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:
   weak resolution
Sunday, December 7 1997

hat little light-hearted point of contact when you're leaving the girl in the morning, to reassure (or find reassurance) that the night was not some big drunken mistake. But I'd actually been more curious than drunk. Curiosity seems to drive my sex life a lot more than either love or alcohol. By the way, I've noticed a trend developing. Every time I go to a party sober & late, I end up going home with a girl. Every time I get trashed at a party, I sleep alone, sometimes in unpredictable places.

I emerged from the large antiseptic anachronistically gender-segregated university dormitory into the brisk clear December air, stole a Sunday Washington Post from a stack on the sidewalk and took the long walk back to Kappa Mutha Fucka. I was disheveled and sore.

In the bathtub, I chided myself for my unfocused sex life. I need to stop doing this to myself and to others. It's embarrassing and unhealthy in so many ways. So, ever so weakly, I resolved that I'd never again sleep with any girl with whom I was not in love. And by "sleep with," I mean any form of sexual behaviour. It looks like I have a long lonely life ahead of me.

I was only awake for about five hours today, mostly doing unproductive web surfing. I wasn't even hungover, so I have no excuse for my laziness.

one year ago

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