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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   path to fatness
Tuesday, May 30 2006

setting: Woodland Hills, California


This evening I went for a walk again down to the nearby commercial center, this time neglecting to bring my wallet and thereby incapable of using it for its intended purpose. Instead I took pictures of cyprus and palm trees and tried to imagine the uniquely-intense enui of a tortured artist who only knows how to express himself through photography.

This house where I'm staying serves a menu that can best be described as rich. Sunday night, for example, dinner was comprised of home made hamburgers and home-made double-fried french fries straight from the potato. Tonight Luc's girlfriend Vikki made me not one but two meals, the first being grilled cheese sandwiches stuffed with juicy bits of tomato. Later she made me dish of pasta. "I'm going to get fat!" I complained as I brought the dishes back inside. Over the long term, if I were to continue living in this surrogate reality, I don't see how I could avoid packing on the pounds. There's no demand for human movement and I almost feel apologetic for what little I do, and meanwhile the food is nothing but the kind that sticks to ones ribs, first from the inside and then later from the outside.


For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?060530

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