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").



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decay & ruin
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got that wrong
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Like my brownhouse:
   a dog looks into the uncertain future
Monday, May 1 2000
In the evening Sophie and I went down to Union Station in downtown Los Angeles to pick up Kim. She'd been down in Carlsbad doing tantric work, attending a seminar, and relaxing. [REDACTED]
Sophie and I waited around just outside the station with nothing much to do, both of us mostly staring down through the long waiting room to see if Kim's was among the bobbing heads bubbling up from the greyish brown distance. Not being too sure what we were waiting for, Sophie was in full bored-doggy mode. But I'm sure she knew we were waiting for something interesting to happen. Indeed, her distraction was enough to keep her mind off of thoughts of exploring all the dog piss locations outside the station.
When Kim materialized through a door we hadn't been watching, Sophie made a spectacle of her joy, leaping repeatedly into the air to the amusement of remarkably unjaded onlookers.
Sophie hadn't been very comfortable with Kim's absence. In the middle of the night last night she awoke several times and commenced to scratching herself relentlessly, as though missing Kim was just another in her archipelago of Schnauzer allergies and skin complaints.


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