I Invited Matthew Barney on Facebook.

I invited Matthew Barney on FACEBOOK.

I am so nervous now, I do not know what to do!

What if the esteemed artist does not accept? What if he does?

Does it truly mean anything?

He had more FACEBOOK friends than anybody else I have ever clicked on. He had like 1,498 friends on FACEBOOK.

I suppose that's not a lot in comparison to like one of the Jonas Brothers if they are on FACEBOOK, but still.

He hasn't responded yet. We are in that iffy stage. He's probably thinking it over.

Probably he consulted Bjork for her opinion.

I am hoping when she recognizes my Icelandic name this will go in my favor.

But possibly it won't because she will know my name means "fear."

She might take it as a bad omen.

Oh, please Bjork Gudmundsdottir, convince Matthew!

This has got me really upset. It's been like eighteen hours. What could he possibly be thinking?

I just called off work. Probably I should have lied why I am not coming in, but I don't like to lie.

I had to explain it five times and talk to two different people and somebody wrote it all down on a piece of paper so they wouldn't forget the details.

Let me go check and see if I have a new friend on FACEBOOK.

I didn't really like the Cremaster thing that much. It was okay. And the other work was alright I suppose.

OMG I am going to go out for a bagel or something. This sitting by the computer or the telephone just doesn't make one feel like a man.

But probably I will see him downtown on a magazine cover and sigh.

I hope none of my coworkers are taking an early lunch.

You Might Be Gay If...

If you are such a boy. You like the Blade Runner trashy boy look. This is hot. I would buy you a frappuccino or a pillow. Call me. Your friend Uggi.

Letter of Naked Aggression

While I am nobody and have no power to threaten anybody, I am often amused when I read letters written by powerful people who feel that the crime of lese-majeste has been committed, and are determined to avenge themselves upon the person who dared to question them or offended their sensibilities in some way.

I wanted to practice writing such a letter in case it should ever be required.

Let me know how this sounds.


Dear _________,

I think one day you will look back upon this day, and see it as a great turning point in your life, and I fear this retrospection will fill you with great regret and even greater sadness. Because you will realize you could have had a great and powerful ally in me, but instead you chose to try your power and your discernment against mine. And I see no need to rehash the details or overstate the obvious. You are where you are, and I am where I am for good reasons. I don't think I need to articulate those reasons here, and to do so would only be to revisit the Stations of the Cross you no doubt relive each night as you are falling asleep. If you do sleep, that is.

It took a great deal of work even to locate you to write you this epistle, but I have many friends to help me accomplish such tasks. Needless to say you could have been one of those friends. But now the time for that has passed, the drawbridge has been taken up and the moat is filled with alligators and other loathsome beasts, should you ever be so temerarious as to attempt to insinuate yourself into my good graces again. Let me just put the kibosh on any hopes that you might entertain along those lines and save you that last shred of dignity by saying right here that "it's not gonna happen." I realize that it has been forty-seven years but I have no doubt that you still excoriate yourself for that slight you made in jest, almost in passing.

I must now end this communication from a past you'd no doubt like to forget (though you never shall) as I have several loyal minions requesting my guidance, and if I am anything I am a benevolent cynosure to my minions.

I trust you will find some semblance of peace in this lifetime and that it will not be too painful for you to face your final hour, knowing that I can never offer you the clemency you no doubt crave the way Judas wished only to see his Messiah's eyes one more time before eternal death.

Warm Regards,

Uggi Person Esq., D.D.S., N.B.A., R.N., B.Y.O.B.

"But Is it a Novel?"

A person stands and looks out a high window at the snowy street below. There are footprints in the snow. Have we achieved the status of fiction yet? A person is conflicted. This conflict will probably have to do with morality, mortality or a combination of those two things.

I didn't say the person in the first sentence is the same person in the fourth sentence.

This is getting greatly complicated, so it might be a novel.

Sparrows fly between the two people in the sentences above, who may or may not be the same person.

This way the natural world makes its commentary on human preoccupations.

The sparrows do not like fiction. They prefer poetry.

Sparrows usually do.

(...)

Beloved, you are like the 47 Uggi fish lamps to me.

Nobody knows where you are anymore.

We only know that you were great art.


Then gone.

The Mysterious Uggi Fish Lamps

These lamps are made from the bodies of fish who migrated from the sea and the freezing winds that blow over the sea in fishermen's faces into the world of fine arts.

But there may only be 47 of them in all of the world.

When I searched for them at a museum where they were supposed to be, the search came back with this...

Søgningen efter uggi gav ikke noget resultat.

That means the fish have migrated again.

I hope all our afterlifes are going to be this complicated and interesting.

Already these lamps are more mysterious to me
than Arthur Rimbaud.








Read this if you want to know more.

The number 47 seems mystical to me now.