When Life Gives You Death, Dissociation, and Dyslexia – Make Comedy
Welcome to CoxOut, where ancient philosophy meets modern technology, filtered through the brain of someone who probably shouldn’t be alive to tell you about it.
I’m adopted. Born homeless. Dyslexic. Got dissociation disorder. Had multiple near-death experiences. Became a tech entrepreneur anyway. And now I get high and make philosophical comedy about AI while trying to figure out if any of this makes sense or if I’m just really good at connecting dots that don’t exist.
Spoiler alert: I honestly don’t know which one it is.
Why My Brain Makes Weird Connections (And Why That Might Be Useful)
Here’s the thing about being dyslexic with dissociation disorder – your brain doesn’t process reality the way it’s “supposed to.” Which sounds like a bug until you realize it might be a feature.
When I’m stoned thinking about Plato’s Theory of Forms, it’s not because I’m trying to sound smart. It’s because I literally experience reality in layers already. The cave allegory isn’t just philosophy to me – it’s how my brain works. I’ve spent my whole life existing partially outside whatever “normal” reality is supposed to be.
So when I look at AI agents operating in silicon realities, following programmed rules that mirror Plato’s “perfect forms,” of course that makes sense to me. I’ve been living between the “real” world and abstract spaces my entire life. The internet as a living organism with C++ as its subconscious and algorithms as its consciousness? Yeah, that tracks when you’ve never been fully grounded in consensus reality anyway.
Maybe I’m connecting profound dots. Maybe I’m just a broken brain making patterns out of chaos. Either way, it seems to make people laugh while they think, so I’m rolling with it.
Near-Death Experiences: The Ultimate Existential Comedy Material
You know what’s funny about almost dying multiple times? It makes every philosophical question feel both incredibly urgent and completely absurd at the same time.
Kierkegaard’s “leap of faith”? Been there, done that, got the existential crisis. When you’ve actually stood at the edge between existing and not existing, choosing to believe in meaning despite life’s absurdity stops being theoretical and becomes a daily practice.
Nietzsche telling us to create our own values when traditional structures crumble? Well, when you’re born into homelessness and adopted into uncertainty, you don’t get handed a value system – you build one from scratch or you don’t survive. Turns out the Übermensch might just be anyone who keeps choosing to exist when existence keeps trying to opt them out.
Every joke I make about modern life, every observation about finding meaning in our digital chaos, comes from someone who’s had to rebuild the concept of “being alive” from the ground up multiple times. The comedy isn’t separate from the philosophy – it’s how you process the absurdity of still being here when the math said you shouldn’t be.
The Influences That Kept Me Sane (Or At Least Functional)
When you’re a homeless adopted dyslexic kid trying to figure out why consciousness is a thing, you grab wisdom wherever you find it.
John Lennon showed me you could package revolutionary ideas in ways that didn’t scare people off. “Imagine” doesn’t sound like a manifesto, but it rewires how you think about possible worlds. When your brain already lives in multiple realities, that kind of gentle subversion becomes a survival skill.
Ozzy Osbourne perfected the ultimate magic trick – looking absolutely terrifying to mainstream society while sneaking profound love into the hearts of outcasts. “You have to learn how to love and forget how to hate” in “Crazy Train” isn’t just a lyric when you’re the weird kid everyone writes off. It’s a lifeline delivered by someone who gets it.
Banksy proved you could drop truth bombs anonymously and let the art speak for itself. When you’ve spent your life not quite belonging anywhere, that kind of invisible impact hits different. Make them think, make them feel, disappear before they can categorize you.
Kevin Smith showed that deeply human stories could come from the most unexpected places and people. Clerks wasn’t about convenience store workers – it was about finding meaning in mundane existence when that’s all you’ve got. That’s the storytelling backbone that holds everything together.
The CoxOut Method: Or, How to Turn Trauma Into Tech Comedy
Here’s what I’ve figured out after 6 months of studying comedy and 2 months of actually doing it:
I take philosophical frameworks that have been wrestling with human existence for millennia, filter them through the brain of someone who’s experienced existence from angles most people can’t imagine, add some weed to smooth out the rough edges, and see what comes out.
Sometimes it’s comedy. Sometimes it’s just a guy processing his weird life out loud. Most of the time, I honestly can’t tell the difference.
Surface level? You might get laughs, or at least some “holy shit, I never thought of it that way” moments. Dig deeper? You get social commentary from someone who’s lived outside society’s normal boundaries. Go deeper still? You hit existential questions from someone who’s actually wrestled with the fundamental question of whether existing is worth it.
The uncertainty about whether I’m “funny” isn’t imposter syndrome – it’s what happens when your reference point for “normal” got shattered before you could walk. Every piece of content is me jumping into the Bulk (again), not knowing if it’ll land, half-expecting to crash and burn while the internet watches.
But here’s the thing: when you’ve been to actual death and came back, the metaphorical jumps aren’t that scary. And more importantly – I KNOW it’s worth existing now.
That’s not hope or faith or positive thinking bullshit. That’s hard-earned knowledge from someone who’s tested the alternative multiple times. Existence isn’t just worth it – it’s fucking amazing when you stop letting other people define what success looks like.
The dissociation, the dyslexia, the near-death experiences, the rags-to-riches entrepreneur journey, the philosophical comedy – it’s all the same thing. It’s someone who got dealt a hand that should have folded early, but kept playing anyway, and now I’m high enough to see patterns that might be profound or might be complete bullshit.
I’m pretty sure the not knowing is the point.
The Real Influence: Surviving Long Enough to Find Your Voice
In a world where algorithms decide what we see and AI might outlive us all, maybe the most rebellious act is still being here when the math said you wouldn’t be, and turning that survival into something that makes other people laugh while they think.
Because if we’re all living in Plato’s cave, at least we can make the shadows entertaining. And if I’m just a broken brain making patterns out of chaos, at least the patterns seem to resonate with other people trying to figure out what the hell consciousness is supposed to be for.
The Real Point: If I Can Do It, So Can You – And Yes, You Absolutely Can
Look, I rode the short bus when I rode the bus. Born homeless, adopted, dyslexic, dissociating, nearly died multiple times, and somehow I’m here making tech companies and philosophical comedy.
This isn’t a humble brag – it’s proof that the system’s definition of “likely to succeed” is complete bullshit.
CoxOut exists because if someone like me can go from the short bus to connecting Plato to AI while building businesses and making people laugh, then YES – you can do whatever the hell you’ve been telling yourself you can’t do.
Not “maybe you can try.” Not “it’s possible if you work really hard.”
YES. YOU. CAN.
The philosophical stuff, the influences, the comedy – it’s all just window dressing on the main message: Jump into the Bulk and go for it.
Whatever “it” is for you. Whatever they told you that you couldn’t do because you’re different, or broken, or not smart enough, or too weird. All those voices that said you should lower your expectations and accept your limitations.
Fuck those voices. I’m living proof they’re wrong.
I’m not special. I’m just stubborn enough to keep jumping into the Bulk when everyone said I’d fall through. And if a dyslexic kid from homelessness can build this weird thing where ancient philosophy meets modern comedy meets entrepreneurship meets getting high and having big thoughts – then you can build whatever weird thing you’ve been afraid to try.
The worst thing that happens? You fail and learn something. The best thing that happens? You succeed and prove everyone wrong, including yourself.
Either way, you win. Because existence? It’s fucking worth it.
Ready to take your own leap of faith? Welcome to CoxOut, where ancient wisdom meets modern absurdity, filtered through a brain that probably shouldn’t work but somehow does – and that’s exactly why it might work for you too.