Your leaking thatched hut during the restoration of a pre-Enlightenment state.


Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").


decay & ruin
Biosphere II
dead malls
Irving housing

got that wrong

appropriate tech
Arduino μcontrollers
Backwoods Home
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Like my brownhouse:
   wacky day in West LA
Tuesday, March 14 2000
So many odd things happened today that it's hard to know where to begin. In the morning an essential multi-kilobuck check arrived from Kim's mother and we set off in the Volvo for Santa Monica to handle some real estate business. At 2pm we'd scheduled a building inspection for the condo we've been hoping to buy. Approaching Santa Monica from the south on the 405, the air of Los Angeles was acrid, yellow and still, but in Santa Monica itself it was colored only by thin wisps of clean white fog.
As we walked toward our building for the inspection, I could see, leaning like a gargoyle off of a third floor balcony, the same older Indian (from India) guy we'd encountered in the laundry room when we'd checked out the condo the first time. I didn't think anything of it, but when we got off the elevator onto the third floor for the inspection, there he was helping an even older man walk up and down the hallway with the assistance of a walker. The older man was missing an eye and his inert Lynchian meatlike qualities resembled those of a reanimated corpse. I didn't notice any of these things at first, but Kim did, and her feminine intuition noticed other things as well. Suddenly she demanded that we talk to each other in private.
So we walked down the hall a short ways and Kim indicated the two older men shuffling back and forth in the hallway, saying, "I don't like the energy coming from that [the younger] man. Do you see how he's staring at us and at Sophie? He's giving me the creeps. There's no way I could run a business here. Let's call the whole thing off."
Whoah, now this wasn't good news at all. For my part, I just wanted the nightmare of house hunting to be over. But Kim was doing what Kim always does, changing her mind at the last minute based on the slightest whiff of discomfort. To her credit, of course, buying a condo is a much bigger decision than deciding on a booth in a restaurant, and if we were going to find out that we couldn't live with one of our prospective neighbors (a guy who is clearly in the building a lot), now wasn't too late.
I had Sophie in my arms throughout the whole drama and, in total frustration and not knowing what else to do, returned to the car to put her away for awhile. But then I found I'd forgotten to bring the keys. By the time I returned to the prospective condo, there was Kim in the middle of the living room addressing an entire entourage consisting of our real estate agent, the seller's real estate agent, the building inspector, the seller and the seller's attorney. As I walked in, the seller, a strange, thin, middle-aged woman was saying, "I've never had any trouble with him... You have to understand, he's from a different culture." But no one could change Kim's mind and the deal was over with.
I was sort of in shock after that, but it didn't seem to phase Charlie, our real estate agent. Within the ten minutes, we'd walked to the other side of the block and were irrelevantly touring a $350,000 condo that Kim and I had just looked at while waiting for the ill-fated appointment.
At the real estate office, Charlie patiently resumed his search for a new place for us. Then, when we'd accumulated a few quality possibilities, he drove us around showing them to us.
The first place we toured was an absolute gem: a genuine West LA townhouse with its own front door, hardwood floors, a skylight, wrought iron Art Nouveau detailing, a fireplace, upstairs bedrooms with high angular ceilings, you name it. The seller's real estate agent was a chatty woman chock full of Irish wit, but no matter what she said, the place told its own story and basically sold itself. One interesting thing we learned was that an earlier couple had gone into escrow on the place but had been fighting when they toured it and had broken up before the deal could close.
We perfunctorily toured other condos for most of the rest of the afternoon, but nothing compared to that first place we'd seen. So the last business we did for the day was to make an offer on the West LA dream townhouse. Unfortunately, the offer we made was the kind for which we must somehow raise additional thousands of dollars, but that's how I live my life these days with Kim calling most of the shots.

