Dispatches from The Circuitdelic Laboratory.

Repost of June article:

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“To be and to see.”

It began, simply, as a walk to get groceries.

Nothing mystical. No incense. No ceremony.

Just necessity.

But some paths aren’t chosen — they reveal themselves.

One step at a time.

Not forward, but deeper.

The Mirror

It started with a mirror. Hung in concrete.

I saw myself — split by perspective, angled by time.

A set of yellow arrows at my feet. One pointing East, one West. Me in the middle.

In that moment, I wasn’t just walking.

I was being led.

The Drips

Then came the glyphs. Blue, frozen, dripping in patterns like a forgotten language.

I didn’t decode them. I just understood.

The images weren’t just there — they were placed.

Not by hand, but by some strange algorithm of awareness.

A living mandala laid out for those who still know how to look sideways.

What were once splattered paint drips now that evoked the feeling of Hokusai, whom I’d studied at University.

The Lightforms

And then the buildings began to bend.

Skyscrapers ignited from behind by halos.

Steel turned spectral. Corners hummed.

Every line became waveform.

I wasn’t seeing architecture — I was seeing frequency.

This wasn’t Cincinnati anymore.

It was the simulation showing its wires.

East of Race

And only later did the pattern resolve.

Every one of these signs — the mirror, the arrows, the waves —

were on the East side of Race Street.

I had passed the West side without seeing a thing.

The Saxony. The Milner. Macy’s. Yum Yum. All still there in outline, but silent now — structures from a life long since folded in on itself.

I didn’t need to mourn them. I just needed to walk past.

Because this time, the symbols were not calling me back.

They were pulling me forward.

The Phoenix

And then, as if placed like the final glyph in a dream-sequence…

there it was. No neon. No flourish. Just the word:

The Phoenix.

812 Race Street.

Not a metaphor. Not an omen.

Just truth made visible.

The Lesson

Only later — as always — did the meaning unfold.

This wasn’t just a walk.

It was a guided migration from one version of self to another.

The East held the signs. The West held the ruins.

And I was the observer — crossing the line.

Not escaping. Not erasing.

Just rising.

Circuitdelic Laboratory

To be and to see.

Chiang Mai is calling. Soon I will answer.