217: The Way He Reminds Me That I Exist

SUMMARY

Do I exist?

TRANSCRIPT

Original transcript edited by Spider and Ari and reviewed by Jenah

[BEGIN Episode 217.]

INTRO: Hey guys, quick plugs. Welcome to Season 19. I’m excited, and I hope you’re ready. I’m still streaming on Twitch over at twitch.tv/woebegonepod, where every Sunday I write that week’s episode soundtrack and then we hang out and play a video game. We are in between video games right now, but it is about to be the spooky season, so I might try something spooky on for size in the next couple of weeks. So check that out at twitch.tv/woebegonepod.

And if you’d like to support the show, you can do that over at patreon.com/woe_begone, where you can get early access to ad-free episodes, instrumentals, soundtrack albums, Q&As, director’s commentaries, Movies with Michael, postcards, cork boards, and Mork boards. I had a lot of fun posting little teaser-y things over on the Patreon during my intermission, including something you’re going to hear at the end of this episode. And that was available for all one-dollar-and-up patrons, so if you like little goodies like that, that’s patreon.com/woe_begone.

Special thanks to my ten newest patrons: [REDACTED] for supporting the show. Enjoy.

[Warning: This episode contains a discussion of suicide, a depiction of violence, and some crab death. Listener discretion is advised.]

MIKE [narrating]: Recently, I have been able to convince myself that I don’t exist. It isn’t just me that doesn’t exist, though. Nobody exists. There is no such thing as consciousness. Cogito, ergo sum is built on a false foundation. It assumes that “I think.” But what if there isn’t an action that is “thinking” that occurs at all? What if the conscious mind isn’t something that emerges out of our biology and instead is just a mindless biological process like any other? Do you actually have any control over your thoughts? You can think about how you want to control your thoughts, but are you controlling that want? How do you change the way you change the way you feel? How far down the chain do you have to go before you consider anything that you’re doing to be a product of your agency? Maybe on some quantum level you’re “controlling” the states of particles in a way that there’s not a deterministic outcome to every thought you have, but is that meaningful enough to matter to you on the macroscopic level? Because on the macroscopic level, we can change abruptly and permanently. Phineas Gage suffered a head injury that completely changed who he was. The Phineas Gage he was before was “gone” or “dead” or some other descriptor meaning “no longer exists.” How many times have I been hit in the head? How many times have I been made of entirely different atoms than the person I was a few years ago? Are those versions of me “gone”? Are they “dead”? Are they “me”? Are they “connected” to me somehow? Were they ever anything that could be considered “here”?

Because, to remind you, I have recently been able to convince myself that I don’t exist. So I am being profoundly literal when I say that none of us exist. There is no poetic license. I am not talking about the briefness of the human lifespan compared to the depth of geologic time, in which any individual’s life is a rounding error. No, I mean that there is actually no rounding error to even consider.

This idea is horrifying to me, and I’m still trying to understand why. Why would this idea frighten me? If I’m right, if I don’t exist, then there is nothing to worry about, there is nothing to worry with, and there is no such thing as “worrying” except as a physical expression of electricity and biology. If it were true, then there would be absolutely nothing that could ever be done about it. Even under normal circumstances, it’s good advice that most worrying is ultimately useless and probably harmful in the long run, but that’s doubly so when the worry offers a negation of itself. It tracks that I, Mike Walters, the perfect worrier—not to be confused with the perfect warrior—would find a way to worry about such things. Boris says that I think too much, but if I’m right, then there’s nothing that I can do about it. My conclusions are keeping me up, unable to sleep on important nights like the one that just passed as I watched the sun rise. Like a cognitohazard, simply having the thought is destructive, and the destruction constantly threatens to destroy me.

I had to stop writing for a moment to deal with a giant spider that descended from my ceiling right in front of me. It was genuinely surprising how large this spider was. I coaxed him onto the piece of paper that I am writing this on and let him out the back door. It’s cold outside. There’s still dew on the ground. I could hear breathing from the bedroom. Comfortable breathing, like nothing’s happening, like nothing is going to happen, and like tomorrow isn’t a black hole pulling us forever toward it.

I’m going to miss the way he reminds me that I exist. He isn’t a distraction from this line of thinking, a way to put off thinking about it until it’s all over and there is no more thinking to be done. It’s not the simple creature comfort of the warmth of us lying in bed together every night, or him pressing his cold feet into me to prevent me from having a panic attack, or us talking late into the night with rudimentary subjects that I am sure smarter people have reached better conclusions about in places that aren’t our bedroom. He reminds me that I actually, factually exist. Hot and present and now, of the moment, quick and sharp, entitative. Not as a vessel being passively filled up by my love for him, but as a real being in a real world.

