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
Fractal antenna

fun social media stuff

(nobody does!)

Like my brownhouse:
   big French sandwiches
Saturday, August 5 2000 [REDACTED]
Though I was weak and achy all day, there was still some important business that I needed to handle. Kim, as it happens, doesn't have quite enough money to pay for her move to an apartment at an undisclosed location in Venice. [REDACTED] So she'd asked me to give her whatever I could afford from my bank account. "What I could afford" came to about $2000. On the outing to make this particular monetary transfer, we stopped for lunch at a traditional French café on trendy Abbott-Kinney in Venice, sitting outside in the patio area with the cigarette smokers, cell phone schizos and fellow dog people. The sandwiches were big and delicious, some of the waiters spoke French, and the clientele was even whiter than the 1996 Republican convention.

Throughout the day, I could feel my health fading. In the evening, though, I mustered what little remained of my strength and did some work on Kim's mother's website.


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