Nb. Evidently 3 years ago I considered starting a blog like this and registered “godinthegame” on wordpress. If you go there, you’ll find only one post, but I’ll save you the trouble by posting it here. Not really the best introduction, thematically, to what I’d like this all to be about, but it’s some of the most fun reading I’ve ever offered. I say that as one who forgot it existed and was genuinely entertained by what I recovered.


Invisible hands juggle scraps of newspaper through the dusty city square under the watch of a concrete monument, the last remaining testament to a society that has long since faded into the musky gray of the past. Debris tells a story better left untold, one of hate, of war, of death. Thick, heavy air rises from the streets. What was once a metropolis is now a putrid mausoleum.

Glowing eyes stare unblinkingly from the shadows of the empty buildings as creatures of the dark, reclaimers of the city, lie in wait. Wind whistles through the cracked asphalt, rattling colorless weeds that have broken through.

A small pile of pebbles begins to rattle. At first, the movement is subtle, but as he gets closer, they begin to slide away from one another, bouncing on the concrete in time with the pounding of his boots. At first he cannot be seen. Then, glances through the swirling yellow air. Finally he is visible: wrapped tightly in militant garb, dusty combat boots, ammunition belts crossed over his shoulders and circling his waist. Yet he carries no bullets–his holster contains no guns.

He needs but one weapon, which he retrieves from its resting place behind his ear. It is a shiny silver pen.

He has come to this wasteland in search of life.
And where he finds it, he will write.

He is the recorder of hope.
He is the author of light.
He is the empyreal wordsmith, and he has come to the game in search of his Lord.

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