Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").
got that wrong
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From the Reserves
Thursday, December 19 1996 The dream last night concerned me installing a clothes dryer in my childhood home but somehow failing to install an adequate circuit breaker and wiring to power it. The result was a fire in a mysterious basement fusebox, the location of the original house fuse box that probably didn't see the end of the 70s. I have no interpretation suitable for this dream.
I went from a bath to the eating of peanut butter and crackers. Then it was off to the Rising Sun Bakery to eat croissants and drink coffee while chatting with Jen Fariello. I splurged again and at Plan 9 harvested a used CD, Betty by Helmet, for $8. I'd had fond memories of this CD from the heigh-day of grunge in the early 90s. Jeff Brecko, Encina Riffini's old boyfriend, had liked it especially, and I associate it some with visiting him in Blacksburg. I listened to it some while doing computer work in Cocke Hall. The precision of timing and complexity of meter are what stand out particularly. But there's also an appealing jazz influence that helps this genré more than it does most.
Then came news via e-mail that Bn was ill. So I went directly to Comet to cover his shit. I didn't have to, but I had computer work to do anyway, so I might as well get paid for it, huh? I think I can bear the distractions of the telephones.
I went to bed at something like 8pm. The streets were becoming treacherous from precipitation and cold, so there wasn't much else to do but sleep. John had come back from visiting his parents, so now there's two of us in my house.
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