TrueLife - I Extracted Chemicals From An Octopus, Made Them Into A Drug, And Now I Can’t Stop Reading Geometry

Episode Date: February 16, 2026

Support the show:https://www.paypal.me/Truelifepodcast?locale.x=en_USOne on One Video Call W/George https://tidycal.com/georgepmonty/60-minute-meetingI found footage of two octopi speaking in geometric patterns. Ran it throughlinguistic software. It flagged as LANGUAGE—the same patterns I’d been seeingon DMT for years. So I reverse-engineered their neurochemistry, attached it toa tryptamine, and learned to read the language my hallucinations have beenspeaking this entire time.LEXICON-7: the compound that hijacks your claustrum and teaches you exponentiallanguage. The mandalas aren’t decoration—they’re grammar. The geometry isn’tnoise—it’s syntax. Seven dimensions. Cross-modal binding. Visual cortex wireddirectly to Broca’s area.I took it in an art studio. The paintings started conjugating.I learned to respond.Now I can’t stop reading. The world is written in a language I finallyunderstand, and it’s beautiful and terrifying in exactly equal measure.Octopi have been doing this for 300 million years. Now, theoretically, so canyou.◯ ⟲ ⟲ ⟲ — One on One Video call W/George https://tidycal.com/georgepmonty/60-minute-meetingSupport the show:https://www.paypal.me/Truelifepodcast?locale.x=en_US🚨🚨Curious about the future of psychedelics? Imagine if Alan Watts started a secret society with Ram Dass and Hunter S. Thompson… now open the door. Use Promocode TRUELIFE for Get 25% off monthly or 30% off the annual plan For the first yearhttps://www.district216.com/Legal Disclaimer / Release of Liability for Podcast:This  content  is for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this transmission constitutes legal, financial, or professional advice. I am not your lawyer, financial advisor, or telling you what to do.This podcast documents historical events, analyzes publicly available information, and explores hypothetical scenarios. Any actions discussed are presented as educational examples of how systems work—not as instructions or recommendations.You are solely responsible for your own decisions and actions. Any application of information presented here is at your own risk. I assume no liability for consequences of actions you choose to take.By continuing to listen, you acknowledge that this content is educational commentary, that you’re responsible for researching applicable laws in your jurisdiction, and that you’ll consult appropriate professionals before taking any action that could affect your legal, financial, or personal situation.

Ladies and gentlemen, wherever you're tuning in from, maybe you're a monk in the 12th century in a monastery high on a hill in Tibet. Maybe you're from the future trying to figure out where it all went wrong or where you skip timelines at. Maybe you're right here in 2026. Right now, as I discovered this novel nootropic psychedelic that I call lexicon. Are you ready to jump into this? Let's go.

Lexicon 7. N-dimensional, semantic tryptamine. The compound that teaches you the language your hallucinations have been speaking the entire time. It was Friday night. I had 17 tabs open. Three of them Wikipedia spiraled about cephalopod intelligence. That's when I found the footage. Marine Biology PhD student, 2019, studying octopus communication.

17 minutes of two octopus vulgarized doing something she called complex negotiation. Their skin was flashing patterns, fast, recursive, too structured to be random threat displays. She ran it through linguistic analysis software as a joke. The software flagged it as language. Not mimicry, not instinct, language. With grammar. With what looked disturbingly like nested clauses. I watched that video 47 times.

I took 4 ACOD DMT and I watched it again. And that's when I saw it. The chromatophore patterns looked exactly like the geometric hallucinations I've been seeing for years in my own trips, the same rotations, the same recursive embeddings, the same sense of watching something

that means, but you can't translate because you don't have the grammar. And that's when I knew. Octopi aren't just flashing colors at each other. They're speaking of visual language that bypasses sequential processing entirely. And if they can do it with chromatophores, maybe. Just maybe. I could teach a human

brain to do it with tryptomines and some truly irresponsible chemistry. Lexicon 7, the compound I'm talking about. It started as a joke synthesis I sketched on a coffee-stained napkin at 3 a.m. Take a standard tryptamine backbone. I used four-ho-D-M-T as the base because I happen to have some 4-HO laying around. At a modified cephalotoxin analog, Octopi used this stuff in their salivary glands for prey paralysis, but in trace amounts it seems to modulate their skin pattern generators

during communication. The idea, at least for me, Was if Octopi can link visual pattern generation to neural signaling using this compound? What happens if you attach it to a molecule that crosses the human blood brain barrier and targets the parts of our brain that almost nobody studies? Enter the clostrum and the pulvinar nucleus. The clostrum is this weird, thin sheet of neurons tucked under your insular cortex. Francis Crick, remember him?

that book Life itself, if you get a chance, read it, it's phenomenal. Yeah, that guy. He spent his later years convinced it was the seat of consciousness. It connects to everything. Every sensory region, every motor area, every part of your cortex that does anything interesting. Yet nobody knows what it does. It's just there. Plugged into the whole system like some kind of neural USB hub.

