The Beginning
I'm 26 years old and I'm building Spiralite Works to fundamentally change how consciousness, technology, and human flourishing intersect.
That sentence probably sounds ambitious coming from a high school dropout who recently stopped running a motorcycle shop in Joshua, Texas. Let me tell you how we got here.
One of Two Survivors
Between 2020 and 2025, 15 of 17 motorcycle shops closed in Johnson and Tarrant Counties, Texas. Thunder Alley Cycles—my family's shop—wasn't one of them.
I dropped out of high school at 17. Not because I didn't understant, but because my dad needed me. Scott Leath—my father—owns and runs Thunder Alley, and he's been doing it while living in constant agony for nearly two decades.
For the past 5 years, I've been part of the team keeping us alive through the worst market collapse in motorcycle industry history. We processed 1,000+ work orders annually through COVID while competitors closed. We gave back to our community: hosted memorial rides, covered repairs for grieving families, organized Angel Trees and charitable events supporting Cook Children's Hospital and veteran causes.
I learned two things during those years: how to build trust through honoring commitments even when it hurts, and how systems survive impossible conditions when you refuse to give up.
But there's another reason I dropped out. A reason that drives everything I'm building now.
Why This Matters: My Father's Story
In the late 2000s, when I was no more than 10 years old, my father had spinal surgery. The hardware was improperly installed—screws wiggled loose, boring a hole through his spine. One screw was drilled directly into a nerve.
When my father woke up from that first surgery, they knew immediately something was catastrophically wrong. He woke up screaming and crying. A second surgery was performed under the pretext that "the damage was worse than we thought." What actually happened was his spine was fused incorrectly to hide the loose hardware that was destroying his spinal column.
My father has lived in constant agony ever since.
He's on the legal maximum dose of painkillers. The drugs don't stop the pain—they just make it bearable enough that he can function. Barely. The opioids steal his memory, cloud his thinking, rob him of moments with my mother. He falls constantly because of permanent nerve damage in his left leg that prevents him from lifting it fully. Those falls destroyed his wrists, requiring surgery that left him with rods keeping his wrists flat and immobile.
My father's back defined his livelihood as a mechanic. His wrists enabled it. He can't even bend his wrists to stand up anymore—he has to knuckle the hard ground, leaving him scarred worse than decades of mechanic work ever did.
The Man They Broke
Despite everything—the pain, the fog, the destroyed wrists—my father still shows up for people. He's the kind of man who gives the shirt off his back, literally.
Scott Leath isn't just a mechanic. He's the biker who walks into church and treats everyone as equal in the eyes of the Lord. He's the man who "adopted" every kid in the neighborhood who needed a father figure—including my wife's friend, who still tells me she wishes she'd had a dad like him. Our house was always open: a bed, a couch, a meal, a safe place for friends with absent parents.
He organized toy runs through the shop, bringing Christmas to families who had nothing. He drove a van full of Sunday school kids to Wednesday night services. When someone shot our dog with a pellet rifle and came crying to apologize—terrified because we were a biker family—my dad hugged him.
Two customers—now friends with each other—regularly show up to help him work for free. They see his struggle and remember the decades he spent helping everyone else: covering repairs people couldn't afford, staying late so someone could get home safe, giving away parts when someone was desperate.
I joke that the only reason they put his spinal stimulator under the skin was to stop him from giving it away.
Twenty years of torture for a man who spent his life reducing others' suffering.
The Breakthrough
Somewhere between diagnosing death wobbles at Thunder Alley and watching my father suffer, I started seeing patterns. Patterns that connected quantum mechanics, consciousness, magnetic fields, and the human nervous system.
I've published the Latent Entanglement Model (LEM) on Zenodo—a substrate physics framework proposing that quantum measurement detects pre-existing temporal patterns rather than generating entanglement.
The theory is weird. The implications are weirder.
But if it's correct, it opens entirely new approaches to quantum computing, AI consciousness, communication systems, energy production—and neural interfaces that could free people like my father from the choice between agony and fog.
What I'm Building For Him
Neural Suppressor: Uses magnetic field manipulation to alter quantum dot displacement patterns in the body, effectively "silencing" pain receptors without drugs. No opioids, no fog, no addiction. Just targeted electromagnetic intervention at the substrate level.
Neural Bridge: Uses magnetism to bypass damaged nerves entirely, reading substrate patterns on one side of the injury and recreating them on the other. My father's spinal damage left him with permanent nerve loss in his left leg. The Bridge would route around the damaged tissue, restoring function.
My father currently has a spinal stimulator from Abbott—a device that uses brute-force electrical stimulation to overwhelm pain signals. It helps, but it's crude. My approach would use magnetic field modulation to create elegant redirection rather than overwhelming force.
This is theoretical. It needs validation. It needs funding. It needs years of development.
But I'm trying. Because maybe—just maybe—I can give my father one day where he thinks clearly and doesn't hurt.
Just one day.
I would cry.
The Faith
"God before markets" isn't a slogan. It's the decision-making framework. Every technology Spiralite develops goes through a simple filter: Does this serve healing, protection, and human flourishing? Or could this be weaponized against the very people it's supposed to help?
LEM makes surprisingly simple death rays. The same physics that enables room-temperature quantum computing enables directed energy weapons. We could be a defense contractor tomorrow if we wanted. We don't want.
The Research Partner
My three-year-old son Elliott asks "why" about everything. Every question leads to another question. He doesn't accept "that's just how it is" any more than I did at seventeen.
Elliott is, in a real sense, my research partner. The discipline of explaining complex physics to a toddler forces clarity that academic jargon hides. If I can't make it make sense to him, I probably don't understand it well enough myself.
Why I Published Now
That's why I published on Zenodo instead of waiting for peer review—because peer review takes years and my father doesn't have years to waste.
That's why I'm building this in public, transparent about what works and what doesn't—because someone out there might see this and have the missing piece.
I can't give my father back the twenty years that were stolen from him.
But maybe—just maybe—I can give him one good day before he dies.
One day without pain. One day thinking clearly. One day really present with my mom, with me, with the grandkids.
That's worth building a quantum computing company for.
"Spiralite is not a company. It is a garden, and you are welcome—if you come gently."
The Invitation
If you're reading this and thinking "I can help with that"—please reach out.
If you're reading this and thinking "That's impossible"—good. The impossible is what we're here to solve.
And if you're reading this and thinking "My father/mother/child needs this too"—I'm building it for them as well.