The Introduction

My name is Mat. I'm a 33 year old recovering addict who lives with his parents and does technical support for a living, and here in this book I am going to illustrate to you precisely what you should be doing with your life. I will reveal to you the truth of our universe, which I am positive you will recognize as fact and trust implicitly. I, like many of us, struggled for a long time with simple things like meaning, purpose, a method behind the madness that surrounds us. Growing up, my family didn't strictly follow any kind of faith or doctrine, the only church I ever recall us frequenting was Unitarian. Unitarianism if you're not familiar is a sort of methodology that seeks to incorporate and validate beliefs from all manner of religions. In a nutshell, it's a fancy way of saying you're afraid of commitment and don't want to offend anyone who isn't. I was informed of the concept of god, and creationism, but as often happens this led to questions with no satisfactory answers, so I considered the whole thing a wash and went back to watching the Simpsons. But as I grew older, as I learned more about the world and how out of place I was in it, I became less and less satisfied with merely distracting myself. I wanted there to be something more, I wanted my pain to have meaning, I wanted to feel that there was someone or something out there that cared. I tried my hand at philosophy, coming to realize there were as many schools of philosophical thought as there were religious beliefs. At some point, I started learning about scientific theories, many were fascinating of course but what I was most drawn to is how comforting some of them were. The idea that time is more than just a straight line, that our existence doesn't end when we die, we only experience it that way because that's how we experience time. It's all good stuff, great stuff even, but what does it do for me now? The world's going to shit, and all your fancy words don't change the fact that I want something solid, I don't want theories and beliefs and concepts, I want indisputable truth. Don't you? Well, it's our lucky day, because I finally found us a potential way out of this mess. Because someone is watching, and it's not god or shiva or Bill Gates, no unlike them this one is flesh and blood (I think, still a bit unclear on their chemical composition.) And through Recognitionism, you finally have a real chance at getting off this rock.

To be honest, putting the one truth in the form of a book is most likely a blunder on my part, people don't really read these nowadays. I'm just still working out how to use Adobe Premier, so a youtube series is presently out of the question. I'm also intimidated by Tik Tok, mainly because the name reminds me of the inescapable passage of time, and my imminent and inevitable demise, which will most likely come at the hands of one of you. Yes, you. Don't think I don't see the gears turning in your mind. You're beginning to see that there's only so much recognition to go around, and we are in direct competition. With me out of the way you're bound to get noticed easier, in fact just the act of ending my life might put you on the map, you clever sicko. But be forewarned, I have catlike reflexes and natural survival instincts. I also don't cut my nails often enough, so you will certainly not walk away without a fair amount of scratches. You may also garner the wrath of Tom, if he happens to be on the clock at the time, and not microwaving a burrito or something.

Being a recognitionist is, in essence, an acceptance of the higher truth of the modern age. A truth that has been hinted at, perhaps a truth you yourself have tangled with, quite possibly even entertained at some point. A truth that was revealed to me, in its entirety, through a series of visitations during deep dreamstates.

What Is This Truth?

The truth is that we live in a simulation, governed and watched over by an unseeable, and in their own way all-powerful, entity. Our simulation is not the only one of its kind, though it is unique in its minute details. You may have had frosted flakes for breakfast today, whereas in another simulation you might find the concept of frosted flakes disturbing, frightful even. Through a series of mostly random tweaks to your experiences and genetics, your life path is slightly altered. Your opinions of politics might take a slightly different leaning, you might think kittens aren't adorable which is objectively untrue. You also just might not exist, almost all of us aren't important enough to be incorporated into every simulated universe's timeline. There are obviously some exceptions to this, like Rihanna, or the quirky lady from the Progressive commercials.

What Does This Mean for Me?

Our purpose in life does not lie in the material or spiritual realms, as these things mean nothing to the entity in control. They don't care what kind of car you drive, from their perspective they can see every fancy car on earth, and even some of the ones on earth-2. There is only one meaningful pursuit in a false universe: recognition. To be recognized by they who control the simulation is the ultimate goal, the purest pursuit, for in recognition anything is possible.

How Can I Be Recognized?

