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


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   Blue Hole, vino and tussin with the goths
Monday, February 17 1997

Mediocre thing to say today: the desire to cross streets is an impulse that parents must correct in their children.

I awoke with Cecelia the Brazilian Girl and, some distance away, her friend Mike. We were all together in his untidy apartment somewhere in north Charlottesville. His friendly male dog Denver played with me roughly, but, as I noted at the time, not nearly as roughly as Theresa.

I was anxious to leave and so had Mike drive me back to the Corner.

Cecelia sort of assumed I would blow another day with her and the other goths, but I have a life to live that occasionally must have nothing to do with my little friendships. Thus I went to Comet and did a little work for the Blue Penny Quarterly. Then I went to Cocke Hall at UVA and did some personal musings work. My e-mail influx is getting so large (mostly from strangers who have stumbled upon my web pages) that I now have trouble responding to it in a timely fashion. Meanwhile I particularly owe Deya some kind e-words.

At Plan 9 Records I purchased Ministry's Filth Pig (1996) used for less than $4. It should have cost me more than six dollars but I know the employee who sold it to me and I happened to mention that yesterday was my birthday. I think he gave me the employee discount. Ministry is a band that takes the cold cruel mechanical driving regularity of techno and industrial and applies it to metal. The lyrics for such music have an out of control pscho-sexual-political quality to them. I know that goths frequently like Ministry (for its industrial influences), and as you know, I have goths hanging out in my room occasionally these days. This particular album is not as good as earlier Minstry I have heard, but it does what it needs to anyway.

I went to Goth Central (Theresa and Persad's place) to rendezvous with Cecelia. We had plans of going to Blue Hole (a deep valley in the east flank of the nearby Blue Ridge Mountains). When I got to Goth Central, however, only Theresa and Tiffany were there. Theresa was barely dressed and depressed about things. She had a wicked bruise on her right cheek from where Josh Mustin had slammed her into a wall and Persad was nowhere to be found. She clued me in on all the jealousy-related violence that had happened the night before (it's already all in yesterday's entry).

Theresa's mother sighed, "She didn't fall down any stairs."
Eventually Cecelia and her neighbor Mike appeared. Then came Theresa's mother, along with a couple of little kids, one of them being Theresa's little brother. Theresa tried to keep her hair hanging over her eye so as to keep her mother from seeing the bruise, but she saw it anyway. "I fell down the stairs," Theresa explained. The kids then started asking how she could have fallen down the stairs when she lives on the first floor of the apartment. "I was visiting the neighbor," she continued. The kids kept trying to find out more about this supposed accident until Theresa's mother sighed, "She didn't fall down any stairs."

Tiffany, Cecelia, Mike and I all left Theresa et al behind to go to Blue Hole. I'd been anxious about my folks' video camera, since it had been in Goth Central all last night, even during the worst of the violence. But somehow it had made it through unscathed and, yes, I'd be able to apply it to the task of taping today's nature outing.

As we drove to the 5th Street Extended Food Lion to pick up vino, I felt emotionally dead. It seemed at the time as though I should have had feelings like lust, passion, motivation or alienation. But the psychological effects of the hangover left me feeling nothing. I was indifferent to all things.

Tiffany and I both purchased vino. I picked up a big bottle of Cribari Blush and she got a smaller bottle of a fancier Merlot. I also bought Cecelia four ounces of tussin, which she drank before we left Charlottesville.

We picked up Jesse and his dog Loki at their house off Jefferson Park Avenue (JPA) and continued on into the mountains. I filmed some of our driving along the way.

The sun had fallen rather low against the high ridge to the west and we were forced up the mountain to escape the chill of the shade. It was a warm day, but it's February and these are the mountains we're talking about.

We ended up sitting on the edge of a cliff, smoking pot and drinking the vino. As we progressed up the mountain we soon lost track of the sun, so the boys (Mike and Jesse) built a hot fire out of little sticks. The ground was so saturated with water that it was difficult to find a good place to sit down.

As we became increasingly intoxicated, our behaviours became increasingly erratic and bizzare. One after the other Jesse put the sealed vino bottles in the fire and the exploded with impressive BOOMs. I captured the Cribari bottle exploding on videotape. As evening descended Cecelia, on tussin remember, started screaming into the abyss. Then, at the bottom of the valley, she sat on the edge of the river and puked up what tussin remained.

I recall little of the ride back to Charlottesville.

We all went to my house and watched the video. As we did so I dubbed a copy for Tiffany. Elizabeth joined us and actually seemed to be getting along okay with Tiffany. We smoked yet more goth weed. I went to bed for my pre-work nap at around 9:30pm.

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