I am horrified by how little he wavers as his own existence’s expiration date rushes toward us, spacetime folding and folding again, the ground rushing up towards our feet, everything always rushing, like folding up a map and using that to walk across the ocean. I feel sick at how resilient he is, how I have to push down so that I don’t ruin his final moments. There is nothing to be but brave for him. There is nothing to be at all for me. There is nothing, and there will be nothing in all directions, not just the directions that we can comprehend. In all dimensions and all universes, there is nothing. We aren’t returning to it, we are already there, and it is nice to be proven wrong.

He is how it has to be, because it cannot be any other way. I am so lucky that I got to be pulled in by his wake. I don’t know what would’ve happened to me out there on my own, adrift in the ocean of temporality. I don’t think I’d drown. I think that something worse would happen. Something that I can’t even fathom, because I can only think the thoughts that I think, and I can’t think the thoughts that I don’t. I was happy to be pulled along, knowing that there was no lighthouse guiding us to no shore, and no shore at all but just movement in the water, orthogonal to the waves. That’s us. Me and him. Can you see our tiny wake?

Michael is coming over this morning.

[Opening theme plays.]

[We hear a soft knock on the door before it opens.]

MICHAEL: Hey there, Mike. Mind if I come in? Edgar said somethin’ ’bout how you don’t exist.

MIKE: [Sighs.] I had a really rough night, Michael.

MICHAEL: I can tell. Ya got bags under your eyes. You know all them thoughts floatin’ ’round in your head’s hooey, right? I know ’cause I got the same cowboy brain as you, [MIKE: I–] pard. It’s all hooey up in there.

MIKE: Michael, I don’t have a cowboy brain. It’s just… you know what Boris says. Uh– I always think too much?

MICHAEL: Well ya got the same brain as me, pard, and I’m a cowboy. And other than the morality o’ bein’ a landlord, I don’t reckon Boris has ever been wrong about nothin’, no sir.

MIKE: How are him and Bruno doing? Besides, you know, exploiting the housing market crisis…

MICHAEL: They’re doin’ good. The exploiting’s real good right now. But Bruno’s missin’ you somethin’ fierce. You got that pup wrapped around your little finger, ya know. I don’t know how ya do it.

MIKE: The answer is secret, high-value treats that only I give him because I’m the only one that knows where I stashed them in the apartment.

MICHAEL: Well it’s workin’, pard. And I won’t go huntin’ your stash. I told Boris what was goin’ on, and he tried to hop into problem-solvin’ mode, same as usual. He asked if he could blow somethin’ up for us. I-I told him that prolly won’t help. Then he tried to get me to bring ya fish soup, but I told him it was impossible to transport soup through time ’cause it spills everywhere.

MIKE: Well I appreciate you lying to him. I don’t think that I could handle fish soup right now. G-God, could you imagine if the house smelled like fish soup tomorrow when it happens? Ugh.

MICHAEL: And if ya wanna get yourself some smells, the Latvia apartment smells like fish soup right now. There’s plenty to go around if’n ya wanna stop by and get some.

MIKE: I’m not hungry. And I’ll never be hungry for fish soup. How much did you tell Boris? How– How much does he know about, like, our situation? Like, me and Edgar?

MICHAEL: He’s familiar with our general proclivities, so I reckon he picked up what I was puttin’ down. He said he understood completely. And he said you’re welcome back to the apartment and your dogsittin’ job as soon as you’ve healed enough to want things again. I concur, o’ course. The apartment’s empty without you in it, pard. You are comin’ back eventually, ain’tcha?

MIKE: [Sighing.] Michael, I have no idea. I don’t think about the future anymore, I think about tomorrow. I cannot conceive of a time existing after what happens tomorrow. I-It’s foreign to me to think about… going back to Base’s present or living in the apartment again. Like a– Like a thought experiment that could never actually come true. So yeah, like, logically I will and should go back. And that’s kind of like how logically a-a dragon can fly using its wings.

MICHAEL: Sorrow’s a hungry bugger. It’ll eat up all the time and perspective you got. There’s a lot more comin’ after tomorrow, I can promise ya that much.