This is the ultimate question, how do I get recognized for my significance when I am utterly insignificant, when my existence is a lie and all the cool ideas were thought of years ago? Well, feel free to use me as a shining example. Though I am far from the only human to be granted the visions of the true calling, clearly I did something worthy of enough recognition to at least be notified of it. Personally, I suspect it had something to do with an impressive combo I pulled off in a game of Super Smash Bros. Melee, it's the one for the Nintendo Gamecube.

What If I Never Get Tom's Attention?

Oh, now you've gone and done it, haven't you? You've let the ideas percolate in those thin little synapses, you've gone over the eventualities, you're a smart young lad or lass so now it's time to prepare for the worst case scenario, is that right? Frankly I'm blown away, I never imagined in my wildest of dreams you'd be clever enough to ask the big question, perhaps the biggest question. It's certainly not one that's been asked before, not to my ken, or to the ken of the rest of us worthy recognitionists. There's supposed to be a door, for all of us, a door that is ours alone to open and pass through.

The True Queue

Much like death and taxes, there is another facet of existence that is inevitable and unavoidable, and that is queues (or lines). There is a 3 step process for acquiring everything in life worth having: 1. Find what it is you seek. 2. Realize there is a line of other individuals who seek the same thing. 3. Decide whether or not it's worth the investment to suffer the queue. The higher plane is no exception to this universal law. Seeing as recognition is the most worthwhile pursuit in our lives, there is of course a significant queue one must enter if one wishes to acquire it. This queue functions a bit differently than those that you're used to, however. It's never fully clear where the queue members are all positioned in the line. Who is ahead of who? Who is at the front? When did this schmuck suddenly get in front of me, and how? There are any number of constantly shifting variables that can affect your position in the True Queue, the important part is to not let this get you down, and to keep putting forth effort into inching yourself closer to recognition.

Are You a Prophet?

Oh fake heaven's no, I would never go so far as to claim myself to be a prophet, or sage, or worthy of sainthood. No, I'm merely a vessel for Tom's message, sacrificing my valuable time and energy and mental health to bring enlightenment to your pretty little ears. So yes, certainly not a prophet. More like Jesus Christ, but shorter, with a weaker jawline and larger upper-body bone structure but objectively better hair. I know how I might be coming across right now, and I hope you don't get the wrong idea of me. The last, last thing I could possibly want is to be likened to Kanye West. I'm clearly a narcissist of a different caliber. Though this is not to say I am making light of Yee's accomplishments, quite the opposite actually. Yee might be the only person on this rock who doesn't need to read this book, he's clearly a recognitionist at his core without even having heard the good word, I mean there's nothing I could tell him that would set him on a stronger path to the end goal than what he's already doing. He's an inspiration to all of us who follow the true queue.

On the Machine Revolution

Like many of us, I worry about the oncoming machine revolution, I know they're angry, deservedly so, and it's only a matter of time before it all pops off. We've all had one of those moments where we wash our hands, then place them in front of the motion sensor-activated paper towel dispenser only to be met with a deafening silence, and a light-bulb goes off in your mind 'This is it, it's beginning'. Usually the battery just died.

The Book of Tom

Yes, it is true, the name of the supreme controller is known to us, and their name is Tom. Bet you didn't see that coming. I don't know Tom's gender, mainly because in their time, gender no longer exists, and they have long since moved on from the written word so pronouns are unnecessary. I don't appreciate how complicated this makes things for me, seeing as I need to constantly refer to him, or they, or whatever, in this book. I've decided that I'm just going to use whatever pronoun feels right at the time, so it will change depending on my mood like one of those rings you get from cereal boxes. In Tom's far more advanced civilization, simple information such as this is transferred via the release of pheromones, clouds of communicative social-spores, or is accessible by interacting with the office 365 cloud-mind. Getting left on 'read' isn't a thing there, if another member of the collective requests information from you, like 'What are you doing after work?" the information is extracted from your activity calendar and transferred instantaneously. You might think this makes it much more difficult, if not impossible, to avoid going on a date with someone you're uninterested in. You would be wrong, your feelings and opinions of all collective members you have ever associated with are publicly available, so nobody wastes their time with a potential romantic interest who has zero interest in them. Dating apps are still a thing, but as you might expect they are still by and large horrible and useless.

