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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Irving housing

got that wrong
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Like my brownhouse:
   drunken teevee
Thursday, April 19 2018 [REDACTED]
The day was sunny but still rather cold. I've been taking the dogs on walks that try to maximize the amount of walk I give within the signal range of my FM transmitter, thereby allowing me to listen to podcasts broadcast from my computer. Sometimes my walk takes me some distance west of the Farm Road, then back east, crossing the Farm Road and going up the Chamomile Headwaters trail and then cutting over to the Stick Trail before getting too far out of range. Sometimes I'll also cross the Stick Trail, go down to the Gullies Trail and, when I really want to maximize the circuit, I'll come home via the ravine between our house and our downhill neighbors, emerging from the ravine near the greenhouse.
This evening after a moderately-long videoconference happy hour, I drunkenly watched the first episode of Wild Wild Country, the documentary about the cult run by Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh that terrorized eastern Oregon in the 1980s. There are a lot of interviews from people who are decades older now saying things like, "In spite of guillotine, they haven't killed me yet!" Having been a news junkie even back then, I remember the headlines and I remember joking with my father about it; it never had the gravity (or body count) of, say, the Jonestown cult. By the end of the episode, though, I was not laying down particularly good memories.


For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?180419

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