We have such a primitive understanding
of time, says the author.
We act like it’s chronological,
when it’s at least simultaneous,
if not worse.
Our perception of reality
is bunk, says the scientist.
We consider ourselves lone
conscious agents – turns out
you lop a brain in half and it’s two
completely separate consciousnesses.
The seamlessness we assume
is there is not. The physical world
just symbols we’ve created
to adapt to our environment.
David Hume says we conflate
causality with constant conjunction.
That the sun rises, that the pool ball obeys
the laws of Physics every time, isn’t proof
it’ll keep happening. But, said the professor
of my first ever Philosophy class,
leaning against a filing cabinet,
watching us like we were people
at the beach, not to worry.
We must still go to the pub
and enjoy ourselves.
I wasn’t worried, but I went
to the pub.
The cocktail isn’t here, I tell Julia,
shaking it in the kitchen no one’s been in
but us. Our mysterious house,
its windows at the edge
of the universe. Neither is the ice.
She’s disappointed.
She’d just ordered boots.
Now what will she wear?
But we feel better about the drinking.
There’s way less calories
when they don’t exist.
And the taste, at least to my primitive
senses, remains delicious.