MIKE: Hmm, and you can promise me that because I turn into you? Remember that? That made a lot more sense back then, Michael. But I-I didn’t turn into you. I disconnected from you. You spent years and years of corrected time trying and failing to change what’s gonna happen tomorrow, and I didn’t do any of that because you did and you recorded your findings, so I can trust that you’re right and there’s nothing more I can contribute. But, since you did all of that and I didn’t, that– that means that I’m fundamentally disconnected from you, to say nothing of all the other things. Uh– Whatever happened to you after tomorrow isn’t necessarily what’s going to happen to me. Hell, at some point, if I were you, I’d end up going further back to the formation of Satellite Base and becoming you there. Wouldn’t I? Uh– But– But so much has happened that I-I don’t know if that’s supposed to happen to me or not or what I am supposed to do about it at all, if anything.

MICHAEL: Y’ain’t s’posed to do nothin’, pard. Connected events is inevitable. Y’ain’t gonna make yourself do ’em ’cause you’re s’posed to. If it’s connected, then it’s gonna happen no matter whatcha do. If it happens, it happens. You ain’t gotta worry ’bout fittin’ yourself into the equation, pard. Either ya fit or ya don’t. And you got time for all o’ that to figure itself out. It ain’t like tomorrow happened and I immediately jumped into my spurs and back in time to form Satellite Base.

MIKE: Yeah, I-I see what you’re doing here. I’m not going to “hop into my spurs” after tomorrow or any other time. Okay? Is that what you want? You want me to become a cowboy?

MICHAEL: Only when that’s what you want, pard. Make a bunch o’ folks happy, I reckon. Everyone loves a cowboy with a heart o’ gold.

MIKE: Okay, you’re asking for a lot here. First you want me to become a cowboy, and now you want me to have a “heart of gold?” Where am I gonna find one of those?

MICHAEL: I’m sure Marissa’s got a guy what could sell ya one. She’s doin’ good business now that Base is operatin’ like a real dang organization.

MIKE: So Base is doing good, I take it? Th– Uh– That’s– T-That’s good, I guess. They’re– They’re working instead of sitting around, pitying me.

MICHAEL: Ain’t no one back in 2025 pityin’ ya, pard. Edgar and Mikey got the Ram up and runnin’, so they’re learnin’ all they can about Tier Two technology. Lots o’ experiments, makin’ up for lost time. There’s talk about backwards propagatin’ the whole project so they can do a big technological jump forward. Which we wouldn’t need to do if Tex would sit down and talk to us.

MIKE: Oh, are you still trying to talk to Tex? ‘Cause I figured he was probably a lost cause. Not that I blame him. I got a lead on a Leg Unit and a talking horse, head down to his neck of the woods, and then bam! Amnesiatic correction protocol hits all of Bluster’s Grove and Base out of nowhere, Tex is missing half of his men and his only remaining meat leg, and no one knows where we went or what we did there. It’s a– It’s a mess. He blames us, and he’s probably right, ’cause he was down there minding his own business, and then I showed up and got him involved.

MICHAEL: Tex mighta been mindin’ his own business, but he don’t run a clean business, if’n ya know what I mean. But we’re just as tired of amnesiac corrections as Tex and his Numbers are! It only ever gets everyone in more trouble, ’cause everyone’s gotta look into it to see if they can figure out what happened. Bradford knows, by the way. That smug motherfucker. I guarantee it.

MIKE: Yeah, Bradford knows. What else is new? I don’t trust him, and I don’t trust that new little Mikey iteration assistant he’s got. Stinky? They definitely both remember things that the rest of us got wiped. That’s probably why Stinky’s there in the first place. I-It’s not like he got to 2030 through the normal passage of time. He’s a Mikey iteration. He’s younger than me!

MICHAEL: Ya gotta weigh the pros and cons with Bradford. There’s all this secret business and him knowin’ things that he might be the one responsible for makin’ us forget. He lives in a penthouse on the dang Moon and won’t even give us a tour. But, he’s also sendin’ resources to Base these days. We don’t gotta sneak around behind his back to help them. Bradford knows we’re helpin’, and he wants to help too, but only a trickle. It ain’t like he’s signin’ over the Ibis Society to our care.

MIKE: I would not trust any device that he hands over to Base. I’m sure the data’s being sent right back to Bradford for study and surveillance.

MICHAEL: I say let him throw us a bone if he wants. He can build Base up into a big enough fish in the pond to eat him and his little Stinky, too. Base is gonna need us to help infiltrate Bradford’s organization, though. We’re on the inside.

