Laura just sent this to me. It’s me and her! Look at the cat pin! It’s all so good!

Imagine the chorus to ‘Band on the Run’ (“Baaaannnnnddd on the run! Baaaannnnnddd on the run!”) and replace it with “Wiiiisssshhhh I were dead!” and you’ll have the soundtrack that plays inside my head every waking moment of my life. Laura and McCune and I often spontaneously sing this in unison all the time! So that’s where that comes from.

Anyway: That Laura Rokas sure is a cool lady.


My friend Luis Hernandez took this picture of McCune and I at the Little Caesars in Emeryville back in March. Luis was in town for the Game Developers Conference, and McCune and I were in town because we live here.

McCune met me at work today. My shift had just ended, and so I ordered some food and sat down. He just had coffee. He told me in the night something had come loose in his head—that a shift had occurred.

“You know how Japanese castles have those big stone foundations? Imagine looking at one and then visiting it a hundred years later and one of the stones has moved. That’s what happened last night while I slept.”

And I thought, holy lord, that happened to me too. I can’t explain the particulars—I haven’t had much time to think about it—but it happened.

This is the only part I can explain concretely: I got rid of half my things. Some of it I sold, some of it I gave away. I deleted any music I had where a guy does something like sing about a girl he loved when he was sixteen or whatever. I went through my bookmarks and realized I didn’t care about anything there and hoped I never saw any of it again.

I wrote my father a letter and told him he’s the only person on earth I trust completely.

What a great thing! The castle stones have shifted and I’m having me a good old time in the process.

Recently I looked at a map of the world and realized that, when I really think about it, I don’t want to live anywhere at all

Well, who the fuck knows what’s real anymore! I sure don’t. I always thought as I got older that things would make more sense, but they make less and less god damn sense every day.

And I think, It sure is an air-thin miracle that I wake up in my bed every morning—that I have a bed at all. That I’m surrounded by four walls. That I turn the faucet and water comes pouring out. It could all be taken away from me in an instant, but here it is for now, and it’s as real as I can perceive it to be.

Sometimes the smoke from a cigarette seems to glitch, the way the wind takes it, and I wonder if I’ve just seen something I’m not supposed to have seen.

So far the little man with the pencil-thin microphone hasn’t come out of panel in my wall and told me my life is a game show, and it’s been going on for twenty-six years, and wouldn’t I like to come on down and meet the audience?

No zippers on the backs of human heads. No cardboard skyscrapers. No sign of the reptiles who run the place. It really is solid all the way through. But sometimes that cigarette smoke looks off. . . .

My whole life I labored to be a thing, because I thought that’s what you were supposed to do. Lately I have stopped. I have a name? And a family and a personality too? Maybe. That’s OK if you want to think that. I’m just here until I’m not, so you can call me whatever you like. In my mind I’m nothing at all.

I am at home and my cat is curled up on my lap. I am horribly sleep deprived and my brain is useless. For the last hour I have been listening to voicemails going back as far as 2010. I had an account somewhere which had stored them all for years and years, and today I found it again.

Back then I rarely answered my phone, so people used to leave me voicemails all the time. There are nearly a hundred of them. Some of these people I will never talk to again, but I still have the messages they left me.

There is one from Madeleine on my 23rd birthday. I listened to it five times. The way she says my name is a way no one has said my name since. It’s hard to explain. It’s just something I can hear. The girl loved me is what I’m saying. Jesus. She was great.