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Benn Jordan Science Physics Philosophy

How The World SOUNDS To Animals

Benn Jordan chases a simple question, what does the world sound like to a dog, into the science of time perception. The key idea is critical flicker fusion frequency, or CFF, the fastest flicker a brain can resolve before it blurs into steady light, which acts like the frame rate of perception. Using a flashlight, a stroboscope, and a camera that slows the world by 41 times, he maps the CFF of dogs, cats, rodents, ducks, songbirds, houseflies, elephants, reptiles, and glowing algae. A higher CFF means an animal lives in slow motion while a lower one means the world rushes by as a blur, and because the same clock governs hearing, it stretches sound too. The whole spread is tied to metabolism, body size, and the ancient math of what you eat and what eats you.

Published Apr 23, 2022 15:59 video 18 min read Added Jul 7, 2026 Open on YouTube →

At a glance

Benn Jordan starts from a deceptively simple question, what does the world sound like to a dog, and follows it straight down a rabbit hole into the fourth dimension: time. The engine of the whole video is critical flicker fusion frequency, or CFF, the fastest flicker a brain can still resolve before it smears into steady light. Treat it as the frame rate of perception. Armed with a flashlight, a stopwatch, a stroboscope, and a camera that slows the world by 41 times, Benn maps the CFF of dogs, cats, rodents, ducks, songbirds, houseflies, elephants, reptiles, and even glowing algae, and shows that a higher CFF means an animal lives in slow motion while a lower CFF means the world rushes past as a blur. Because CFF stretches or compresses time, it also stretches or compresses sound: a dog does not merely hear higher pitches, it hears Benn's voice slowed down. The payoff is a working theory of why every animal slices time the way it does, tied to metabolism, body size, and the ancient math of what you eat and what eats you.

The setup: a simple question with a mind bending answer

Benn opens with the format he loves most, what he privately calls a rabbit hole video: take one simple question, often one people ask him, that turns out to have a deep, perspective altering answer, and keep it light. Today's question is the one people ask about their dogs: what does the world actually sound like to them?

The obvious part first. Dogs have far more sensitive hearing than we do and reach higher frequencies than any human ear. They carry about 18 separate muscles in each ear that let them aim precisely at a direction and a frequency, and when something really grabs them they do the adorable head tilt. Benn points out how odd it is that humans never evolved the reflex, because it is a genuinely smart move. We are excellent at telling whether a sound came from our left or our right, but poor at placing something above or below us, in front of or behind us in three dimensional space. You would think we would viscerally tilt and triangulate every time we sensed danger, and yet, for reasons still unknown to science, we do not.

Then comes the turn that makes the whole video: what about the fourth dimension, time?

Time is a dimension every animal lives in differently

Most of us never think about it, but every animal we share the planet with has evolved to experience time at a different scale, speed, and resolution than we do. So while a dog hears higher frequencies, it is also living in a slow motion version of our world, and that includes sound. Benn demonstrates the idea out loud: you hear him talking to Lucy at normal speed, but Lucy hears that same sentence stretched and slowed. He promises to do the math, on the budget he has, and to show what the world both looks and sounds like to a whole zoo of animals.

Which raises the fair objection: animals cannot talk, so how could we possibly know how they perceive anything?

How we know: the flashlight, the strobe, and your 60 frame per second brain

Benn answers with a demo, after a quick and genuine warning for anyone with epilepsy or seizure sensitivity to look away for twenty seconds. He grabs a standard Energizer flashlight, a stopwatch, and a second camera that can slow motion by 41 times. To the fast camera the flashlight is visibly pulsing. To any human watching in real time it is simply a light that is on, because your brain cannot register more than about 60 flashes per second. Past that rate it stops resolving individual flashes and hands you the illusion of one steady glow. The temporal resolution of your reality, Benn says, is essentially capped near 60 frames per second.

