Transmissions Beyond the Page

The Hollow Circuit was never meant to stay on the page.

From the beginning, it was a signal. A pulse. A fragmented transmission recovered from a future half-erased—ritual fiction embedded in spores, carved into glass, scattered across timelines like lost memories waiting to be assembled.

Now, it begins to spread.

In the coming months, this universe will grow. Not with marketing campaigns or SEO feeds, but with deliberate transmissions: soundtracks whispered from fungal vaults, 3D artefacts rendered like relics from other timelines, animations glimpsed in glitchlight, tarot decks and glyphs cut by hand.

I’ve begun shaping this world not just as a novel, but as a living archive of resistance and remembrance.

Because I am not only a writer. I am also a multimedia artist, a builder of symbolic maps, a cartographer of the broken. And this circuit does not live in one format alone.

As I move through cities—Cardiff, Athens, Lisbon, Nicosia—I’ll be travel-blogging quietly. Sometimes as myself. Sometimes through the lens of characters who refuse to die quietly in forgotten timelines. Posts may take the shape of encrypted journals, dispatches from Veilrifts, or field notes in the margins of reality.

This isn’t content.

It’s myth, in motion.

And it will happen slowly, deliberately, imperfectly.

Because I live with Secondary Progressive MS. I don’t sprint through creativity—I endure through it. I build through flare-ups. I rest when needed.

Every word cost something.

So I’m building slowly, but I am building something whole.

You’ll find clues in zines, in QR codes taped to alley walls, in sound files and sketchbook scans. You’ll hear echoes from the voices of fictional strangers who may or may not be me. You’ll find lichen maps and sigils dropped across public space, left for the few who still pay attention.

There is no algorithm here.

Just fragments.

Just signal.

Just this.

— Awen Null