MIKE: Michael, I never said that I was definitely coming back. Not to Base and definitely not to TryLeg.

MICHAEL: The way I see it, you’re gonna waller for a while. A hard-earned waller, at that. But that’s gonna end eventually. The hurt’ll get manageable, and you’ll need somethin’ to fill the days.

MIKE: Yeah, I-I was thinking about skipping all of that and doing… one last correction.

MICHAEL: Mike…

MIKE: What’s g-going to happen tomorrow is going to be extremely well-documented. You did the documenting. So… I know exactly what second is going to be the second. Which means that I could correct out at that exact second. And I-I would still be there for him, but… it would be over before he could leave me or I could leave him. W-We’d just both leave together. And i-it shouldn’t affect you. Right? ‘Cause we’re– we’re disconnected, so I don’t see how it could affect you, and I-I’m picking a point as close to the moment as possible, of course, so there’s not time discrepancies or anything like that.

MICHAEL: Mike Walters. You know better than to talk like that. You don’t go nowhere, and ya sure as hell won’t be together. No rest, no relief, no catharsis, not even darkness. No way to look back at the world you’re leavin’. Weren’t you just whinin’ about that, pard? Ain’t that what kept you up all night? Non-existence?

MIKE: I have a love-hate relationship with it.

MICHAEL: Yeah, no shit, pard. I’ve had to guide ya through it afore, back when the Satellite Base was just gettin’ started and you couldn’t will yourself outta bed in the mornin’. I had to drag ya kickin’ and screamin’ back into the world, and I’ll do that again if’n I hafta. And it seems pretty dang clear that I’m about to hafta.

MIKE: You’re free to try.

MICHAEL: If’n I hafta correct your sorry ass back into existence, I’m gonna be hoppin’ mad, ya hear me? Ain’t no way you’re gettin’ outta this, pilgrim.

MIKE: Well it’s not something that I-I want, it’s– it’s just that I don’t know what I’m gonna do tomorrow. Or– Or ever again.

MICHAEL: You take as much time as you need to figure out what you’re gonna do ever again, pard. I’ll be holdin’ down the fort back in 2025. Me and Base and Boris and Bruno are gonna miss ya somethin’ fierce in the meantime. Don’t come rushin’ back, but, ya know… bein’ in a routine and around people that care aboutcha does some good.

MIKE: Thanks, Michael, I’ll remember that.

MICHAEL: And your hat and spurs’ll be waitin’ in your closet for your return. I already put ’em there.

MIKE: I’m not going to become a cowboy, Michael.

MICHAEL: That’s what everyone says, pard. Right before they become a cowboy.

[Scene transition.]

[We hear birds chirping. Mike knocks on a door.]

MIKE: Hey, u-uh, Tex, are you there? I-It’s Mike from Base. I-I know that you don’t wanna hear from us, [Door opens.] I just wanted to– [A shotgun is cocked.] O-Okay! Okay!

TEX: What are you doin’ here, “Mike from Base”?

MIKE: Ah, it’s– it’s been a– it’s been a few weeks, and everyone’s calmed down, and a whole bunch of stuff has happened, and I was just… w-wondering if we could get together and–

TEX: You gonna give me my leg back, Mike?

MIKE: Well I don’t have your leg, but that– that’s kind of the point, right? So I thought that we could talk about the correction and maybe what we think happened, how we can get your leg back. Maybe you can, uh– loan Base some resources, I know you’re making all sorts of stuff in that scrapyard, and that warehouse–

TEX: You’re gonna wind up in that warehouse if’n ya don’t start tellin’ why you’re here.

MIKE: Me and Michael, we’re just hoping to– to build some allegiances, you know, like, uh– one Satellite Base, uh– to another, and w-we were hoping that, like, we could– we could interface and communicate and, like, ma– maybe s-share what we know! And, uh, this was a terrible idea, and I– how– why did he send me, why– why was this the first one he sent me on.

TEX: The first one he sent you on. This ain’t the… first mission you been on since [MIKE: Ooh, we don’t have to talk about that–] it happened, is it?

MIKE: –I was just told to ask about the correction, and if you or your Numbers knew anything more about what happened, and also about maybe getting resources from the scrapyard, but I’ve asked those, and, uh– you weren’t helpful, I can go now.

TEX: I reckon I know what’s goin’ on here, Mike. Michael sent me a whimperin’ little stray puppydog in hopes I’d feel sorry for ya and let my guard down and then give ya everything you’re askin’ for.