He notes how meta this is to prove on video, because video itself runs the same trick. When you watch him toss the flashlight, you are really seeing 24 still images played in sequence to fake motion. That is how every motion picture works.

Next he brings out a stroboscope, a strobing tachometer, a strobe light you can command to flash an exact number of times per second. In this corner of neurology the threshold it probes has a name: the critical flicker fusion frequency, CFF, and the working hypothesis is that CFF is basically the FPS of your brain.

Figure 1. What CFF measures. Below the fusion threshold, flashes read as separate events; above it, they collapse into steady light. The threshold is the fastest an animal can slice time, and it is measured by feeding the eye a strobe and finding where flicker disappears.

To find that threshold in a real eye, researchers use an electroretinogram, reading the electrical impulses the retina fires, and watch for the flash rate at which the eye stops treating each flash as new information and settles into the steady light illusion. The same approach, with more difficulty, works on animals whose CFFs are wildly different from ours, backed up by behavioral tests repeated until the result is reliable.

Benn flags the limits plainly. A lot of perception science is still theoretical, always tethered to whatever technology exists this year. Only a handful of species have been measured, and some living things cannot see at all, so entirely new methods are needed to find their CFF without using light, a puzzle he says he has been trying to solve and returns to at the end.

He then tells the anecdote that hooked him. A few years back he got his first phone with a 90 Hz refresh rate, well above the usual 60 Hz. Suddenly Lucy started paying attention to videos on the screen, even growling and whining at footage of squirrels. At 60 Hz the screen had been useless to her, because a dog's flicker fusion point sits above it. She had literally been seeing a strobe where we see a smooth video.

Reading the map: CFF across the animal kingdom

Before the tour, here is the whole spread of numbers Benn cites, from the brown rat at the low end to the housefly at the extreme.

0 50 100 150 200 250 critical flicker fusion frequency (Hz)

Figure 2. Every CFF value Benn cites, in hertz. Humans sit at 60, the amber reference bar. Anything to the right of it perceives time more finely than we do; anything to the left perceives it more coarsely. The housefly at 270 is off in a world of its own.

The counterintuitive part is what a bigger number means. A higher CFF does not mean a faster life, it means the world appears to move more slowly, because the brain is taking more snapshots per second of the same reality. So the fly at 270 lives in extreme slow motion, and the elephant, sitting well below us, watches the rest of the world blur past.

Figure 3. The inversion at the heart of the video. As CFF climbs, the world an animal perceives slows down. Below our 60 Hz baseline, reality speeds up and smears; above it, reality drops into slow motion. Sound rides along, stretching in step with vision.

The mammals

Dogs, CFF about 80

A dog's CFF near 80 is roughly 33 percent faster than ours, which means a dog perceives time about 33 percent slower, living in a mild bullet time. Its vision, by contrast, is downgraded from ours: low contrast and washed out, restricted to blue, yellow, and shades of gray, the classic dichromatic palette. Benn stitches all of it together, the eyes, the ears, and the slowed clock, to render the world as his dogs Lucy and Kora would take it in.

Cats, CFF about 50

Here is the surprise. You would expect a cat, with its elite hunting reflexes, to live in even deeper bullet time than a dog. Instead a cat's CFF is only about 50, roughly 9 percent slower than ours, so a cat's reality is actually slightly sped up compared to a human's. Cats do not see many more colors than dogs, but their sharpness beats both dogs and humans. That makes the reliable four legged landing even more impressive, because the cat has less time to compute it than we would.

Rodents, from neurotic to sped up

Wild rodents like chipmunks and squirrels tend to run high, around 120 Hz, so a jittery little squirrel that looks neurotic to us is simply living at half our speed. But not every rodent follows the rule. A guinea pig sits at 50, a touch slower than us, and a brown rat at just 39 perceives reality about 35 percent faster than we do. Benn's read is that this fits their niche: these rodents evolved to live alongside humans and eat our waste, rather than surviving on constant hunting or constant fleeing, so they never needed the fine time resolution their wild cousins carry.

