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
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Irving housing

got that wrong

appropriate tech
Arduino μcontrollers
Backwoods Home
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Like my brownhouse:
   bozARTists' party
Friday, January 16 1998

atthew Hart and I went on a massive liquor run in the late afternoon. He bought three half gallons of different booze, and I got a litre of cheap vodka.

What had the makings for a relatively dull Friday spent at home took a strange turn in the evening. Deya, Matthew and I were hanging out watching teevee or whatever, and Deya found herself on the phone talking to Sarah Kleiner, their youthful-looking seventeen year old friend. It turned out that Sarah's wacky junk-artist mother, A. Faith, who reportedly sounded drunk, was just then having a big party, and that we were invited, or at least Deya was invited. Matthew has some sort of uncomsumated fancy for Sarah Kleiner, so he was eager to go. I wanted to get out of the house, so I wanted to go too. So we three set out, Matthew driving. He was somewhat drunk, but he drives well in that condition; he actually drives more conservatively when drunk.

On the ride over, Matthew discussed the issue of the permanence of love and attachment. He was distressed, he said, that he no longer has any feelings remaining for Leah given the fact that he had once loved her, thought she was the one for him, and the seeming permanence of that feeling at the time. It all seemed to be a big emotional lie. If something so seemingly solid in his life could prove to be so temporary, what kind of a person could he be? The Universe itself seemed flawed. But then Matthew admitted that his reaction to Leah during a visit this afternoon was "Ha ha, I won!" I suggested that perhaps that was evidence that there still was a lot of feeling remaining. If he'd been feeling indifferent, I argued, then perhaps he could be concerned about his emotional coldness. This seemed to resolve the issue nicely for Matthew. Perhaps I'd make a good therapist.

We actually made two trips to the Kleiner household; the first time Matthew thought he'd forgotten his flask of whiskey.


he party had spilled out into the front yard. Its attendees were mostly familiar faces from the days when I was a member of the downtown co-operative art gallery known as bozART.

    I'd joined bozART in February of 1995 and eventually become the Marketing Manager. I gradually came to abuse my position there, occasionally using the gallery as a place to hang out on the Downtown Mall during the hours when the gallery was closed. One day in March of 1996 A. Faith caught me in there with all my friends (including the Brazilian Girls). I was so trashed at the time that I was reportedly hitting on her (she's in her forties, you know). This led to a big scandal and I was eventually kicked out of bozART, but I don't have any hard feelings about it.

For the most part, I was warmly greeted by the old bozART people. A. Faith was funny as hell, the de facto life of the party; a short plump Jewish woman animatedly greeting us and puffing on an enormous cigar.

The crowd consisted mostly of older people, aging baby boomers and the parents of friends. Zachary's father was there, for example.

Also in attendance were a number of Sarah Kleiner's girlfriends. These included the Aquarian girl known as KC (I mentioned her recently regarding her misguided choice of skinhead friends) along with three stylishly attractive Jewish girls known as "the Triplets." It turns out that they're genetically identical, clones if you will. I have no idea under what circumstances a zygote would split into three parts, but that's evidently what happened. But the Triplets all have different haircuts, noses and sexual preferences, which makes figuring out which is which much easier than it might otherwise be.

A. Faith's place is crammed to the ceilings with her projects. They consist of all manner of sculpture made out of junk: rusty iron, bottle caps, electronic equipment, mostly held together with Liquid Nails™ or Goop™. Some of the sculptures resemble huge fish or animals, while others represent nothing at all. A chair covered with nails and bottlecaps reminded me more of a psilocybin hallucination than anything else. A. Faith is not afraid to over-accessorize.

Now, for a time I tried to hang out with the "adults," the bozART people and others downstairs. That was perhaps where the rules that govern our society demanded that I to go. But I felt like a fifth wheel among them. They were all pleasant and what not, even somewhat intoxicated in some cases, but I didn't really feel any sort of bond.

So I ended up in Sarah Kleiner's room with Matthew, Deya, Sarah, the Triplets and KC, peers with whom I have all kinds of well-established bonds. We sat around having amusing conversations and drawing pictures. Matthew had to head home early to get some sleep before work, and he left me what remained of his bourbon. When that was done, we moved downstairs to eat food, and I worked on a couple of beers. Deya was also drinking, but KC, Sarah and the Triplets entirely abstained, something I find almost unimaginable.

KC made mention of the heckling Chaz supporter she sat beside during an incident on the Downtown Mall some weeks ago. Convinced that he was her boyfriend (past, present or future), I'd lost some respect for her. But tonight she claimed that she thinks he's probably gay. She didn't mean that in a good way. Ironically, the principle insult among the skinheads is the term "faggot."

Sarah drove Deya and me home and then went off with Deya to check out Wilbur the Cockatiel.

one year ago

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