Picture a dark and mysterious clubhouse for a secret society, a space where strange characters enter to explore the mysteries of electronic technology and the strange feedback loop that is the Self. A tent revival off the grid where we come to understand what it means to be wired in, and weirder because of it.

The space is dim, there is an illuminated foggy stage with red drapes, and a vintage microphone stands waiting. No one is singing, but there are echoes of a past performance decaying in the air.

The walls are filled with flickering CRT TVs displaying hypnotic visuals from cameras hidden in the space. You are being watched, you are the watcher. A soundscape ebbs and flows, inviting you to manipulate it with knobs and dials, with your body and your mind.

A raving mad poet takes the stage speaking backwards, a theater performance begins. A world of occult undertones and secrets unfolds you into it. What dream is this? Who is the dreamer?

Twilight sets in and a drone-country-techno band takes the stage. The same riff repeats, as if a meditation upon itself, noticing itself and evoking primordial visions from another world. A drum machine churns and the bass emerges into you oscillating your being, your soul. You are transported into a wild west, a new frontier of human experience; weird, wired, one foot in this world, the other...