The birds

Leave the mammals and the numbers climb. Benn's spoiled, well fed ducks clock a CFF around 105, about a 75 percent jump over humans, which means they experience reality almost painfully slowly given how relaxed their lives are. Wild ducks put that time budget to better use. He introduces Greg, a wild duck he has known for three years, with the note that if Greg does not want to be picked up, Greg is not getting picked up.

Smaller songbirds run all the way up to 145. What looks like a bewildering blur of speed to Benn is smooth and detailed to them. What fascinates him more is how they hear. Recording their calls with a wide range microphone at 192 kHz and 32 bit gives him enough headroom to slow the songs down while keeping decent quality, and he plays back a few years of recordings stretched into their own perceived time.

The insects and the price of bullet time

Measuring an insect's CFF is genuinely tricky, but it has been done several ways, and the housefly lands at an astonishing 270 Hz. That is a 350 percent increase in temporal resolution over us, the reason a fly can dodge every swat while it torments you. It must be wonderful to live in bullet time, right?

Not really, and this is the philosophical hinge of the video. A higher CFF is not better than a lower one. Each is an optimal time resolution a species evolved into. If humans could survive and reproduce better in bullet time, we would already live there. A housefly may feel like a big fancy pants with its fast clock, but move your hand slowly toward it and that hand becomes invisible, perceived the way we perceive grass growing or ice melting or paint drying, too slow to register as motion at all. Hence the life hack: to catch a fly bare handed, move slowly. Do not try it with wasps.

Elephants run the other way. They perceive time much faster than us. As herbivores with no natural predators, they gain from a slower metabolism, and a low CFF lets an elephant watch a rainstorm assemble or plants bloom, which is the information that actually matters to it. The fact that faster animals blur past an elephant matters no more than finches blurring past us. And recognizing patterns, not just detecting movement, depends on how you sample time in the first place. So the governing rule emerges: an animal's CFF is set by the time perception of what it eats and what eats it.

There are exceptions, but in general smaller, shorter living animals carry higher temporal resolution than larger, longer living ones, and the reason is metabolic cost. Bullet time is expensive. Many insects burn so much oxygen that there is no time to route it through lungs and a cardiovascular system, so instead they run microscopic tubes, the tracheal system, straight through the body to deliver oxygen directly to cells. Even with that engineering, a housefly lives only 28 days. The fast clock is paid for in a short life.

Reptiles hack time with a temperature knob

Some animals cheat the tradeoff. We cannot exactly chase wild reptiles around with a stroboscope strapped to their eyeballs, so this is not fully understood, but the research shows it is hard to get a stable CFF reading on anole lizards. Benn finds one in his basement studio once or twice a week and hoped one would perch on his shoulder, with no such luck. Anoles, like several lizards, can shift their color to match a background, and many reptiles can change their metabolism, body weight, body temperature, oxygen demand, and, crucially, their time perception.

Figure 4. How a reptile turns the tradeoff into a dial. By heating up in the sun or cooling down in shade or water, it slides its own time perception between fast, for tracking insects, and slow, for hiding and ambush. Temperature becomes a knob on the speed of everything it sees and hears.

Play it out. A lizard basks and warms up, sharpening its time perception so it can read the quick patterns of insects. Then it slips into a shrub, cools its body, slows its clock, melts into its surroundings, and waits for prey to make the mistake of getting close. Benn thinks crocodiles and alligators run a similar routine, lounging in the sun and then hunting land animals from the cool edge of the water. The everyday example you have probably seen yourself is a turtle or tortoise: it crawls through a time lapse reality on land, and the instant you set it in water it darts away at speed. The point is that many reptiles, just by changing body temperature, hold a knob that changes the speed of everything they hear and see. As Benn puts it, reptiles are Keanu Reeves.

