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Time is but memory in the making.
He has made peace with the idea that part of life is facing your failures, and sometimes those failures are people you once loved.
Life is nothing how he expected it would be when he was young and living under the delusion that things could be controlled. Nothing can be controlled. Only endured.
“Because memory…is everything. Physically speaking, a memory is nothing but a specific combination of neurons firing together—a symphony of neural activity. But in actuality, it’s the filter between us and reality. You think you’re tasting this wine, hearing the words I’m saying, in the present, but there’s no such thing. The neural impulses from your taste buds and your ears get transmitted to your brain, which processes them and dumps them into working memory—so by the time you know you’re experiencing something, it’s already in the past. Already a memory.”
We think we’re perceiving the world directly and immediately, but everything we experience is this carefully edited, tape-delayed reconstruction.”
the present becomes the past. It’s yet another way that the concept of the present is just an illusion, made out of memories and constructed by our brain.”
“If you want to understand the world, you have to start by understanding—truly understanding—how we experience it.”
‘It is evident the mind does not know things immediately, but only by the intervention of the ideas it has of them.’ ”
No matter how much we understand about how our perceptions work, ultimately we’ll never escape our limitations.”
what really happens to those timelines? Have they truly been destroyed, or are they still out there somewhere, beyond our reach?”
He will hold her bony hand in her final moments, wondering if she is even capable of registering the sensation of human touch in the annihilated landscape of her brain.
And he wonders—is déjà vu actually the specter of false timelines that never happened but did, casting their shadows upon reality?
Landscapes and emotions in a constant state of flux, and yet a twisted logic to it all—the way a dream makes sense only when you’re inside it.
when we die, does the immense gravity of our collapsing memories create a micro black hole?
