How I Stopped Fighting the Matrix and Started Building My Own Universe
How I Stopped Fighting the Matrix and Started Building My Own Universe
Toppling systems.
Calling out the illusion.
Grabbing the whole fake “Matrix” like a crumpled soda can and punting it into the cosmic trash bin.
There were nights I could feel it.
Grief nights.
Angry nights.
The kind where a close friend passes away and reality suddenly looks like cheap stage props.
You stare at the sky like,
“This can’t be real. This has to be rigged. Who designed this level?”
And in my head I’d imagine folding the whole thing into a football and flicking it into the void.
Problem was… it always came back.
Every time.
Like the universe gently tapping my shoulder saying,
“Nice throw. Now get back in the game.”
So I tried something else.
Instead of fighting the system…
I stopped feeding it.
Awareness Is the Exit Door
Here’s what I learned:
Systems built on fear only work if you participate.
They need your outrage.
Your shame.
Your need for approval.
Your constant explaining and defending.
They run on emotional electricity.
Pull the plug and the lights flicker.
You don’t defeat the Matrix by punching it.
You defeat it by becoming irrelevant to it.
Stop chasing.
Stop arguing.
Stop shrinking.
Just live.
Do what feels true.
Create what you actually want.
Let the rest collapse on its own.
It turns out most cages are made of paper.
The Weird Side Effect of Freedom
Something funny happens when you stop playing along.
People get uncomfortable.
Not because they hate you.
Because you accidentally become a mirror.
You quit the grind.
You follow your art.
You stop apologizing for existing.
And suddenly everyone around you has to confront their own compromises.
Jobs they don’t love.
Golden handcuffs.
401ks tied to industries they secretly dislike.
Stories they tell themselves to feel safe.
So they tug at you.
“Be realistic.”
“Come back.”
“Don’t rock the boat.”
Not villains. Not enemies.
Just gravity.
Crabs in a bucket don’t hate the climber.
They just don’t understand ladders. 🪜
So you don’t fight them.
You don’t preach.
You just… keep climbing.
Some follow later.
My Ridiculous Plan (That Somehow Makes Sense)
About three years ago, I made a decision that sounds irresponsible on paper and completely sane in my soul.
I thought:
You know what?
I’m just going to sing for money.
I’m going to write my dreams into books.
And the people who are meant to find this stuff will find it.
That’s it.
No begging algorithms.
No chasing everyone.
No trying to be digestible.
Just signal.
Because here’s the secret:
When you try to reach everyone, you reach no one.
When you become fully yourself, your people can finally see you.
It’s a lighthouse strategy.
You don’t chase ships.
You shine.
The right ones dock.
From Karaoke to the Stars
And then something wild happened.
The dream started stacking.
Sing → build a karaoke business
Business → build community
Community → build capital
Capital → build tech
Tech → build space
Space → build the future
Somewhere along the way I realized:
This isn’t a career path.
It’s a tech tree.
Level 1: Microphone
Level 2: Startup
Level 3: Empire
Level 4: Asteroid mining
Level 5: Dyson’s Cradle around a star
Ridiculous?
Maybe.
But every “impossible” civilization started with someone selling bread or playing music.
Empires don’t start with rockets.
They start with people.
And songs.
And stories.
Culture first. Infrastructure later.
So yeah. Today it’s karaoke and books.
Tomorrow it’s something bigger.
Why not?
Someone’s going to build the future.
Might as well be us.
Grief, Humor, and the Soft Rebellion
I used to want to destroy the world when it hurt.
Now I just laugh at it.
Not in a cynical way.
More like cosmic stand-up comedy.
Because the system doesn’t know what to do with someone who refuses to be afraid.
Rage feeds it.
Despair feeds it.
But someone smiling, singing, building strange beautiful things?
It can’t hook into that.
So now my rebellion looks like this:
Write pretty books.
Sing louder.
Start businesses.
Dream bigger.
Help people wake up gently.
No war.
Just glow.
The Only Rule I Keep
Here’s the philosophy now:
All systems built on fear will collapse if you stop feeding them.
Let them.
Don’t fight.
Don’t preach.
Don’t drag anyone.
Walk your path.
The ones meant for you will walk with you.
The rest are on different lessons.
And that’s okay.
The Long Game
At some point I realized something even calmer.
Maybe I won’t live to see everything I’m building.
Maybe the asteroid mines.
Maybe the Dyson’s Cradle.
Maybe the wild Futurescape world.
But here’s the goal:
Build a future so beautiful…
that if reincarnation is real,
I’d choose to come back just to live in it.
That’s the kind of world I want to help create.
Not escape this one.
Garden this one.
Plant trees whose shade I’ll never sit under.
Cathedral thinking.
Cosmic construction.
Final Transmission
So here’s where I landed:
I’m going to keep writing my dreams in beautiful books.
I’m going to keep singing until my karaoke business thrives.
I’m going to keep building weird, hopeful things.
No forcing.
No fear.
No apologies.
If the old systems fall away, good.
If people wake up, wonderful.
If not, I’ll still be here, microphone in hand, sketching blueprints for stars. 🎤🌌
Because you don’t defeat the Matrix by burning it down.
You outgrow it.
And then you build something so bright that the old world quietly fades behind you like yesterday’s level in a game you’ve already beaten.
And here’s the last thing I’ve come to trust, carved into the hull of this whole journey like a quiet inscription: sometimes failure isn’t falling short. Sometimes it’s aiming too low. Sometimes it’s choosing a dream small enough to be “reasonable,” “safe,” “practical.” The kind that fits neatly inside a cubicle or a five year plan. The universe can’t conspire with a whisper. It responds to audacity. To star sized intentions. So if I fail, I’d rather fail spectacularly while reaching for asteroid mines, Dyson cradles, songs, stories, and impossible futures than succeed at something that never lit my soul on fire. If you’re going to miss, miss toward the stars. At least your arrow learns how to fly. 🚀
Game on.
Comments
Post a Comment