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:
   Dodge Dart, rock central
Thursday, May 1 1997

I've discovered: the dirt of another is ten times as funky as my own.


he Amy who works at the Tokyo Rose came over to Comet during this shift. We ate Italian Subs from Little Johns and made use of the high tech equipment. She's a college radio kind of girl, and in keeping with this, she played obscure CDs and a crummy recording of one her WTJU radio shows. She also expressed interest in buying a gun. Boy problems have recently made her murderous. By the way, Amy comes from a Southern Baptist family in Memphis, Tennessee. She's "gotten in trouble" for uttering the blaspheme "damn."

Amy has a web page, by the way, though its principle feature is one of those animated "at work" guys endlessly shoveling and accomplishing nothing while around him her documentary of the Mod fashion hangs forever in cyberlimbo.

Come to think of it I realize that the girl who I refer to as "Liz the tanned and bleached alternachick" is sort of a Mod. She rides a scooter and has the perfect Mod hairdo. She used to hang out in the Horrid Crash Pad until she got a shave-headed boyfriend named Mike. I think that now she lives on 6th Street NW in Raphæl and Ana's old place. The other day I saw her scooter locked to a signpost out in front.

As usual when I encounter evidence of a new "culture," I'm trying to get a grasp on the retro-mod thing. My first impressions (be they right or wrong): retro-mod incorporates the contradictory elements of anti-commercialism and strong fashion-sense. So far it seems most similar to things like Emo and the pop band known as the Make Up.

4:55 Eastern Daylight Time


ith Monster Boy and a blond guy named Jonathan I watched part of a bizarre German film on the VCR in the Dynashack living room. Let me give away the plot: a precious baby is born, but the little guy doesn't last long. One evening the baby starts spewing cream-coloured foam, and then it begins to writhe and split open. And what should emerge from the gruesome puddle created but the murderous overcooked remains of a jealous former lover.

Monster Boy, Cecelia the Brazilian Girl, this new Jonathan guy and perhaps others are going to Richmond tonight to, among other things, pick up Jonathan's girlfriend.

It's hotter and sunnier than yesterday. Today is castrated by the prospect of having to spend the night in Comet's server room breathing the greasy-food-flavoured air. But tomorrow is Friday, when society goes through prophase. It is an inherently uncertain time, and that is its beauty.

when all is said and done


aking advantage of the nice weather, I finally installed the speakers into the back recesses of my Dodge Dart. To accomplish this, I made two little panels with large (3 inch) circular holes cut into them for the speakers to be cradled in. Cutting the necessary holes required extensive use of a powerdrill.

It's been awhile since anyone has gone nuts and walked into a McDonalds with a machine gun. I'm missing the media horror and the hysterical asking of the answerless question, "What laws can be written to prevent such acts in the future?" While we're off the subject, here's a web page that I stumbled upon doing an Altavista search for +gun +mcdonalds. It reminds me of rooting around in the glove compartment of someone I completely don't understand.

For linking purposes this article's URL is:

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