This is a world for Human Children. Human Adults can live here just as pigeons and plankton and weevils and weeds can live here, but this place is totally fine-tuned for eyes-closed, fear-based, herdbound, ego-clad juveniles, and they are totally fine-tuned to create drama. 

And stuff. 

This world is a fully-stocked creative playspace in which all the raw materials are just lying around for anyone to pick up and turn into tools and toys and cities and space stations, none of which could just magically appear otherwise. Nothing exists until it has been fully manifested into physical reality. You can dream of an airplane, but until you build one and fly in it, it’s just a concept. The first step of manifesting a plane is a cocktail napkin sketch, the last step gets you off the ground; after that, it’s all evolution. The world is a production, Human Children are the producers, and drama is the product. 

And stuff. Drama and stuff.