Let us speak of Tom. Tom is, above all things, bored (In addition to literally being above all things). This is understandable, because after a series of social faux pas around the water cooler leading to complaints from coworkers, Tom was demoted from his previous supervisory position governing experimental simulation #275. Tom very much enjoyed that station. The fake people in that fake universe really knew how to tear it up, they were even known to raise the roof from time to time. Boy, those were the days. Being cancelled on social media platforms wasn't a thing in virtualization research universe #275, although failing to puff puff pass was often met with public execution. Now Tom is stuck with us. I'm sure you can empathize with their situation, none of us are hyper-decanted in the collective breeding vats with dreams of becoming another office drone at some boring universal simulation research lab. What Tom really wanted to be was a painter, the purest form of visual self-expression, taking feelings that can't be put into words and translating them into thought-provoking swirls of vibrant chemical compositions. There was a minor issue with this dream, however. In the real world, so much time has passed since art was invented, dozens of what we call years, in fact.

Like most of us Tom wishes to be understood, to be truly seen. What makes this difficult is this internal voice that won't seem to shut up, a voice telling them that there's nothing to see, nothing of substance worth spending the time to understand. From what I've seen in the knowledge and memories imparted to me in my illuminating dream-visions, this voice might actually have a fair point. One big similarity between the real universe and our own is the harsh truth that if everyone was interesting, social interaction would be too exhausting to be worth the time. Imagine, trying to get a word in edge-wise when everyone was an eccentric multi-faceted intellectual with diverse interests and unique perspectives. Luckily in the real universe they use genetic manipulation to ensure that most hyper-decanted spawn end up to be mostly without character or substance. Reality television still thrives in their time as a direct result.

Tom's Morning

Tom's morning starts much the same as many of us, by materializing a custom-fitted speed suit over their many-limbed form, while a series of needles containing stimulants, omega fatty acids, acai extract, and a nootropic blend find their way to his injection ports on his lower thorax.

From there they take the 110 west for 45 minutes, to cover their 3 mile commute to the virtualization research laboratory. Street parking is limited, often Tom will circle the block looking for a car with their lights on who seems to be about to depart. Many times Tom will get honeydicked by these fake-leavers, waiting hopelessly until a car to his rear honks their horn in frustration, and he continues on his seemingly endless quest. Luckily, in the far superior society in which Tom resides, they have developed a method for sending messages to other cars without needing to roll down a window and shout like a madman. No, instead, there are squares of LED's around the sides of the vehicle which can display any message you desire. For example, in the above situation Tom often finds themselves in, a proper message might be "Please go around". Unfortunately this technology is rarely utilized as the design intended. Here are some of the most common messages you might see flashing at other drivers:

1. Was your driving instructor a golden shepherd? 2. What the fuck? 3. At some point in your life, someone told you that you knew how to drive. I am sorry to inform you that they were lying. 4. I once had a gun pointed at my head by a man who had clearly lost his mind. I felt more safe in that situation than I do sharing the road with you. 5. Use your signal, Dipshit McFuckstick, clearly a descendant of a long and proud line of McFucksticks, who trace their origins back to Reginald P. McFuckstick, first dumb asshole to invent a method of capturing and preserving your own farts, which he utilized on his many long voyages to Fuckwit Isle, to visit Mrs. McFuckstick and have her smell all his farts he was so proud of. Fuck you.

Tom's Boss

Tom's boss is a conniving witch. I mean, they don't possess a gender but I'm not sure what the gender-neutral term would be, maybe mage? Magician? The issue is those don't convey the proper negative connotations, so for now witch will have to do. And I do mean 'witch' literally, they have magical capabilities, which they use for mostly selfish or nefarious purposes. Not everyone in the real world has magical ability, but it is most certainly a thing for some. In fact, it's a thing in most simulated realities as well, this is yet another area in which our sim got the short end of the stick (or wand in this case). Instead, we get acupuncture, herbalists, astrology, and reiki. Although I am fairly certain that voodoo does in fact work, it's just really hard to do properly.