Plants, fungi, and the algae room

Talking about the time perception of plants or fungi sounds silly, since they have no brains, eyes, or ears. But many of them can feel pressure, and pressure is exactly what sound is. The real obstacle is communication: how would you ever tell whether a plant perceives time at all, let alone how fast?

Benn's candidate is the one organism he can think of that reliably and instantly answers a stimulus under the right conditions, oceanic bioluminescent algae. For months a room in his house has been dedicated to cultivating and growing this glowing plankton, simulating a full day and night cycle and wiring it to electrical stimuli, audio transducers, and pressure sensors. He admits he is a long way from writing a paper on any of it, then lets the room answer for itself with a brief light show. The video closes on the note that it carried no sponsorship and was expensive to make, funded by his Patreon members, who get audio assets, unreleased music, ambisonic field recordings, monthly songwriting challenges, and game servers for as little as a dollar.

Key takeaways

Critical flicker fusion frequency is the frame rate of perception. It is the fastest flicker a brain can resolve before separate flashes fuse into steady light, and it caps how finely an animal can sample time.
Higher CFF means a slower perceived world, not a faster life. More snapshots per second make reality appear to crawl, which is why a housefly at 270 Hz lives in slow motion and an elephant, well below us, sees the world blur past.
Time perception drags sound with it. A dog does not just hear higher pitches, it hears speech stretched and slowed, because the same clock governs hearing and vision.
Humans sit near 60 Hz. That is why a 60 Hz screen looks smooth to us but strobes for a dog, and why a 90 Hz phone suddenly became visible to Lucy.
CFF is set by metabolism, body size, and lifestyle. Smaller, shorter living, faster burning animals resolve time finely; larger, longer living ones do not. The rule of thumb is the time perception of what you eat and what eats you.
Fast time is metabolically expensive. Insects skip lungs for direct oxygen tubes to feed a fast clock, and a housefly still lives only 28 days.
Reptiles cheat the tradeoff with temperature. Warming or cooling their bodies slides their time perception between fast tracking and slow ambush.
The science is young and honest about it. CFF has only been measured in a handful of species, it leans on emerging technology, and applying it to plants or algae is Benn's own open experiment.

Chapters

0:00 Intro
1:13 Time Perception
2:00 Critical Flicker Fusion Frequency
4:58 DOG REALITY
7:07 CATS
7:50 RODENTS
8:46 MY DUCKS
9:45 Other BIRDS
10:54 INSECTS
11:19 4 Dimensional Fly Trap
12:04 Pros and Cons of bullet time
13:14 Reptiles Hack Time
14:39 My Algae Room

Notable quotes

"All the animals that we share this planet with have evolved to experience time at a different scale, speed, and resolution than we do." (1:13)
"Your brain cannot keep up with more than 60 flashes per second, so it just shows you the illusion of a steady on light. The temporal resolution of your reality is essentially limited to 60 frames per second." (2:00)
"This is referred to as the critical flicker fusion frequency, and the hypothesis is that this is essentially the FPS of your brain." (2:30)
"Dogs have a CFF of about 80, which is 33 percent faster than humans, which means that they perceive time about 33 percent slower." (3:55)
"A higher CFF isn't necessarily any better than a lower CFF. These are optimal time scale resolutions that every species has evolved to have." (12:10)
"If you ever want to catch a fly with your bare hands, take your time. Don't do it with wasps." (11:45)
"It seems like most animals' critical flicker fusion frequency is determined by the time perception of what we eat and what eats us." (12:50)
"A lot of reptiles, by changing their body temperature, have a knob that changes the speed of everything they hear and see. Reptiles are Keanu Reeves." (14:20)
"A lot of them can feel pressure, and guess what sound is." (14:45)