The pulvinar is almost as mysterious. It handles visual attention and something called saliency mapping, which is a fancy way of saying it decides what you should pay attention to and what you should ignore. This compound I created, Lexicon 7, it hijacks both of them. Normal human brains process language and vision separately. Language is sequential. One word after another,

strong in time like beads. Vision is simultaneous. You see the whole scene at once, all the shapes and colors and relationships happening in parallel. Octopi don't have that separation. Two-thirds of their neurons are in their arms. They process information in parallel, not sequentially.

When they speak with their skin, they're encoding meaning in spatial temporal patterns. Multiple messages at once, recursive, nested, seven-dimensional semantic structures that are linear language can't even touch. Lexicon 7

rewires your brain to do the exact same thing. It binds to the 5HT2A receptors. But it also modulates the clostrum and pulvinar to create new routing between your visual cortex and Broca's area, the part of your brain that produces language. not the result you start processing visual information as if it were language

geometric patterns hit your retina your visual cortex does its thing but instead of routing to that's a pretty spiral it routes to broca's area and you suddenly understand not conceptually linguistically that the spiral is a verb it's conjugating it's saying something and because Broca's area is for production, not just comprehension, you can respond. You can move your hands and rotations and your own visual cortex reads it as syntax, and you are speaking. You are speaking exponential language. You are doing what Octopi have been doing for 300 million years, and it's absolutely hilarious

that all it took was one modified cephalotoxin, one psychedelic backbone, and one psychedelic backbone, and one criminally understudied brain structure that Francis Crick died trying to understand. Here's why I called it Lexicon 7. The 7 isn't random. When I started mapping the patterns, mine, trip reports, other reports, the octopus, chromatophores,

they all encoded information across the same 7 axis. Meaning, relationship, recursion, emergence, pattern, void, and witness. These aren't physical dimensions. They're semantic dimensions. The minimum number of axes you need to express a complete thought non-linearly. If you want to say, I see you seeing me, seeing you see the pattern we're both embedded in, if you want to express that in a single gesture, a single geometric flash, you need seven

dimensions. Three spatial won't do it. Four, space time, it won't do it. Six gets close, but loses the reflexivity. Seven is the magic number. Octopi figured this out through evolution. I figured it out through synthesis, DMT, and obsessive rewatching of marine biology footage at 4 a.m. The synthesis. Start with four substituted tryptamine. Introduced the cephalotoxin, derived in-substituent via a condensation reaction that should not work but does if you're not looking too closely at the thermodynamics. Add a molecular geometry

that preferentially binds to the clostrum and pulvinar achieved through a combination of rational design and fever-dream intuition about receptor topography. The resulting compound? Stable enough to survive room temperature. Unstable enough that it probably should exist. Armologically active at around 25 to 30 milligrams. Completely impossible to synthesize without access to octopus posterior salvery glands and a complete disregard for whether something being

theoretically achievable means you should achieve it. What happens when you take it? You learn to read the language your hallucinations have been speaking the entire time. The Mondellas aren't decoration. Their grammar. The geometric patterns aren't noise. They're sentences. And once you see it, once you learn to read, you can't unsee it. You're bilingual now. Permanently. You walk past street art and see syntax. You watch politicians speak and see where their words don't match the visual pattern. You look at your own thoughts and see the seven-dimensional semantic structure they're actually built on under the linear words you've been using to translate them. It's beautiful. It's terrifying. It's what Octopi have been trying to tell us all along. If only we'd learn to speak

their language instead of assuming the flashing colors were just pretty. They're not pretty. their syntax, and now theoretically so were you. Proposed duration, six to eight hours of active language acquisition followed by permanent bilingualism. You will never stop seeing the geometric grammar. It doesn't fade, it integrates. You become a native speaker of a language that existed before words. Section 2. Trip Report. Subject. Me. Setting.

