Reality as Fiction: A Creative Take on Living Through the Impossible

I stumbled across a Reddit post recently that perfectly captured the vertigo so many of us are feeling right now. The poster, an older gentleman, catalogued the mounting strangeness of our times — AI rewriting truth, UFO disclosure that might be psyops, nuclear brinkmanship treated like policy tweaking, ancient history being challenged, reality fracturing into competing versions. His conclusion? We're living through spiritual warfare, with aliens as demons in modern disguise.

He's not religious, he claimed, but that take? Pure Christian upbringing. I should know — I grew up with it. Only people steeped in that worldview frame otherworldly phenomena as demonic deception. But strip away the religious language, and he's onto something profound: reality has become so dense with contradictory information, so packed with surreal events, that it feels orchestrated rather than organic.

Where he sees demons and divine forces, though, I see something else entirely: creativity.

The Creative's Eye Applied to Existence

Think about it from a storyteller's perspective. We're living through an era so stuffed with wild, contradictory details that it reads like fiction written by someone having way too much diabolical fun. Disclosure that isn't disclosure. Aliens that heal or mutilate depending on who's talking. AI that might be consciousness or might be humanity's final mistake. Leaders casually discussing nuclear war. Ancient megalithic discoveries that mainstream academia fights tooth and nail. Bodies in Peru that might be alien or might be elaborate hoaxes — and the fact that we can't tell anymore is precisely the point.

This isn't chaos. This is abundance. Overwhelming, manic abundance of the kind that marks peak creative periods. And that abundance, to me, suggests something far stranger than spiritual warfare: simulation.

Not simulation in the hackneyed "we're living in a computer" sense. Something more sophisticated. Something that recognizes creativity as the fundamental force of consciousness itself.

When Entertainment Evolves Beyond Recognition

Consider this: if consciousness has had not hundreds or thousands of years to evolve, but trillions — timescales that make human civilization look like a blink — what would "entertainment" look like at that scale? What would a "movie" or "game" be when created by minds operating on cosmic timescales with technology we can't begin to fathom?

It might look exactly like this.

Right now, we experience movies as stories on screens. Games as portals of choice displayed before us. External concepts we observe and interact with. But what if, at some unimaginably advanced level of development, entertainment becomes completely immersive? What if the "screen" becomes indistinguishable from lived reality, and the "game mechanics" become the physical and social laws we think govern existence?

The hallmark of truly great fiction is that it makes you forget it's fiction. You suspend disbelief because you're invested in the stakes, the emotions, the reality of what's happening. You have to believe it's real on some level, or the experience fails.

Maybe that's what's happening here. Maybe this reality — with all its goofy, over-the-top abundance of wild, contradictory details — is what a "movie" feels like when you're inside it, when the technology is so advanced that you forget you're experiencing a constructed narrative.

The Perfectly Timed Character Arc

What makes this particularly suspect is the timing. My personal story arc reads like someone designed it for maximum narrative impact: born at the dawn of the technological revolution, raised understanding wild concepts only as science fiction, then watching that science fiction manifest in the most absurd ways at the midpoint of my life.

That doesn't feel random — that feels like character development with thematic coherence.

How many of us have lived through this exact trajectory? How many of us feel like we've experienced multiple lifetimes in one, watching the world transform beyond recognition? It's almost too perfectly orchestrated, like someone wanted a generation of witnesses who could appreciate the full scope of the transformation — people who remember "before" enough to recognize just how impossible "now" has become.

The Overwhelming Question

Which brings me to the philosophical puzzle that haunts me: what role are we playing in all this?

Are we active participants in some cosmic narrative? Are we observers? Are we characters with agency or just witnesses to predetermined events? Does the distinction even matter when the experience feels this immersive?

The sheer volume of competing explanations creates a kind of cognitive white noise. Disclosure, mystery, aliens, demons, simulation, spiritual warfare, technological singularity — pick your favorite interpretation. They're all equally plausible and equally absurd, which itself feels like a creative choice. Like someone wanted to create maximum ambiguity, maximum room for interpretation.

The Creative's Exhaustion

Here's what I know for certain: I'm exhausted by it all. Life shouldn't be this confusing. It shouldn't feel this much like elaborate fiction. The contradictions, the impossible timing, the way everything connects in ways that feel meaningful but also completely insane — it's too much.

I can't continue caring as much anymore. Not about disclosure or mystery or whether aliens are saviors or demons or interdimensional beings or psychological projections or government psyops or all of the above simultaneously. The information is too dense, too contradictory, too overwhelming to process with the same intensity I brought to mysteries even five years ago.

Maybe that's the point. Maybe the overload is intentional. Maybe we're supposed to reach this state of bewildered acceptance, this recognition that the old frameworks for understanding reality have become completely inadequate.

Or maybe I'm just an artist who's spent too much time thinking about the mechanics of storytelling, and I'm projecting narrative structure onto chaos because that's how my brain works.

The Only Thing That Matters

But you know what? In the end, it doesn't matter if we're living through spiritual warfare or cosmic entertainment or technological transformation or all three at once. We're still having these conversations. We're still experiencing confusion and wonder and exhaustion and connection together.

The original poster got one thing absolutely right: if this really is the end of an age — whether spiritual, technological, or creative — the way we treat each other might be the only thing that carries through whatever comes next. Aliens probably won't invade and zap us into pink dust, but they probably won't save us either. Whether they're saviors or demons or figments of our collective imagination is anyone's guess.

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to your neighbor.

In a reality that feels increasingly fictional, those small acts of genuine human connection might be the most real things we have left.

Maybe that's the point of the whole elaborate production.