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:
   procrastination is an easy thing to atone for
Sunday, December 18 2022
Sunday mornings are much like Saturday mornings, but we'd been up late last night (especially for me), going to bed after midnight, so I wasn't out of bed until around 9:30am. After the usual time spent in the living room with Spelling Bee and the fire, I took the 19 inch Kobalt battery-powered chainsaw and went down the Stick Trail looking for standing dead trees that would provide wood that was already dry. I started cutting one down but abandoned it when it seemed too dangerous to proceed, hoping the wind would do the rest. Further down the Stick Trail (probably a quarter mile from home), I found a dead stem riding from an otherwise-living white oak, so I cut that down and it came to about two backpack loads' worth. Schlepping it home was a bit of an ordeal, especially while also carrying a chainsaw. But when I went to get the second load, I didn't need to bring that.
Later I cut down a mid-size chestnut oak west of the Farm Road that hadn't been dead for very long. The wood of its lower trunk hadn't had time to dry sufficiently, but its upper branches were good to burn.
Some time before retrieving that third backpack load, I swallowed a recreational percocet and hoped for the best. Happily, it didn't give me severe pangs of acid reflux (as it often does) but instead put me in a mildly good mood, one compatible with watching YouTube videos. It especially good to lie down, which I did as darkness gathered after 4:00pm. It felt really good to masturbate, but it took such sustained effort to achieve masturbation's end goal that I tore a number of holes in the sensitive skin down there.
Meanwhile Gretchen had gone out to look at used exercise equipment in hopes of replacing her 20-year-old ski machine (which she bought for only $100 and forces her into an uncomfortable posture while using). Her exercise-equipment-shopping adventure took her to two different places in greater Kingston. The first was an ugly "town home" in a 1980s development southwest of Washington Avenue, where an older woman with "lots of work done" (and looked like she was perhaps from Florida) was asking $400 for a nice ski machine made by Schwinn. The other person with a ski machine lived way down Abeel Street beyond Eddyville and lived in a beautiful house from the 19th Century and was the daughter of a famous poet. But her machine seemed a bit too heavy for Gretchen's needs (she wants to be able to move it around).
Later, before going to bed, I delighted myself by quickly completing all the work I was supposed to have done on Friday in the remote workplace. Procrastination might be a vice, but it's an easy thing to atone for.

For linking purposes this article's URL is:

previous | next