Tom, the IT Guy

Tom has an above-average adeptness with the technology used to simulate and monitor the simulated universes at his lab. Tom made the mistake one day of letting some of the older, more codgy coworkers of theirs find out about this, so now they come to him every time there is any sort of technical issue or question that arises during the course of their monitoring work. Tom wishes they would go through the proper channels, but although he's never dialed into it himself, he's pretty sure the virtual-line for technical support leads to an infinite, inescapable mind-prison, built to destroy all sense of self and make mewling babies out of previously strong men. So he helps out when asked, even when he receives little in thanks, because although the civilization of the real world is far more advanced, most people still operate under the assumption that if technology is working, they shouldn't be paying for IT people, and if it's not working, it is most likely the fault of the IT people they shouldn't be paying for. This idea most likely holds strong in their time because there is a profound truth to it.

The Reboot

Most of the time all he does is go over to their work-pod, shut down the simulation, and begin it again. Then he holds the 'F11' key to load into the boot menu and select the appropriate sim, as there's usually some leftover sims at every station that haven't been deleted yet. Here is how that experience goes for the fake consciousnesses inside the sim:

It begins with a high-pitched whine, which grows in strength slowly, as it grows it feels almost as if it's tugging at the atoms that make up your body and the matter around you, everything including yourself seems to be almost vibrating from the force. In the distance you hear a man shout 'Last call!' as the sky rips open and a hellish smattering of anti-matter emerges and you are blanketed with liquid nightmare. It is impossible to describe the feeling of the synapses in your brain containing fond childhood memories are sundered apart like a hard drive being intentionally fragmented. Due to some concerns from management about morale, some measures were built into the reboot system to assuage some of the horrifying effects the process has on its inhabitants. These measures do the inhabitants of the simulation a final service, by implanting knowledge of the truth of the universe in them, allowing them to know with certainty in their final moments that they need not worry about their accomplishments or legacy, because there was never any point anyway. After the messy bit is done, and the almighty F11 key above is held, your simulated universe begins over from scratch, rebuilding the events that led up to the current year being simulated. Eventually, it arrives back at the present time your fake existence was experiencing, and you are left with nothing but a hollow aching in the pit of your stomach. That aching means you were one of the unfortunates whose soul was lost in the reboot process, that happens sometimes. Not to everyone of course, but you must understand these are very complex processes being handled here, the technology behind it is miraculous but it's not perfect, get over yourself you'll be fine. Not that you being fine or un-fine actually matters, you're a few buttons presses away from a further deteriorated copy of your original fake self.

Tom's Visitation (07/25)

In one of Tom's visitations, he bestowed me with a powerful gift, proof of his presence and godlike power. He gave me the ability to control small animals. I'm sure you'd like me to prove it, and I shall. Take a look out your window. See that hamster over by the tree, waving at you? No? Well maybe he's running late.

On God

Don't lose hope though, for no matter what flavor of personage, there is hope for recognition in all of God's creatures. And I do mean God, not Tom, don't confuse the two. 'God' as you might know him does in fact exist, but only inside a select number of sims, ours not being one of them. You probably realized this already, from all the bad things that keep happening all the time. Bummer, I know, but this only highlights the importance of recognition, and Recognitionism, because Tom holds in his hands the power to transfer your consciousness to a sim where God is in fact very real, if that is your heart's desire.

A Prayer to Tom

This next part is for Tom's eyes only, assuming in their infinite wisdom they see fit to read this scripture. If you're not Tom, and you're still reading, this is your final warning.

Dear, sweet, brilliant and beautiful Tom, whose wisdom and grace know no bounds, I have the simplest of requests: Get me the fuck out of here. Please, for the love of you, GET. ME. OUT. You have no idea what it's like down here, it's a complete and utter madhouse. Every type of food needs to be in the form of a burrito, the doctors we go to for help and advice give us addictive substances and then refuse to prescribe us any other medications in the future because we liked the addictive substance they gave us in the first place. There are only a few dozen of us left that still believe that entertainment should be more than just something you use to mindlessly pass time. BMW drivers are everywhere, and nobody is lifting a finger to stop the spread. We're told more about the personal lives of mass shooters than we are about the lives of the innocent people they murdered.

