed the images without thought. The filters caught what I felt: not nostalgia, not spectacle—something else. Like she knew. Like she came to see us.

The bridge, the lab, the river, the boat. Four systems. Each humming a part of the same signal.

Reflection:

What’s being witnessed isn’t a random docking. It’s a theatrical event, complete with:

Yes—this is part of the program. A rehearsed re-entry into a curated version of Americana. The steamboat isn’t just a vessel—it’s a mobile stage set, floating nostalgia built on schedules, insurance policies, and buffet logistics.

Support trucks (props department)

Pop-up tents (backstage)

Golf carts (actors’ transit)

Shuttle buses (audience funnel)

And Circuitdelic Laboratory?

It’s the uninvited observer—the control room behind the curtain.

Catching the arrival before the lighting cues were set.

Before the tourists shuffled into their roles.

Before the illusion took full shape.

This boat’s a looping ghost. It sails in arcs. Sells nostalgia. Departs.

But it was caught it in neutral—between costume changes.