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I woke up and sucked the life out of two cigarettes before stepping into my living room. Windows, couches, television.

I checked the paper on my electronic book reader. New York Times, every word of it tearing out my eyes. I try to read the yogi book, reflect on its insistent, almost commanding tone, the tone of a spiritual icon hidden from Western life trying desperately to confirm his faith to millions. I cough. That's me.

And it really is me, in a way, though the Times claws at my faith like nothing, not even my current situation, and the only place I'm a real "icon" is to my guild-members, cybernetically dreaming in polygons of elves and warlords, that new type of imagination that taxes the lingual skills almost like turning your brain into lines of talking code.

My house isn't alive like it used to be, waking me up, talking to me, asking me to settle down and enjoy tea, look outside and think about the neighbors. Now its dead and I'm left with this technological feeling like I'm being scanned, or remembered posthumously in a catalogue. Its all because of this new world-view I had adopted, determining the brain of God must be the ultimate processor, rendering every atom for me like my new graphics card. I push the button on my PC. I expect the usual shift in energy of the objects around me but get nothing. I'm lying in the bottom of an empty hole. My nightmare.

Logging in, I think about how I no longer log-in to my daily world. I've learned to skip the procedure and watch reality warp in respect to how out-of-touch I am. The mail arriving without me registering what time it is. Television talking to somebody else in the room. He pushes his finger under his lip to suck on the joy of my daily living.

I think, somebody must be reading this. Somebody must be reading my mind.

Jennifer arrives. She brings with her a materialized golden Indian palace all bejeweled in our minds. Solid as the house I rent. She's been reading the same yogi book which claims you can do such things with the simple human brain. We've mastered it.

"Catch the Times?"

"Caught the Times."

Everything is forgotten as we choke down a mutual feeling of real pleasure then she disconnects and I'm left back with these shards of humdrumness in my stomach.

If every atom in the universe is in God's mind then what happens when God takes his dog out for a walk (I almost feint)? I ask her that question in a different form.

"Have you logged in today?"

Of course she has, its already eleven am. She watches me log in typing my password and waiting for the update. She sighs.

"Why did we ever even start this?" She's talking about our role-playing guild.

"I don't know. Do you want to stop?"

She closes her eyes. "Yes." It's like the breath of a prayer. The guild is taking a drain on both of us.

"We can't stop. We've invested too much time. We couldn't stop if we wanted to. I've forgotten how to cook a real dinner."

She starts crying. "I had a dream last night."

"Don't tell me about it. I had a dream too." I have dreams every night.