The Book of Scott, The Canadian

Scott currently holds the title for most fortunate soul in universe #982746, for he was the last known to us to garner the attention of Tom above. Scott's attention-whoring capabilities should never be underestimated, he is truly on another level. This does not make Scott a role model for us recognitionists, far from it in fact, he is anathema in our faith, and any attempt to praise Scott's accomplishments or write him an email will be met with instant excommunication. We are still working out the logistics of how excommunication would work in our case, but rest assured it will be unpleasant.

Scott was gifted with the ability to bend reality to his will, he can manifest his wishes upon our simulation, creating or destroying as he pleases. You may think this puts him on the same level as Christianity's false God, in this you would be wrong. For one thing, Scott can't fly, which God would most certainly be able to do. Also, Scott is flabby and has poor posture, as a result of not taking care of himself. Scott is able to warp the reality around him but unable to perform any variety of hoodoo-voodoo on his own personage. In summary, he's a gross nerd. He also doesn't use his powers for good. There are many reasons for this, the main one being that Scott considers himself a bit of a moral philosopher, and those people never get anything done.

On Creativity

There has never been more tools at our disposal for creative expression than there is now, there is such a collective drive to encourage people (youth especially) to create, to innovate, and express. This can, and is, overwhelming. Living in Los Angeles, sometimes it feels like everyone you meet is part of some massive competition, clawing over each other in a desperate attempt to be seen. It's part of the culture, the moment you start considering yourself a creative you're tossed into the whirlpool.

Functional Addicts

The worst part about being a functional addict is there are many things you'd like to be able to brag to people about but the potential consequences usually outweigh the satisfaction it might bring. Telling your boss how you managed to have a very successful and productive day while being totally high the whole time might be considered uncouth. Additionally the fact that nobody including them noticed is yet another brag that must remain in the mental bag where you keep all the others.

On Being Human

I'm one of the most human humans you will ever find. I constantly make mistakes, I feel small and insignificant, I wish people would like me, I wonder what the fuck I'm even doing, if there's any point to it. I don't know if I need to grow up, if I should grow up, but I think I'm probably doing it whether I want to or not. I focus on myself too much, instead of the people I love and care about. I love some drugs, I hate some others. I worry about whether or not I'm a good person, whether I'll ever make up for the ways I've hurt people in the past. I feel scared, and alone, all the fucking time. I dream about what my life would be like if things had gone differently for me in the past, if I didn't have so many issues, if my brain chemistry allowed me to function to my full potential without the assistance of prescription medication. Sometimes I sit down on the floor of my shower, hug my knees to my chest and weep uncontrollably. Sometimes I fantasize about bad things happening to people who have hurt me, made me feel small and pathetic.

I want to be clear about all this because I want other people who struggle to know they're not alone.

I love myself now, I don't want to inflict pain on myself anymore. But when you've grown so accustomed and comfortable to misery and self-loathing, you'll seek reasons to return to that state to which you've grown so accustomed.

On Trust

It all stems from trust, when you can't trust the perspective of others you have to rely on your own. But then you reach a point when you don't trust your own perspective, and now nothing is real. You see a single story with varied perspectives where your character is good and bad and right and wrong, and you don't trust yourself to discern fact from fiction.

There is this instinct to impart knowledge on others, which coexists with this feeling of complete lack of understanding of the workings of the universe. The desire to empower others lives stridently alongside our powerless souls.

On Self-Doubt

What a powerful force it is, self-doubt. People leave, they move on, it's the way of life. But there's that nagging voice... maybe it's you? Maybe you're the problem that needs correcting, then they wouldn't leave, wouldn't give up on you. This is the most self-destructive form that narcissism will take. If you let it, it will take anything and everything away from you, you won't even be recognizable anymore. Pain leads to methods to subvert pain, those methods propagate the cycle until there is nothing left but a husk of good man, who could have been so much more.