Resources mentioned

Benn Jordan on YouTube, the channel this video lives on.
Benn Jordan on Patreon, which funded the video (audio assets, unreleased music, ambisonic field recordings, songwriting challenges, game servers).
Critical flicker fusion threshold, the central concept.
Electroretinography, the retinal recording method used to measure CFF.
Stroboscope, the strobing tachometer Benn uses to demonstrate flicker.
Persistence of vision, why 24 still frames read as motion in film.
Refresh rate, the 60 Hz versus 90 Hz screen point.
Dichromacy, the blue and yellow color vision of dogs.
Sound localization, the left and right versus up and down hearing problem.
Respiratory system of insects, the tracheal oxygen tubes that feed a fast clock.
Bullet time and The Matrix, the slow motion reference and the Keanu Reeves joke.
Bioluminescence and dinoflagellates, the glowing oceanic algae in Benn's home experiment.
Animals discussed: dog, cat, guinea pig, brown rat, chipmunk, squirrel, duck, songbird, housefly, wasp, elephant, anole lizard, crocodile, alligator, turtle, and tortoise.

Where it stands

Benn is unusually upfront about the ground under his own feet, so it is worth restating cleanly. The CFF numbers he cites are real published figures, though the literature spreads across a range for most species and measurement is hard, especially in insects and reptiles. The leap from a hertz value to a felt sense of time, the claim that a fly literally experiences slow motion, is a reasonable and popular interpretation rather than a settled fact, and Benn labels it a hypothesis when he calls CFF the FPS of the brain. The metabolic story, that smaller and faster burning animals resolve time more finely, lines up with mainstream work connecting body size and metabolic rate to temporal perception. The reptile temperature knob is grounded in the real fact that body temperature shifts a reptile's reaction speed and CFF, told as a tidy narrative. The plant and algae section is openly speculative and is his own unfinished experiment, presented as a question, not a conclusion. None of that dulls the core insight, which is solid and genuinely reframes how you think about the animals around you: the clock is not universal, and every creature is running its own.