The rest of the evening was spent over at Dr. Forinis Sparticus's place. She'd invited us over for videotaping and a photoshoot to further provide content for her website.
Just as we arrived, Forinis was in the midst of a huge battle with a fellow goddess, the childishly whimsical Anthea. The conflict was related to a trip to Paris that the goddesses had planned together. Evidently Forinis had invited a blond woman she calls "My Sister" to come along for free, and Anthea was resisting the idea, fearing that there would be, for example, too many goddesses sharing the same Parisian washroom. Kim and I overheard Forinis having a major fight with someone over the phone, but we didn't yet know that the someone was Anthea. We're used to Anthea being Forinis's best friend in the whole world, but such intense friendships usually have negatives to balance their positives. And as the fight went on, Kim whispered to me her suspicion that it was with Anthea. For a brief time after the phone call was over it seemed like the fight had been with someone else and Kim even said, "That's a relief; it's good to know Forinis isn't quite that crazy." But then it turned out that the fight had indeed been with Anthea. Forinis's "My Sister" was the only one else there with us at the time, and she certainly had no interest in being the cause of any conflict, yet she she still wanted to be included on the trip to Paris. For the rest of the evening, no one wanted to answer the phone when it rang and Kim had to serve as secretary.
Anthea is Forinis's principle photographer, and she's something of a prima dona about it, forever threatening to quit while at the same time contending that Forinis could never find a suitable replacement. But tonight Forinis was belittling these claims, saying things like "All it takes is a firm hand and a finger to push the button. Anyone can do that! My Sister can do that, and much more cheaply!"
We all smoked pot while My Sister set up a futon with romantic pillows and draperies for the impending photoshoot. Then we waited around until the resident multimedia genius, Forinis's boyfriend Evan, came home from work. During this time, Forinis spent a long time in the bathroom applying makeup, trying to make herself look older. This involved a dramatic episode of spraying her hair with silver paint and applying weird shading to her face. It's difficult at such times to separate genius and motivation from all-out Attention Deficit Disorder-flavored insanity.
When he started videotaping, Evan shot Kim and Forinis doing some tantric rituals together, especially the infamous act of Goddess Spot (G Spot) Massage & Worship. Kim also provided some verbal narration of what she was doing which eventually will be edited down and presented for download on the Restrained web site. Kim's verbal performance exceeded all expectations, both in terms of content and presentation. Forinis was clearly delighted; I could see cogs turning in her head as she thought of other scenes for Kim to narrate.
Helping Kim relax and loosen up was a shot of GHB, which she drank with a mixture of cherry Cool Aid. She was pleased to be given an opportunity to get fucked up on such a notorious LA drug, and she kept asking for more. But Forinis saw to it that Kim didn't just go off and mix herself another shot. "If you die in my apartment," Forinis said, "I'm rolling you off the balcony!" I was also on GHB, but I was reluctant about it, having less intention of getting fucked up, so I never relaxed and had quite the fun that Kim was having.
I also didn't watch as carefully as Kim manually brought Forinis to orgasm right there in front of the video camera. Mind you, it wasn't just a conventional orgasm either, it was an act of amrita. Amrita refers to female ejaculation, the involuntary squirting of mysterious fluids during orgasm. I didn't see it so much as hear it. Suddenly it sounded like Forinis had turned into a teapot and was pouring tea all over the set (which had been prepared ahead of time with several layers of towels). When she was done, she told Evan, "there was the money shot!" Up until now Forinis hadn't yet succeeded at documenting her own amrita, an act that such people as Annie Sprinkle have documented countless times. As a skeptical onlooker, I'm still puzzled by what exactly it was that flowed from Forinis when she amritaed all over the place. Was it just urine? If so, it certainly didn't smell like urine (and Kim was close enough to know). For that matter, it came out far more copiously than urine, at about the rate, as I said, of someone pouring a cup of tea.
After that, Forinis did my makeup and videotaped Kim massaging and providing mouth worship to my lingum (penis). When we were all done, Forinis gave us a crisp new hundred dollar bill as payment for services rendered.
As I already said, I hadn't been terribly affected by the GHB, so when we were done photographing for the night, I drove us back home to Schteveish San Diego.

The main thing I learned on the drive home was that some exits around Irvine are as remote as rural exists in West Virginia. I took the University Avenue exit in hopes of finding a gas station and had to give up and continue southward on the 5 to a more suitable location. By the way, even the cheapest gas is $1.60/gallon these days, damn those towel heads!

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