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Showing posts with label observer effect. Show all posts
Showing posts with label observer effect. Show all posts

Sunday, September 16, 2012

NUUUURRRRR BRRRR or BAD IMAGINATION

 
After writing the previous post I got to thinking; we should rebel against the Observer Effect (explanation: once observed, a wave function transforms into teeny weeny particles that combine to make up our universe – Why? Who knows?). It’s high time the mystifying tyranny of quantum physics was resisted. For too long this subatomic dictator has kept us in the dark as to the workings of our reality. We are the ones who have to inhabit reality so I think it only fair that quantum physics give us some answers. All we know is that for something to exist it must be observed. Well, let’s use that paltry knowledge to strike back.

‘But how Mr Fugger’, I hear you whinge in a high-pitched and frankly pansy-like way. I’ll tell you how. If the principle is that things must be observed to exist then let’s start observing things that don’t exist. Example – say you don’t have a car. Well, tomorrow I want you to leave your home, pretend to open a car door, pretend to put a key in an ignition, put your hands on an imaginary steering wheel, make a car-like noise (like ‘nuuuurrrrr’ or something) and drive to work. Sure, you’ll look like a total fuckin’ eejit but it’ll be one in the eye for the quantum bastard. You’ll be breaking the only law of this befuddling reality that we can get a purchase on. Quantum physics has been confounding us since we first discovered it. Let’s have our revenge. Let’s drive imaginary cars. You might feel a fool but soon everyone will get in on it and we’ll all be nuuuurrrrring up and down the road in non-existent cars. We’ll even be nicking these cars from each other and reporting it to the police who’ll pursue the culprits in equally unreal automobiles (whilst roaring ‘mee maw, mee maw’). The subatomic world won’t know what to do with itself. We’ll show it that we can play silly buggers too. Maybe then it’ll start yielding some answers and show us the way out of the existential maze it has us all lost in. You’ll be able to have any type of car you like too and not just the banger you drive around in now.

It won’t stop there of course. We’ll be adding imaginary extensions to our houses. Dropping imaginary kids off to imaginary schools before going to an imaginary gym and then doing an imaginary day’s work. We’ll walk imaginary dogs. We’ll watch movies that were never made. We’ll read books that no one thought to write. We’ll sunbathe in the rain, swim on the sand, and build sandcastles in the sea.
‘Mmmm, this ice cream is delicious.’
‘Really, what flavour is it?’
‘Whatever damn flavour I want it to be.’
Just think of the liberation. We’ll all be Gods! Personally, I’m going to build a rocket out of nothing and head off to the outer reaches of nowhere. Fwoosh!


Now, some might argue that we already have the power to make the non-existent real. These people might say, for example, that if we get the idea that we want a nice car we can design one and build it or that we can save the money for it and, hey presto, there it is. These people might say that reality is made from ideas and that ideas come from nothing. These people might say the quantum deal is a pretty sweet one. These people might argue that my proposal lacks pragmatism and that you can’t treat people in imaginary hospitals or go to sea in an imaginary boat. But these people, (and by ‘these people’ I of course mean The Mother and her insufferably argumentative nature) are appeasers. These people are willing to hone the expertise and do the labour required to make something out of nothing but that is just willing slavery to my eyes. These people (a.k.a. The Mother) are willing to endlessly toil in the quantum mystery order as long as it awards them petty material compensations and a certain sense of stability but I say ‘No!’ I say: ‘No, The Mother, this is inequality and it will not stand.’ That’s what I said to The Mother yesterday as she made the Sunday dinner. Then she put an empty plate in front of me. ‘And what do you call this?’ I asked her, hungry as I was. ‘Whatever you like’, she said, all smart, and then she wandered off to the other room to watch an episode of Midsomer Murders that had actually been made - as opposed to 'made up'. Outraged, I stormed out of the house and drove off in my imaginary car. Nuuuurrrrr.


A funny thing happened though; I ran out of non-existent petrol and broke down on an imaginary motorway. I tried to ring the imaginary services on my make believe mobile but the bloody thing was out of pretend credit. I had to sleep the night in the imaginary car. No matter how many imaginary blankets I pulled over myself, it was bleedin’ freezing and I caught a non-existent cold. I should have known something like that would happen. I always did have a bad imagination. Brrrrr.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

WHEN I GOT DRUNK THE OTHER NIGHT


When observed, quantum waves collapse and become the particles that make up reality. By being observed, things become real. The answer to the question - 'if a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it does it make a sound?' - is 'nope'. For something to exist, another existing thing has to know it exists. To exist you have to be observed. 'Esse est percipi.' Bishop Berkeley said it, the Australian Aborigines always knew it, and now the rest of us are beginning to understand it. I think it's all got something to do with this: (ψ = Σanψn).

OK, you got that? I've made it real simple for you because you're real simple. You understand? Good. Even if you don't understand, don't worry because I probably have it wrong anyway. If you do understand then don't worry if I have it wrong because either way you're none the wiser so it doesn't really matter.

Anyway, this brings me to Alan. Alan was born to a reclusive single mother in a remote barren quarry where the two lived out their whole lives. Alan's mother survived by trekking daily to the nearest Lidl, which was ages away, and coming back with food and supplies for herself and her son. Don't bother asking why she chose to live like that because no one knows the answer, just like no one knows the answer to why you choose to live the way you do. You don't even know the answer to that one yourself.

So, Alan's mother never told anyone she had a son and she was the only thing that knew he existed. That was fine but one day she died leaving Alan with nothing remotely sentient to vouch for his presence in reality. The fact that he could observe himself wasn't enough to help him and he gradually faded away. His eyes faded away first so he didn't even get to see his hands and limbs and torso vanish. The last thing to go was his mouth. It issued a scream, a horrifying shriek of sheer fear, that no one and no thing ever heard because, in a way, it never happened.

You might consider it sad about Alan but don't. From what I hear from those who never knew he existed, he was a bit of a dick. I can't say the same for my Uncle Stan though. He was quite a nice fella but very boring. He'd just sit in the corner mumbling about some boring topic like rhubarb distribution in late nineteenth century Prussia or what he had for breakfast that morning and how long it took him to make it. Stan was so boring everyone stopped listening to him and gradually forgot he was there, including his wife and parents and even his kids. Stan faded away as if he never existed, just like Alan. No one was the wiser and no one shed a tear as he mumbled his disbelief and slowly faded from existence, just like a radio station vanishes as you turn the dial. One second the DJ is talking inane shite about this and that and the next second the fucker is gone as if he was never there at all.

The same will eventually happen to the rest of us. We live a while and then die but continue to exist as memories but then, over generations, we are forgotten and, over billions of years, any evidence left of us erodes and crumbles to less than atoms and then these less than atoms cease to be when the Universe finally pops out of existence. It'll be as if none of us were ever here because there won't even be a 'here'. Are you horrified? Do you feel like screaming as Alan did? I don't. I actually find the thought comforting. Especially when I consider the fool I made of myself in front of everyone when I got drunk the other night. The thought of those events being utterly erased from existence suits me fine.