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Reality is a mucky concept.

It’s supposed to mean the same thing to everyone: a universal understanding of how things "actually" are, rather than how we think they are or wish they might be. But considering no two people's realities are the same — we all face different losses, different wins, different rules, different consequences — pinning down what that “actually” bit actually means for the purpose of general discourse can prove virtually impossible.

So, naturally, a couple of guys made a cartoon about it.

A mind-boggling adventure in escapism unlike anything to come before it.

The Midnight Gospel, premiering on Netflix today, tells the story of Clancy, a “spacecaster” (essentially a podcaster with sci-fi perks) who visits different realities to interview beings of all shapes and sizes about what it means to be them.

Co-created by Adventure Time’s Pendleton Ward and comedian Duncan Trussell of The Duncan Trussell Family Hour, this mind-boggling adventure in escapism is unlike anything to come before it — and, Season 2 notwithstanding, I feel comfortable saying nothing like it will come again.

Using Ward’s talent for visual storytelling and audio from interviews conducted by Trussell, The Midnight Gospel combines the deeply personal nature of podcast listening with the immersive power of animation. In each of the series’ eight episodes, Clancy (voiced by Trussell) speaks with real subjects, who take the form of cartoon avatars, to educate Clancy/Trussell/the duo’s respective audiences on various areas of expertise.

Clancy in his home universe "The Chromatic Ribbon." Image: netflix

Mortician and “death acceptance advocate” Caitlin Doughty pops in as a friendly grim reaper to discuss the funeral-industrial complex. Dharma instructor Trudy Goodman becomes a valiant, horse-riding avenger for a talk on the importance of self-affirmation. In the very first episode, Dr. Drew Pinksy ( bad timing ) assumes the role of "Glasses Man," a baby-sized president battling zombies in a post-apocalyptic world, to share his thoughts on recreational drug use ([checks calendar] better timing.)

Sound a bit jarring? Well, it is.

Tying it all together is an overarching plot about Clancy’s relationships with the beings he interviews, the semi-sentient system he uses to interview them, and the people who should be close to him but no longer are for reasons that aren’t quite clear. Sound a bit jarring? Well, it is.

Whizzing through technicolor worlds of adorable creatures, unspeakable violence, and a surprising number of butt plugs, The Midnight Gospel asks viewers to take on the sensory challenge of listening with their ears, watching with their eyes, and then cross-referencing those mismatched experiences in their heads without a pen or paper.

Though some dialogue has been added to narratively integrate the separate creations — including Trussell repeatedly reminding guests on-mic that for the purposes of this chat his name is Clancy and not Duncan — it’s still a big ask for viewers accustomed to sparing only half their attention.

Duncan Trussell/Clancy with death row survivor Damien Echols/fish magician Darryl. Image: netflix

Thankfully, it’s worth it. The Midnight Gospel cuts into viewer psyche with what feels like immense precision. In nearly every scene, I found some visual I enjoyed, one sentence I related to, or a feeling I thought only I’d had — no matter how overwhelmed I became. I watched episodes multiple times, closed my eyes when I needed to zero in on dialogue, and researched the show’s real subjects when I wanted some air but didn’t want to stop thinking about the Midnight multiverse.

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Caught somewhere between a welcoming hug and a home invasion, I was taken over by The Midnight Gospel. The operative word there being "I": I laughed, I cried, I had a nightmare about the tiny clowns from episode 2 dismembering my dog and burying her in a potted plant. I felt spoken to.

Of course, in reality (there’s that word again), this show didn’t “get me” more than it's going to get anyone else. The Midnight Gospel is more like a kaleidoscope outfitted with the emotional trials none of us can escape — juxtaposing moments of fear, disgust, anger, grief, and joy in ways my mind (and likely, yours) can rearrange into patterns that compliment private experiences.

Trust me when I say, this shows hits differently.

Sure, as viewers we always project our pasts onto the worlds we’re watching. And yes, universal themes are what make art spectacular.

But just trust me when I say, this show hits differently.

Perhaps it’s benefitting from all the time I’ve had for self-reflection lately, or the emotional carnage that is simply existing right now. Maybe it’s just that special Adventure Time sauce made of dream-like colors and mile-wide smiles I already know and love.

What truly makes it sing for me, I can't be sure. Regardless, this experience — because that’s really what it is — astounded me. Profound, funny, and painful, The Midnight Gospel preaches a knowing message of love and terror that I won’t soon forget. I didn't always enjoy it, but I know it will stick with me. That's one point of reference of which I can be certain.

The Midnight Gospel is now streaming on Netflix.