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:
   shirtless in the 20s
Wednesday, December 30 2009
Another storm was on the way, so I brought home two more carts of firewood from the site of the downed tree 70 feet below the Stick Trail's Chamomile crossing. This was the last of that wood and much of lay on the bank of the Chamomile itself. I brought it up mostly one or two pieces at a time, climbing the relatively steep slope using well-worn footprints in the snow as steps.
By the time I was bringing the last of it up the stone steps near the house, I was soaked in sweat. I'd generated some much core body heat that I was even able to work for a time completely shirtless in the 20-something-degree air, and even then I found myself holding my arms out at times to encourage the evaporation of sweat in my armpits.

Later this evening I took a bath, the first in eight days. I can tell it's been a little too long since I last bathed when my naked body smells a little like a homeless person. That's more likely to happen in the winter than in the summer, since conditions suitable for the production of eau de desperation include a semi-anærobic atmosphere resulting from multiple layers of clothing.

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