A short story.  Written for Brian Hutchings in exchange for a donation to Merritt Kopas’ medical fundraiser. Please do donate!


“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! AH AH AH AH AH AH AH!”

Rockstill in pain to this every Saturday morning.


Screams usually lull me awake in my thick hangover state, a karmic punishment for shochu cocktail with a few drops of viscose red, complaining, clinging to the heart that beats in my ears and crawls through my system, a sugarless joyless syrup.

“HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA,” he screams as my eyelids suck open in the humidity, my limbs have a dry bath in slimy air and sweat. The sheets tangle around my naked body. I am trapped in a keen awareness of my own stupidity.

I lie cremated. The back of my throat is as if I’d incubated six weeks of off bacon in it.

“Well,” I croak. It is 9am. View Full Post

A piece of writing’s worth depends on 1) the ability of a writer to convey meaning effectively 2) the ability of the reader to do the legwork to meet that meaning. 2) is not explored very often.

Nordic Game asked me to do a talk on ‘New Wave games criticism’. I didn’t know what that was really, and if it’s anything we are probably in the middle of it and I can’t really see what it is yet. But anyway, since I’m leaving, I guess this is my goodbye.

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