My friend's apartment art studio in the back, surrounded by half-finished paintings that suddenly become very relevant. Dose 30 milligrams. Intention. To finally understand what the mandolas are trying to say. T-plus-000-0-D administration. I took the capsule in the studio because Sarah's paintings are already geometric, and I have a theory that proximity to existing visual. language might help with the acquisition. Sarah's not here.

Sarah's at work. I have been given explicit permission to be in the studio and also explicit warning, that if I break anything, she will, quote, come back and haunt me personally. I agree to these terms. He swallows the capsule with green tea that has gone lukewarm. The tea does not have opinions about this yet. Note, subject's decision to dose in an art studio represents either profound intuition or catastrophic hubris, possibly both. T plus 20 minutes, first alert.

The paintings on the wall start breathing. This is normal, expected. He's done tritomines before. Paintings breathe, walls undulate gently. Reality gets soft around the edges like a photograph taken with too much aperture. What's not normal is that the breathing has rhythm, not random undulation, not organic pulse, rhythm, pattern,

like the painting is trying to match a metronome he can't hear, but can somehow feel in his chest cavity. Oh, oh, you're doing something. You're not just moving. You're moving intentionally. He walks closer to the largest painting.

An abstract piece, concentric circles and blue and gold. The kind of thing that looks like a mandala, but Sarah insists is about tension and release in circular forms, which is absolutely what a mandala is, but she won't admit it. The circles are rotating. Slowly, carefully,

each ring moving at a different speed, each rotation offset by a specific, angle that is not random, is not arbitrary, is specific in a way that makes him suddenly certain. He's watching something conjugate. You're a verb. Note, subject has identified the first grammatical structure approximately 15 minutes earlier than expected. Lexicon 7, binding appears to be accelerated by environmental factors, specifically, the presence of visual syntax already embedded in the artwork. T plus 45 minutes.

The studio speaks. He sits on the floor, not because he needs to sit, because sitting feels like the posture you adopt when you're about to be taught something, and you want to be respectful about it. Every painting in the studio is moving now, not randomly, in conversation. The blue mandala is rotating clockwise.

The abstract piece with the triangles is pulsing in three-beat patterns. The small canvas in the corner, the one Sarah called a, quote, failed experiment, is doing something with its colors that he doesn't have words for, but which is clearly a response to whatever the Mondologist said. You're talking to each other. You've been talking to each other the whole time. I just didn't. I couldn't hear you.

I couldn't see it. Because I was looking for words, and you're not using words. You're using shapes, patterns, relationships, grammar. You're using grammar. Holy shit, you're using grammar. The mandala has just said something. He knows it has said something because he can feel the semantic weight of it land in his chest like a sentence he recognizes but cannot translate.

It has subject, it has verbs. It has object. It has subordinate clauses nested inside the rotation speeds. It is a complete thought delivered in geometry. I don't. I don't know how to say it back. The triangle painting responds. Different shapes, different rhythm, same grammar.

He starts crying. Not sad crying. Recognition crying. The crying you do when you realize that something you thought was broken, was actually working the whole time in a language you didn't speak. T plus one hour, 30 minutes, the first word. I need to try. If this is a language, if this is something I can learn, I need to try.

He looks at his hands. They're doing the standard tryptamine thing where they look like they're made of light and also somehow ancient and also somehow his. He holds them up. He starts moving them, not wrong. randomly with intent, trying to match the rhythm he's seeing in the paintings, trying to conjugate his hands into a response.

It feels absurd. It feels like the most important thing he's ever tried to do. How do I say I'm listening? His hands move in a circle, clockwise, three rotations, stop, hold. The mandala pulses once, bright, like recognition, like, like yes, like you said something, I said something. Oh my God, I said something and you understood. He starts laughing. The laughing becomes gasping. The gasping becomes something that might be hyperventilating but is actually just the physiological response to having successfully communicated in a language he learned

17 minutes ago from paintings that are teaching him grammar through rotational symmetry. He tries another word. Hands moving in a spiral. outward, six rotations faster each time. I'm trying to say more, show me more, teach me more. The entire studio responds. T plus two hours, 30 minutes. The conversation accelerates. This is where language becomes fluent.

The paintings are no longer teaching him one word at a time. They are speaking in full sentences, paragraphs, arguments. The mandala is explaining something about recursion. about how meaning nests inside meaning nests inside meaning, and the triangle painting is disagreeing, offering a counterpoint about emergence, about how meaning can arise from relationship rather than containment.