Full transcript

Hey, I think my new favorite format of video to make is one that I call, at least in my head, rabbit hole videos. It's where I take a simple question, often one aimed at me, that I find personally to have deep, mind blowing answers that can change your perspective of reality forever, keeping it light. And the question I'm going to try to answer for you today: what does the world sound like to a dog? Let's go. As you probably already know, dogs have far more sensitive hearing than we do, and they can hear higher frequencies than human beings can hear. They have about 18 different muscles in their ear that allow them to hone in the correct direction and frequencies. Lucy, look. And if they're really interested in something, they do the ever so familiar and adorable head tilt. It's always amazed me that humans don't do the head tilt thing instinctively, because it's actually a pretty smart trait to have evolved. We're really good at hearing if something's to the left of us or to the right of us, but not so great at telling if something's below us or above us, in front of us or behind us in three dimensional space. You'd think that we'd have evolved to viscerally do this every single time that we sense danger, but for some reason unknown to science, we have not. But what about the fourth dimension, time? This is something that a lot of us don't realize, but all the animals that we share this planet with have evolved to experience time at a different scale, speed, and resolution than we do. So while dogs hear higher frequencies, they're experiencing a slow motion version of our world, and that includes sound. So you hear me talking to Lucy like this, but Lucy hears me talking like this. So I'm going to do some math in this video, to the best of my ability and budget, and I'm going to show you what the world looks and sounds like to a variety of different animals. Come on. Wait a minute, animals can't talk, how do we know how they perceive things? Hey, if you have epilepsy or if you are prone to seizures, maybe just stare at your knee for the next 20 seconds. Here I have a standard Energizer flashlight, and here I have a standard stopwatch, and next to this camera I have a camera that can slow things down by 41 times. And let's do this. That was fast, but in real time any human being just sees a flashlight that is on. And that's because your brain cannot keep up with more than 60 flashes per second, so it just shows you the illusion of a steady on light. The temporal resolution of your reality is essentially limited to 60 frames per second. Now this is actually pretty difficult and maybe even a little bit meta to demonstrate on video, because video uses a very similar temporal hack, where you think that you're seeing me toss a flashlight in the air, but what you're actually seeing is 24 consecutive images played in sequence to make it look like motion. That's how all motion pictures work. Don't worry, I'm done flashing lights at the screen. But this is a stroboscope, or a strobing tachometer, and it's essentially a strobe light, but you can very finely and accurately tell it how many times per second to flash a light, and it's very useful in this genre of science. In this temporal genre of neurology, this is referred to as the critical flicker fusion frequency, or CFF, and the hypothesis is that this is essentially the FPS of your brain. By using something called an electroretinogram and measuring electrical impulses, we're able to take a close look at what speed of flashing is required to see when the eye stops trying to process each flash as new information, thus just seeing the optical illusion of steady light. And of course, with varying degrees of difficulty, we can also test this on animals who have wildly different CFFs, both using electroretinogram and also simply studying behavior until it is reliably repeatable. And by the way, like a lot of science dealing with perception, this is still theoretical research, and it's always contingent on emerging technology, and we still haven't tested more than a handful of species. And some living things can't see, so we need to invent new methods of finding their CFFs without using light, and later in this video I'll show you how I've been trying to solve that puzzle. A few years back I got my first phone that had a 90 Hz refresh rate, which is considerably faster than 60 Hz, and I noticed that all of a sudden Lucy here started paying attention to videos on my phone, and she would even growl and whine at videos of squirrels and things like that. And the reason for that is because when it was at 60 Hz she just saw this. Dogs have a CFF of about 80, which is 33% faster than humans, which means that they perceive time about 33% slower. Dogs also see in what we would consider a low contrast, washed out effect, and they can only see the colors blue, yellow, and shades of gray. Let's view the world through the eyes, ears, and time perception of Lucy and Kora. Ready? Let's go. Want some chicken? All your chicken. Give. Good girl. Wow, good girl. All right, ready? Here we go. So if dogs live in a little bit of a bullet time effect, then one would assume that cats, with their superior hunting skills, would live in a much more extreme bullet time effect. But surprisingly, a cat CFF is only about 50, which is 9% slower than ours, which means that a cat's reality is actually a little bit sped up in comparison to human beings. Cats don't see many more colors than dogs do, but the sharpness in which they see is superior to dogs and humans. But nonetheless, it still makes it impressive that they can always land on their feet, considering that they have less time to process it. Ain't that right? You want me to drop you and see if you land on your feet? I don't want to do it. I don't have the heart. Rodents often have higher CFF numbers, especially wild ones like chipmunks or squirrels. This little guy clocks in around 120 Hz. He looks pretty neurotic to us, but his reality is half the speed of ours. But some rodents are an exception to this. For example, a guinea pig CFF is 50, a bit slower than ours, and a brown rat's is 39, meaning that it perceives reality 35% faster than we do, which initially is pretty