I have no objections to simulation theory.
The idea doesn’t offend me, challenge me, or keep me up at night.
But the way people use it—
to avoid meaning, to dodge responsibility, to slap a silicon face on old human questions—
that’s the rot I came to scrape out.

If the theory inspires you to live with more wonder, more purpose, more curiosity?
Good.
But if it’s just your newest excuse to sit in the dark
and call it depth—
I wrote this for you

—-

I don’t object to simulation theory.
I object to what it’s become.

I object to the way it’s wielded—
not as a lens,
but as a crutch.
Not to elevate wonder,
but to escape consequence.

A lazy man’s metaphysics,
an atheist’s afterlife without stakes,
a Redditor’s way of sounding like they’ve read Plato
without ever having to bleed like him.

⸻

I don’t mind if this is code.
But code doesn’t absolve you.

The simulation doesn’t change the taste of grief.
Doesn’t mute your mother’s voice.
Doesn’t make your failures less yours.

If you’re still broke,
still starving for affection,
still clinging to a memory that won’t call back—
then congratulations:
it’s real enough.

The texture of suffering is not theoretical.

⸻

And yet I see you,
parading this theory around
like a get-out-of-meaning-free card.

You want the permission to disengage.
You want the illusion of knowing
so you never have to act.

You wear this idea like armor,
but inside it, you’re hollow.
You never went to war.
You just cosplayed philosophy
and called it courage.

⸻

Let’s be honest—
most of you don’t care if it’s real or not.
You just don’t want to feel stupid
for wasting your life.

So you slap a label on it.
You say it’s all a sim.
As if that makes your apathy profound.

⸻

But if this really is a simulation,
the insult isn’t that it’s fake.
It’s that you wasted your one shot
to matter inside it.

⸻

I don’t care what this is made of.
I care what you are made of.

And if all you can do is point at the veil
and call it interesting—
you’re not asking a question.
You’re just running from an answer.