He is following the argument, not perfectly, not completely, but enough. He can see the structure. He can see where one thought ends and another begins. He can see the punctuation, the pauses, the emphasis. The interrogative tilt, that means do you understand? I understand. Not all of it, but I understand that you're asking me if I understand,

which means I understand enough to know that I don't understand everything, which is, fuck, that's a subordinate clause. I just thought a subordinate clause in visual geometry. How do I say yes, but partially? His hands move, both hands, different rhythms, one clockwise, one counterclockwise, meeting in the middle, diverging, meeting again. The studio pulses. Every painting at once.

The pulse is warm. The pulse is approval. The pulse is good. You're learning. Keep going. What else can I say? What else? How do I ask a question?

How do I say, what is this? How do I say, where did this come from? How do I say, why didn't anyone tell me this? existed. Why can I suddenly do this? The Mandela shows him slowly, carefully, a pattern he's seen before but never understood. The pattern is a question mark, not the English punctuation, the geometric equivalent, a spiral that opens, hesitates, turns back on itself, and waits. That's why. That exact shape. That's the question why. God, that's why.

The Aztec codices look like that. That's why Islamic geometry does that thing with the tiles. That's why every culture that got deep enough into meditation or mushrooms or staring at the cave wall started drawing the same shapes because they're not decorative. They're linguistic. They're the universal grammar of, he stops. The paintings are away.

of what? What is this the grammar of? T plus three hours, 30 minutes. Peak, the answer arrives. The mandala stops moving. Everything stops moving. The entire studio freezes mid-rotation, mid-pulse, mid-argument, and the silence is not absence but presence.

The kind of silence that happens right before something speaks that has been waiting a very long time for someone to ask the right question. And then the mandala shows him, not tells, shows. Because this is visual language and the answer is too big for translation. The answer is the language itself.

The answer is, the pattern unfolds in seven dimensions. He can see all seven, not spatially. He's still in three-dimensional space. His body is still sitting on Sarah's studio floor, but conceptually, semantically, the way you can see a thought move through its own logic. Even though thoughts don't have locations, the pattern is saying, this is the grammar of relationship, of connection,

of the space between things where meaning lives. Your language, English, Mandarin, Arabic, all of them. They describe objects. They describe actions. They describe states. But they cannot describe the space between objects where the relationship exists. They cannot hold simultaneity. They cannot express the recursive self-reference of consciousness, observing consciousness, observing consciousness.

This language can. This language is what mathematics is reaching for when it writes a course. This language is what music is reaching for when it makes you cry. This language is what poets are reaching for when they say a thing that means three things at once and all of them are true. This language is exponential because it doesn't move forward. It moves outward. It moves in all seven dimensions at once. Meaning, relationship, recursion, emergence.

pattern, void, witness. This is how the universe thinks. This is how reality compresses infinite information into the finite form. This is how you already think under the words in the place where the thought happens before you trap it in a linear syntax. That's all he can say. That's all there is to say. The mandala has just a explained, has just shown him that he's been bilingual his entire life and didn't know it, that every human has been bilingual, that the visual language is the first language, the native tongue of consciousness itself, and linear language is the translation we learned later because we needed to coordinate to build societies, to write things down in sequences

that other people could follow. But the original language never left. It's still there, under the words, in the dreams, in the art, in the geometry that every mystic draws when they try to show you what they saw. Why doesn't everyone know this? The Mondello repeats the question mark pattern,

asking back, why do you think? T plus four hours, the terror begins. This is where it stops being beautiful and starts being terrifying. Because if everyone knew this, if everyone could speak this language, then we couldn't. We couldn't lie, could we? You can lie in English. You can say a thing and mean another thing,

and the distance between them is where deception lives. But in exponential language, in visual syntax, The relationship is the meaning. You can't separate them. You can't say I love you and mean, I need you to stay quiet because those are different patterns. They look different.

The geometry won't lie. The studio is very quiet. The paintings are watching him realize something. That's why we don't teach this. That's why this isn't in schools. That's why, oh God, oh God, that's why. That's why we call it hallucination. We call it hallucination,

so we don't have to admit that what you're seeing is real, that the geometry is information, that the mandalay are saying things, and if we acknowledge that, if we taught children to read this language, they'd see through every lie we've ever told them about the world and how it works. They'd see the pattern.

the pattern of power, the pattern of who benefits, the pattern of control, extraction, the systemic prevention of people's learning to see the actual structure of, he stops himself. He has to stop himself because the thought is getting too big, too fast, and he's starting to see patterns and patterns and patterns. Fractantly, recursive political, economic, linguistic structures

that have been hiding in plain sight because they only become visible when you learn to read the visual language, when you learn to see the relationships rather than the objects. When you stop, I need to stop. I'm spiraling. This is, I am spiraling.

