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").



links

decay & ruin
Biosphere II
Chernobyl
dead malls
Detroit
Irving housing

got that wrong
Paleofuture.com

appropriate tech
Arduino μcontrollers
Backwoods Home
Fractal antenna

fun social media stuff


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(nobody does!)

Like my brownhouse:
   just a little more like a guilty pleasure
Saturday, July 23 2016
I had another 50 milligram dose of Vyvanse today, this time to help propel me through a dreary task list for my weekend web development gig. I'd already painted the painting that would buy me the right to drink alcohol today. It was a picture of Neville's head floating in a black void with red ripples in it. On Facebook, I posted the flipped-four (kaleidoscopic) version with a caption about the dog days and how it's like living "in a dog's mouth" (as James Howard Kunstler likes to say). Here is the original and the flipped-four:


Gretchen would be going to some Shakespearsey thing that she knew better than to drag me to. I was looking forward to an evening of perhaps working on non-work projects (even if it only involved surfing the web and posting increasingly-intoxicated speed-addled things on Facebook). But Susan had invited me over for a vegan barbecue with her, David, and another David, the older artist brother of Nancy (of Ray & Nancy). He'd just completed a residency at Byrdcliffe and, though he likes to smoke meat as a hobby, wasn't put off by the prospect of a vegan barbecue. On my drive over, I stopped as usual at Hurley Ridge Market, where I'm starting to recognize some of the regulars (such as an older middle-aged Victorian-gothic woman with a massive set of dreadlocks). I bought some sausages, mushrooms, and a 12 pack of Modelo in cans. But it soon proved to have been absurd to bring food. What I should've brought instead was a tank of propane, which ran out just as Dave was getting things going.
The other David had never been to Susan & David's before, so while Dave was out getting that propane, Susan gave us a tour of her studio and the grounds, including a row of tree plantings that appeared to be partly-destroyed by insect pests. There were, however, several happy Green Frogs living in the little fountain pound, which burbles away constant.
Much of our pre-dinner and dinner discussion focused on art and the process of art. Visitor David likes to take photographs of industrial sites and then paint austere representations of them. He told us that on one occasion is van's license plate was photographed while he was snooping around a refinery and he got a call from Homeland Security. They made him fill out a form to put in their files and then left him alone, perhaps because of the priviledge of his whiteness.

I wasn't too drunk for the drive home and even enjoyed a Modelo along the way. Back at the house, I did what I probably would've ended up doing had I not gone to the barbecue: smoking pot, drinking, and freaking myself out with the news of the day. In Facebook, I posted links to two articles I'd found. I was so proud of my one-sentence comments that I wrote them in the shell of this document so I would remember to include them in this entry. They were:

it's a conspiracy, but it doesn't rely on puns - about how Donald Trump is indebted to Russia and is already serving their interests as he takes over the Republican party. I went on to make a crack about an errant HTML-escaped character in the title tag of the article, saying that I'd once applied for a frontend developer job at TalkingPointsMemo and been told the budget for that position was only $45000. Thus the shit in the title tag.

donald trump makes me hate the beatles - a decision tree for dealing with your defensiveness when talking about race to someone who is not white. The title comes from an idea I've had lately that "White Culture" has become somewhat embarrassing to me with the rise of Donald Trump, making my interest in (say) alternative rock something that is just a little more like a guilty pleasure than it used to be.


For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?160723

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