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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Like my brownhouse:
   veganic
Friday, December 24 2010
I've decided that the elm I recently salvaged (which I'd originally believed to be mulberry) is not ready to be burned this season. It's possible to dry it out after four or five days near the stove, but that's too long to be acceptable (it means I have to burn a lot of non-elm to dry out the elm, since there isn't space to stack up four days' worth of elm near the stove). So I began stacking what I've split into a pile on the ground near the doghouse (not far from the woodshed). I can cover it with a tarp if rain seems likely, though I won't worry about it should it be assaulted by dry powdery snow.

This evening Gretchen and I drove with the dogs out to Willow to attend another Christmas party with Jenny, Doug, and other personal friends of their animal sanctuary. This was just the first night of what would be a two-day-long party, and 12 to 14 humans, seven dogs, and a big fluffy white cat were in attendance. At some point there was vegan dinner centered around fajitas and there was much drinking and light conversation. I found myself discussing my brownhouse at length with a woman who was interested in fertilizing her garden with "veganic" (not-produced-by-animals) fertilizers. That seemed like an absurd standard given all the animal waste that otherwise pollutes rivers and streams. But in countries where domestic animals play a lesser role in the human food supply (in, for example, rural China), human manure is the principle fertilizer available. In the vegan utopia that will only come about through economic and ecological ruin, our piss and shit will be a lot more precious.


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