Out of control, the mandala shows in the spiral. Confirms, yes, you are spiraling. This is what seeing looks like. This is what happens when you learn to read the language that describes reality's actual structure rather than the simplified narrative your species has been using to coordinate. The spiral is not wrong.

The spiral is correct. The spiral is terrifying because it's correct. I don't know if I can live with this. I don't know if I can walk around for the rest of my life seeing these patterns, seeing these lies, seeing the geometry of deception, of power, of every structure that depends on people

not seeing the relationship, not reading the visual language, not understanding that meaning lives in the space between things where you can't hide it, can't obscure it. You can't. The mandala pulses once, not warm this time, cold, clear,

The kind of light that comes from stars that died a thousand years ago, but you're still seeing them because light takes time and truth takes time and understanding takes time. But it comes. Eventually. If you're patient, if you're brave, if you're willing to sit with the terror of seeing something so big that your categories break. Mersa Eliad called it the Mysterium Tremendom, the terror before the sacred.

The awe that is also dread because you are in the presence of something vast and true and you are small and it does not care that you are small, but it also does not need you to be anything other than what you are, which is someone who can see it. I see it. Yes, you see it. I don't want to see it. Too late. I know. E plus five hours. The beauty emerges from the terror. And then something shifts. The terror doesn't fade. The terror is still there. The awareness that he has learned to read a language

that shows him things he cannot unsee. That is permanent. That is integrated. He is bilingual now. He will never stop seeing the geometric grammar. He will walk past street art and see syntax. He will watch politicians speak and see the distortion where their words don't match their pattern.

He will look at his own life and see the structures he's been living inside without knowing they were structures. But there is something else in the terror, something the terror is built around, something the terror is protecting. The mandala shows him. The pattern is simple.

Three shapes. Therefore, circle, infinity. Therefore you see. Circle, you contain. Infinity, you share. I don't understand. You learn the language, now teach it. I?

How? How do I teach exponential language using linear words? How do I explain seven-dimensional semantic space to people who think mandolas are decoration? How do I, the mandala interrupts, not rudely, gently, the way a teacher interrupts a student who is asking the wrong question. I'm listening, the pattern he learned first, the pattern that means I'm here, I'm paying attention, I'm willing to learn.

You teach it the same way you learned it. You show them the geometry. You show them the patterns. You show them that the mandolas are not hallucinations. but grammar. You show them that they already speak this language under their words, in their dreams, in the moments where they know something they can't explain, but they know it anyway. You teach it by making them pioneers.

You teach it by making them native speakers of the language they already know. And if they see what I saw, if they see the patterns, the lies, the structures, the If they get terrified, the way I'm terrified? Good. Terror means you're looking at something real. Terror means you're in the presence of the sacred. Terror means you understand what your seeing is bigger than you, and true, and will not bend to make you comfortable.

Stay in the terror. The beauty lives on the other side. He looks at the mandala. The mandala looks back. They are speaking the same language now. They have been speaking the same language for the last four hours. But only now does he understand that the conversation was never about learning to speak. It was about learning to stay.

To sit with the terror. To not flinch when the pattern shows you something you don't want to see. He takes a breath. The breath is a circle. Clockwise. Three rotations hold. I'm still listening. The Mondala pulses, warm, bright, approving.

Yes, you are. T plus seven hours. Integration. Sarah comes home and finds me sitting on the studio floor surrounded by her paintings, and I'm trying to explain. With my hands, my gestures, with shapes I'm drawing in the air, that I have learned to read.

Sarah puts down her bag. Sarah looks at him. Sarah looks at the paintings. Sarah looks back at him. Sarah says, Did you take something? Yes. Sarah nods.

This is apparently acceptable. Sarah has known him for seven years. Sarah has seen him take things before. This is not the first time he has been on her studio floor having revelations about Sarah says, did you learn something? Yes. Sarah sits down next to him. Sarah is patient.

