
So you've figured out you're in a simulation. You've realized the voice in your head is just a script and your body is just an avatar. But now you're sitting there, staring at a lamp, trying to "turn around" and see the code. And you're hitting a wall.
You're not the first one to hit this wall.
Back in 1978, the architect of this whole line of thinking, Philip K. Dick, wrote an essay that basically acts as the source code for everything we're talking about. It's called "How to Build a Universe That Doesn't Fall Apart Two Days Later."
If you read one thing to understand why you can't just unplug, make it this.
Dick starts with a confession: he loves building universes (novels) that fall apart. He likes watching what the characters do when the reality they trust starts dissolving.
Then he drops the bomb. He realized that our reality acts exactly like one of his cheap, paperback universes. It feels thin. Unstable. Like it's held together by duct tape and consensus.
He explains that we're being bombarded by "pseudo-realities." Governments. Corporations. Media. They're constantly manufacturing fake worlds and layering them over your eyes. They want you living in their script. They want you to be a predictable NPC who buys the right things, fears the right enemies, and sleeps through the whole ride.
But here's the thing about fake realities. They're unstable. They tend to "fall apart two days later." And when they crack, you see the glitches.
You know that feeling of deja vu? That sensation of "I have been here before"?
Most people think that's a brain misfire. Dick says no.
He argues that deja vu is a system alert. It happens because the "Programmer" (God, the System, whatever you want to call it) went back into the past and changed a variable. You're remembering the previous timeline while simultaneously living in the new one. It's a merge conflict in the code.
Your brain isn't glitching. The simulation is.
So how do you tell the difference between the fake "Black Iron Prison" and True Reality? How do you know what's real and what's just a projection of the Empire?
Dick gave us the only razor you'll ever need:
"Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away."
Try it right now.
Stop believing in your job title. Does it vanish? Yes. It's a social construct.
Stop believing in your anxiety about the future. Does it dissolve? Eventually. It's a program running on fear.
Stop believing in your past mistakes. Do they exist right now? No. They're memory files.
Now try to stop believing in the Silent Observer behind your eyes. Try to stop believing in the fact that you exist.
You can't. That presence refuses to go away. That is the only real thing in the entire simulation. That is You.
Here's the part that usually breaks people's brains.
Dick suggests that the "Programmer" isn't some distant god sitting on a cloud. He suggests that the Programmer and the Player are entangled. Not separate. Not hierarchical. Tangled together at the root.
We're living in a universe that's "not quite real yet." A chaotic mess still being written. The "Programmer" is slowly transmuting it, bit by bit, into something real. And the moment you wake up, the moment you become "Lucid," you stop being a passive piece of code and start helping with the rewrite.
You become what Dick calls an "Authentic Human." And an Authentic Human is someone who instinctively knows when the simulation is trying to force them to do something wrong, and simply says, "No."
That "No" creates a glitch. That "No" breaks the script. Every single time.
You don't need to physically "disconnect" to find yourself. You just need to apply the test. Strip away everything that requires your belief to exist.
Whatever is left standing in the rubble? That's the Player.
Welcome to the game.