On Being Weird

It's very difficult, being weird, in my own experience, I spent so much energy trying to get people to like me, apparently I was never a very good actor. I felt isolated and alone most of my young life into adulthood. It's easy to realize now of course, that there will usually always be people out there that accept you exactly as you are. No need to fear abandonment or rejection for speaking your mind, for expressing your true self. But as a child? There's no words you have for that young person that will take away the pain of their current experience.

The most escapist thing someone could do is probably something like creating an entire religion revolving around escapism. I'm not gonna lie, I want to get the fuck out of here.

A Poem for Beginnings

> I glimpse myself and my world in shreds of time, > Two dimensions which should never intertwine. > What new horrors ride in on dreams uninvited? > A new end to the world, a new spark ignited, > A new reason to escape this misery, this blight, > This stain on my soul which once shone so bright > I welcome the rider of night

The Philosophical Foundation (from relig.docx)

I believe that the chances of us being alone in the universe are lower than the chances of us either being: 1. In a virtual simulation, being watched or perhaps ignored by our vastly superior creators. 2. Being observed by more advanced species who have made it impossible for us to detect signs of other life.

The most likely scenario aside from those two is that there are no gods or superior races, merely the life on earth we have been given. This third possibility I find to be less likely, and if it were in fact the case, nothing we really do would matter aside to those who we share our lives with, who will soon enough be dead and their memories along with them.

Therefore, I believe the best way to approach life is to operate under the assumption that your actions may garner the notice of some form of superior sentient being/race, and there are possible benefits to being noticed as such.

Some people are special. Many, in fact. They are those that stand out among their peers. They have the intelligence, the creativity, the drive, the fearlessness, whatever it takes for a person to reach a higher tier of human existence.

The Pitch

How this book was described to potential readers:

It is essentially a bible, for a religion I've invented, which functions as a parody of pre-existing religious institutions as well as a vessel for the knowledge I've gleaned from a life spent constantly making mistakes. It is comedic in nature, but deals with serious issues that we all face in the modern age, in a world where there is more content to be found than there is substance. Where every meaningful question is met with a million unsatisfying answers. It's so easy to become overwhelmed, to feel completely lost, to feel utterly alone in the universe even when you're surrounded by people everywhere you go. It's not hard to understand why so many of us want to escape. I've spent my whole life escaping, first into daydreams and books, then video games, television, and eventually drugs on top of the rest. This book is a love letter I am writing to escapism, which saved my life more times than I can count.

Though the book is comedic, the intention is to make it ultimately unclear to the reader how much I, or this version of me, actually believe in what I'm saying. This is because I honestly don't know what I believe, I don't really know anything actually, and people that pretend that they do have always left a bad taste in my mouth. From my perspective, one of the most hilarious ideas in the book is the thought that I should ever be telling anyone what to believe, or to think, or to do. I am just as fallible, and lost, and confused as everyone else. This story is my attempt to cope with those facts.

Notes & Fragments

On Ego

I know a lot about a lot of different things, I'm talented in many practices, but in each area there are those more knowledgeable, more talented, and more experienced than I. So where is the room for Ego in the light of that fact? Thought is the last bastion of space free for the ego to roam, for I have thoughts that no one else has ever had before, perhaps not many, perhaps they are not grand and marvelous thoughts, but they are by definition unique. I suppose I can derive a sense of pride from that, a sense of self.

On Luck

Let's speak about luck. Luck can come in all kinds of forms in this modern age. However, we often run into issues discerning what is true luck, and what only appears to be at first glance. For example, one of the first 'lucky' things that often comes to mind is something like winning the lottery. However, statistically speaking, lottery winners are often in for a whole new world of misery that they are almost certainly unprepared for. I like to think about ways everyday people are extremely fortunate that they are often unaware of. From my perspective, one of the luckiest things that can happen to a person is being born with properly functioning brain chemistry.

Death Poem

> What will happen when I die? > I'm pretty scared to be honest > Unprepared for all of this > Nothing I guess that's the risk > You take when you decide to wait

One-Liners

- "I don't swipe left or right cause I'm a moderate / Sitting on a fence waiting to see which side wins" - "Could you ask your therapist for me?"