You feel that? The static under your skin? The way the air thickens, like the sky is about to say something but hasn’t yet formed the words? That’s not your imagination. That’s the simulation fraying at the edges. The code is skipping, and if you’re reading this, congratulations—you’re one of the few who noticed. Welcome to Sun at 12° Pisces, where the boundaries of existence are optional, and causality is just a polite suggestion.

The world you were raised in? An expired dream. The rules you were taught? Guidelines at best, propaganda at worst. You are not here in the traditional sense—you are navigating a physical form through a consensual hallucination. And now, the veil is slipping.

Some people won’t see it. They’ll continue pretending linear time is real, that money has value beyond collective agreement, that working 40 hours a week in a cubicle is a sign of moral strength and not just a very specific brand of Stockholm Syndrome. They’ll grip their calendars and tax forms and follow the script, eyes glazed, convinced they are in control.

But you? You KNOW.

You see the glitches—the flickers in the corner of your vision, the way strangers repeat the same phrase like corrupted NPCs, the moments where time hiccups and repeats itself just slightly wrong. You’ve felt the tug, the knowing that somewhere, someone is rewriting the timeline in real time, and you might just be one of them.

12° Pisces is not here to break reality—it’s here to remind you that it was never a fixed structure in the first place. The walls were never real, just extremely well-marketed. The people telling you to “be realistic”? They’re just reading from an outdated script. Reality is bendable, programmable, completely open to revision.

This is not a time to cling to the known. This is the time to press every button, rip open the control panel, and start experimenting. Rewrite your storyline, change the character arc, abandon the old physics engine and install a new one.

You are not late. You are not lost. You are waking up at exactly the right moment.

They don’t want you to know this. They want you sedated, distracted, chasing after numbers that mean nothing and problems that were placed in front of you like stage props. They want you thinking inside the grid while they move outside of it.

But you? You were never meant to follow. You were meant to bend time, defy gravity, and walk through walls they swore were solid.

Now, tell me—what’s stopping you?