A gnawstick and detarmined to

At first glance, Dick's novels and short stories don't seem that philosophical. 

They're filled with twist endings and switcheroos. Erzatz realities seem all-too real. You're living in a game show, or the virtual reality of the barely alive. Sadly, reality sucks. But simulation kick reality's ass! Organic beings act like machines! And machines that pull the same stunt. The robot who can't admit he's a robot blows up the world when he finds out he really is a robot. The little lost child is also a killer robot. Humanity's Savior is a fraud. He's a savior all the same.

In a lesser writer, this would be a gimmick, period. But Dick was a card carrying gnostic. For Dick, the twist-ending wasn't a gimmick. It's the way our so-called universe works.

As Admiral Ackbar might put it, our physical universe is a trap. We're spirits, living in the material world — as the great philosopher Sting once said. The whole damn thing is a prison.

The Black Iron Prison, as Philip K. Dick once said.

Do Amazons Dream of Electric Dick?

OK, speaking of Dick (and I know my fans can never get too much Dick) I just checked out an episode of “Philip K. Dick's Electric Dreams” on Amazon. (An adaptation of Dick’s SF short stories, dontcha know.) Skipped the first installment, went directly to “Autofac.” And here’s my roundabout reaction …

Year after year, the cheapjack county fair would roll into Sarasota, Florida. (Still does, who cares?) Said fair had a haunted house ride. They’d repaint the exterior with sloppy airbrush work every year or two, but the ride never changed. They’d strap you into a metal car and you’d ride into …

Darkness and pre-recorded screams. Ghostly gauze brushing over your face. A skeleton popping out of a coffin with red glowing eyes and a klaxon sound. EGGGHH-EGGGHH!

Then the car bumped out through swinging metal doors (Klunk-klunk!) to the lights, sounds, smells of the fair. (“Alive! Alive!”) And that was it.

Same old thing, year after year.

One year, I was riding along yet again—and the ride had a glitch. My car got stuck at the bend of a curve. Right in front of that mechanical skeleton!

The thing popped out, its eyes glowed red. The klaxon blared.

EGGHHH-EGGHHH!

Then it happened again.

And again.

And again, and again, and again.
EGGHHH-EGGHHH!

My car was an object at rest. People behind me were yelling in the darkness.
"This thing ain't moving! How come ..."

Stuck as I was, I got a good look at the skeleton. Plastic, papier-mâché. or something, not remotely accurate. The eyes were red light bulbs. I could see the speaker making the noise. The wires connecting the speaker to a power source. And the coffin was cardboard!

Cheap! Fake! Phony!

Everything! The whole damn thing!

EGGHHH-EGGHHH!

Before tonight, the haunted house ride had mildly scared me. Before tonight, I could never get a good look at it. Now, I could see it all so clearly.

And the sight was vastly more horrifying.

EGGHHH-EGGHHH!

A panic attack was crawling up my spine.

Then a carny finally ran out along the track, cursing. He jiggled the car, did something. The wheels started moving on the rail. I bumped back out into the fair. (“Alive! Alive!”)

But the fear stayed with me.

That’s the feeling I get after reading a Philip K. Dick short story.
That is not the feeling I get after seeing this show.