What a thrill that the legendary New York Times bestselling author offered to write a Foreword for Mark’s book. And what a Foreword it is. Behold:
The first time I met Mark Mallman, I was looking at tigers at the Minnesota Zoo. Mark seemed so nice that I assumed he was making fun of me. The second time I met him was when we performed together at First Avenue: I was reading from a book I’d written titled Killing Yourself to Live, while Mark would periodically interject live musical interludes inspired by musicians who had died young. As one might expect, it’s hard to compete against the energy of a rock frontman when all you have to offer the audience are ironic passages from a memoir. Mallman blew me off the stage. But you know, that was one instance where it was really an honor to be obliterated in public. There are so many artists (musical or otherwise) who want to present themselves as creative, which usually just means they can’t hold a job and want people to give them credit for being vaguely annoying. Mark is the exception to this cliché. He is legitimately original, exclusively motivated by a desire to conquer the strange obstructions he builds inside his mind. He’s talented, sincere, singular, and weird. And he’s hyper-competitive, but only against himself.
— Chuck Klosterman