surprising, but it kind of makes sense, as these types of rodents have evolved to cohabitate with humans and eat our waste, rather than existing solely in environments where they have to hunt for nutrients or constantly flee predators. Leaving the mammal world, avians generally have much higher CFF numbers. My spoiled fat ducks here have a CFF of about 105, about a 75% increase from humans, meaning that they experience reality almost painfully slow for how chill their life is. Wild ducks on the other hand tend to use their perception of time much better. I've known Greg here for about 3 years, and if Greg doesn't want to be picked up, Greg is not getting picked up. Now smaller song birds like this one on my back porch have a CFF of up to 145. What is almost a bewildering speed for me is much more nuanced looking to them. But what's more interesting to me is how they hear the world, specifically their songs. If I record them with a wide range microphone at 192 kHz and 32 bit, I have a bit of freedom to slow them down and maintain decent quality. Here are a few calls that I've recorded over the years in this format. As one might expect, measuring the CFF of insects can get really tricky, but it's been done in a variety of ways, and a house fly clocks in at an astonishing 270 Hz. That's a 350% increase in time perception that us humans have, allowing them to annoy us to no end while we try and swat them. It must be pretty awesome to live in bullet time, eh? Actually, no it isn't. A higher CFF isn't necessarily any better than a lower CFF. These are optimal time scale resolutions that every species has evolved to have. If humans could survive and reproduce better in bullet time, then we'd likely have evolved to experience reality in bullet time. An insect like a housefly might feel like a big fancy pants with its increased temporal resolution, but if you were to move your hand slowly over a fly, it would perceive your hand much like we would perceive grass growing or ice melting or paint drying. It would be too slow to be visible. So here is a good life hack: if you ever want to catch a fly with your bare hands, take your time. Don't do it with wasps. Elephants perceive time much faster than us. They're herbivores and they have no natural predators, so they benefit from a slower metabolism. So being able to see a developing rainstorm or plants blooming gives it the information it needs to survive. Ideally, the fact that other animals seem like a blur to an elephant doesn't really matter any more than finches moving too fast for us does. More so than just seeing movement, the ability to recognize patterns is contingent on our perception of time. So it seems like most animals' critical flicker fusion frequency is determined by the time perception of what we eat and what eats us. Now there are exceptions, but generally smaller, shorter living animals have higher temporal resolutions than larger, longer living animals. That housefly living in bullet time is really expensive to its metabolism. So expensive that many insects require so much oxygen that there is no time for it to go through lungs in a cardiovascular system. Instead they have microscopic tubes going through their bodies that directly deliver oxygen to cells. And even then, with all that fine tuning, a house fly's lifespan is only 28 days. So like I said, that bullet time comes at a hefty price. But there are quite a few animals that have a hack for this. Since we can't exactly follow reptiles around in the wild with a stroboscope attached to their eyeballs, this isn't entirely understood, but in some research papers you'll notice that it's hard to get an accurate CFF reading on anole lizards, for example. About once or twice a week I find one of these right here in my basement studio, and I was hoping I could have one chill on my shoulder, but no such luck. As you may know, anoles and some other lizards can change their colors to blend into their backgrounds, and many reptiles can change their metabolism, body weight, body temperature, oxygen requirements, and, you guessed it, time perception. So as an example, a lizard could heat itself up in the sun, slowing down its metabolism and speeding up its time perception, and it could recognize insect patterns. Then it could go inside some shrub, cool down its body temperature, slow down its time perception, blend in with its surroundings, and grab its prey once they make the mistake of getting too close. It is thought that this is a similar arrangement with crocodiles or alligators. They typically will chillax in the sun and then hunt land animals from the edge of the water in cooler temperatures. Or an even better example that you may have witnessed yourself is in turtles or tortoises. They crawl through a time lapse reality on land, and the moment you put them in water they swim away at high speeds. My point is that a lot of reptiles, by changing their body temperature, have a knob that changes the speed of everything they hear and see. Reptiles are Keanu Reeves. So talking about the temporal perception of plants or fungi may seem a little bit silly, considering that they don't have brains or eyes or ears. But a lot of them can feel pressure, and guess what sound is. The next challenge though is communication. How can you tell if a plant can perceive time at all, much less the speed at which it might? There is one type of plant that I could think of that under perfect conditions can reliably and instantly respond to stimulus, and that is oceanic bioluminescent algae. For the last few months a room in my house has been dedicated to cultivating, growing, and simulating a day and night cycle for oceanic algae connected to electrical stimuli, audio transducers, and pressure sensors. And I have a long way to go before I write a paper on this, but in the meantime enjoy a brief light show. And finally, this video has no sponsorships and was a little expensive to make, but made possible due to my Patreon members. And if you want access to a community with audio assets, unreleased music, ambisonic field recordings, monthly songwriting challenges, and game servers, then my Patreon is for you, and you can join for as little as a dollar. See you soon, bye.