MIKE: Well, i-is it working?

TEX: I been blindsided by so many corrections in my life, ain’t no way I could ever count ’em. This time I lost my only meat leg and half my men. It ain’t nothin’ like losin’ Edgar, but it’s a substantial loss. So I don’t appreciate Michael sendin’ you here askin’ me for favors.

MIKE: I’m not looking for a favor, I’m looking for us to work together so that we can make the situation better for both of us. I don’t know what Michael wants, and I don’t really care. You’re right, he probably is manipulating the situation by having me come here, but i-it’s over, and I’m back, and I was holding together pretty well until you started waving a shotgun in my face.

TEX: Well I ain’t gonna be the only one what waves a shotgun in your face if you’re goin’ lookin’ for answers.

MIKE: Well then point me where I can get some more shotguns waved in my face, because I’d love to get to the bottom of this.

TEX: My men don’t remember jack shit. The ones that are still around, I mean. And we ain’t found no trace o’ the missin’ half. But the thing about corrections is, ya gotta account for more than any man could possibly account for. There’s someone out there, on the fringes, and I reckon they know.

MIKE: You mean an unconnected iteration like, uh, Bradford’s new guy, uh, what’s his name. Stinky.

TEX: Stinky? He’s workin’ for Bradford? What a piece o’ work. He ain’t gonna tell ya shit. Folks around here got stories about Stinky.

MIKE: Well, I already didn’t trust him. He’s Bradford’s assistant, so of course I don’t trust him… So, is what you’re telling me important? Because I don’t remember Stinky, so if any iteration does remember Stinky, then they remember something that I don’t.

TEX: Got some folks up in Yellowknife. Names 38 and 47. They weather all sorts o’ storms up there, corrective storms included. They won’t tell me nothin’. They hate my guts, but you can give ’em a try.

MIKE: Yeah, it seems like it might be time to pay them a visit. A-And– And– And I’ll share everything with you, obviously, like anything I figure out out there.

TEX: I appreciate that, Mike. How far back are you lookin’ to go, do ya think?

MIKE: I know that there’s no corrective answer to… what happened, if that’s what you mean. I-I’ve talked to Michael, he’s explained it in excruciating detail, and [Takes a breath.] I-I haven’t made peace with it, but I’m– I’m not gonna open that can of worms.

TEX: Before the last big correction, there was a fella lived here, name o’ TXDawg. He was an iteration of a hippie fella named MDawg. Came from a place called Operose International. Operose ain’t around no more. That was part o’ the deal durin’ the creation o’ this here timeline. No O.I. Not ain’t everyone happy ’bout that. There are some outcomes that were possible before that ain’t possible now. TXDawg ain’t here no more. Maybe try askin’ some folks why they’re hopin’ for an O.I. reunion tour. And what you might get out of that arrangement, Mike.

MIKE: I think I understand what you’re trying to tell me, Tex. And thank you, that is very valuable information, and I’m not going to get my hopes up. Michael warned me about that. How he would get his hopes up again and again, and it almost destroyed him. I am currently trying my hardest not to turn into him.

TEX: You’re doin’ a piss-poor job, pard. You’re down here in Texas, and ya got a cowboy hat on.

MIKE: He told me legally I had to wear the cowboy hat or I wasn’t allowed in Texas.

TEX: Well tell ‘im that Tex says howdy and that I see through his game. Don’t get your hopes up, Mike. Just do what’s gotta be done.

[Closing theme plays.]

[Beach ambience.]

AL: Alright, you stay right there… [Breathes in. Grunts while spearing a crab.] Yes! Okay. Okay… [Grunts while spearing a crab.] Okay. [Yells out while spearing a crab. Takes a few breaths.] We’re having crab for dinner tonight! Again! [Brief chuckle.] Again. [Cries.]

[Time travel noise.]

[The Outpost Numbers all chatter in confusion for a moment.]

AL: Uh, hi… uh, everybody. Uh– Where did you come from?

OUTPOST NUMBER: Outlaw sent us here. Where is this place?

AL: Uh, s– Wait… Outlaw sent you here? Like, against your will?

OUTPOST NUMBER: Yessir.

AL: So, uh… So I suppose you aren’t… r-really the biggest fan of Outlaw right now? Uh, ’cause, uh– A-Anyway, uh, my name is Al. Uh, just Al. And, uh, this is Christmas Island. And we’re gonna find the extraction point. [Laughs, then screams.] I’m gonna be free!

[END Episode 217.]