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:
   an anomaly named Maggy
Thursday, November 13 1997

    almost didn't write that stuff about my medical condition yesterday. As much of an exhibitionist as I am, I don't know how I'd feel about publicly revealing, say, that I have the dreaded genital herpes. Yesterday, aside from the fact that the "disease" hadn't affected any of the places that herpes is supposed to, I seemed to be showing all the described symptoms of a herpes outbreak. Today I found myself researching a happier hypothesis.

    But when cornered, they lash out with huge fangs that can inject deadly protein-based toxins.
    In the Eastern North America, there lives a small poisonous brown spider called the Brown Recluse. It's also called "the fiddler" because it has the image of an upside down violin emblazened on its back. The term "fiddler" goes beyond being a simple reference to decoration; it also carries connotations of meddlesomeness and pacts with the Devil. The Brown Recluse prefers to live in dry, undisturbed places where it can weblessly stalk its prey on foot. The spiders quickly abandon places where there is much human activity, since they're shy and non-combative. But when cornered, they lash out with huge fangs that can inject deadly protein-based toxins. These toxins have an amazing capacity to break down and digest living tissue. People who have been bitten often don't recall the actual attack; they just notice a wound that, over a few days, grows, blackens, and secretes foul fluids. This is accompanied by chills, fever, nausea, etc. On the Web, one guy posted a journal of his experience.

    I know that Brown Recluse spiders inhabit the undisturbed nooks and crannies in the outbuildings of my childhood home. The famous co-founder of Earth First!, Dave Foreman, once slept over at my place and was bitten by one of these spiders. He became so ill during his subsequent trip to the Cranberry Wilderness that, if my memory serves me, he had to be airlifted out to a hospital. His recovery was slow, and it completely screwed up his schedule. At the time he was also battling the FBI, which, in support of the continued rape of the West, had framed Dave in a bogus "conspiracy to commit sabotage."

    Mud Dauber Wasps built a nest on the wall, and lots of other little critters moved in.
    During my recent sleepover at my childhood home, I stayed in the Shaque. The upstairs bunk where I slept is cozy and comfortable, but it's a little creepy. You see, the window was propped open for much of the summer. Mud Dauber Wasps built a nest on the wall, and lots of other little critters moved in. Had one wanted to, a raccoon could have set up a nice little den.

    My suspicion now is that something, be it a spider or some other arthropod, bit me near my tail bone as I settled into bed on Sunday night. My tail bone is one of the things that presses hardest into my futon when I'm lying on my back, so I could well have pinned down some little guy who had no choice but to attack. Had I been him I would have done the exact same thing. And I wouldn't have set my phaser on stun either. I actually have a vague recollection of a sharp little pain on my tail bone as I was settling into bed that night.

    butt.jpg (24k) Now, as for whether it actually was a Brown Recluse that bit me, I can't tell for sure. Judging from the horror stories I found on the Web, my symptoms have been relatively mild. As it stands now, I have a visibly swollen lymph node in my groin and a quarter-sized anomaly on my tail bone. The anomaly looks like something you'd see in the X Files. I've named it Maggy, after receiving inspiration from this page.

    Often art needs to be protected most from its own creator.

    ife is different now that I have a high-speed computer attached to the Internet at 33.6 Kilobaud. I never have to leave my room. Email comes down without much delay, web pages load rapidly, all while I'm playing whatever CD suits my fancy. I'm still working with 16 colour video, so the whole Web is one big garish piece of crap until my video card comes in the mail. But I can still make sense of it.

    I see that the Mining Company's Pamela O'Connell isn't pleased by my using Alexa to resurrect old Elly pages. My opinion on the matter is that writing for the Web should be more like carving in stone than it is like writing in sand. As an atheist with a desire to leave behind real accomplishments when I die, I have a strong interest in seeing my creations preserved. I don't just apply this philosophy to myself; I apply it to everyone. Often art needs to be protected most from its own creator. I wish I'd thought ahead and archived Gabby's Turns Into Stone.

one year ago

For linking purposes this article's URL is:

previous | next