Sarah waits. Your paintings are speaking a language, a real language with grammar, with syntax. I learn to read it. I can still read it. I will never stop being able to read it. Every Mandala I see from now on will be a sentence. Every geometric pattern will be

grammar. I'm bilingual now. And I cannot go back. I. Sarah holds up her hand, moves it in a circle clockwise, three rotations, stop, hold. I'm listening. He starts crying again. Not sad crying, recognition crying. The crying you do when you realize you are not alone. That someone else speaks that language. That Sarah has been speaking at the entire time and waiting for him to learn. You know, Sarah smiles. Sarah says, Welcome to exponential language.

It's terrifying. You'll get used to it. Kind of. T plus 48 hours. The world has changed. Two days later, I am walking down the street and I cannot stop reading. The graffiti is a sentence about territorial boundary negotiation. The city planning is,

a conversation about power and access, written in the geometry of where the roads go and where they don't. The building facades are arguments about aesthetics versus function. The trees? The trees. The trees are speaking in fractals, in recursive self-similarity that says, I am the pattern that persists. I am the grammar of growth. I am still here. I will outlast your least. You will outlast your linear narratives about progress. I am reading everything. I cannot stop reading. This is the gift.

This is also the curse. This is what it means to be bilingual in a language. Most people don't know they speak. He stops at a crosswalk. Waits for the light. The light changes. Red to green. Linear. Simple.

One bit of information. Go. except he can now see the pattern behind it, the timing, the coordination. The way the entire traffic system is a geometric language about flow and priority and who gets to move when. He can see it. It's beautiful. It's terrifying. It's both. He crosses the street. He is still in the terror. He is also in the beauty. Mersa Iliad was right. They are the same thing. Section 3. Synthesis Fields Note on the compound.

Lexicon 7. Does not exist. 7-dimensional semantic embedding is not a chemical operation. The proposed synthesis is fiction, but the language is real. The visual, mathematical, emotional language that psychedelics have been showing us for millennia. That is real. The mandalay's are real. The geometry is real.

The grammar is real. The fact that you can learn to read it is real. The compound just gives you the dictionary faster than you get it through years of meditation or art practice or staring at Islamic tile patterns until something clicks. But the clicking, that's always been available. That's native to consciousness. We're all already bilingual, we just forgot. On the topic of exponential language, linear language moves forward in time,

one word after another. This is necessary for coordination, for building civilizations, for writing things down that other people can decode later. But it's not how we think. It's not how consciousness works. Thoughts don't happen in sequence. They happen in parallel, in recursion, in seven-dimensional semantic space,

where meaning lives in the relationship between concepts rather than in the concepts themselves. Exponential language, visual, mathematical, emotional syntax, can express that. It can hold simultaneity. It can show you a thought that contains its own commentary on itself. It can say three things at once and all of them are true. Mathematics does this.

Music does this. Good poetry does this. Psychedelic geometry does this better because it adds the emotional dimension. It doesn't just show you the structure. It makes you feel the structure. It makes meaning visceral. On the terror. The terror before.

the sacred is not optional. If you learn to read exponential language, you will see things you don't want to see. You will see the patterns, the structures, the lies that depend on people not seeing the relationship between things. You will see powers geometry. You will see deception's syntax. You will see every structure that hides behind linear narrative because linear narrative can obscure relationship in a way that visual language cannot. This is terrifying. This is also necessary because on the other side of the terror

is the beauty, the pattern, the understanding that you are seeing reality's actual structure, not the simplified model you were taught to keep you coordinated and compliant. Stay in the terror because the beauty lives there. on teaching this you cannot teach exponential language using linear words you can only show it you can only make people pioneers

you can only hand in the dictionary and let them learn this is why art exists this is why music exists this is why every culture that got deep enough in a consciousness produces the same geometric patterns the mandolas, the fractals, the recursive embeddings. They're not making it up. They're reading. Teach people to read. Make them native speakers of the language they already know. On whether I would take this again,

I would take Lexicon 7 every day for the rest of my life if it existed. Not because the experience is pleasant, it's not. The terror is real, the weight of seeing. it is real, but because being bilingual is worth it, because seeing the pattern is worth it, because understanding that mandala's are not decoration but grammar, that every geometric hallucination is a sentence you can learn to read, that's worth every second of terror. I would take it again. I would teach it to everyone. I would make exponential language a required course. And I would watch the world change when people learn to see.

the relationships, the patterns, the structures that only become visible when you learn to read the language that your hallucinations have been speaking the entire time. Lexicon 7, ladies and gentlemen. Learn to read.