[log in to unmask] wrote:

> In a message dated 2/13/2005 12:43:03 P.M. Eastern Standard Time,
> [log in to unmask] writes:
>
>     I did not write or read, "Pillars of the Earth."
>
> Something else we have in common. Are you an art critic, too?
> Ralph

NO, but my friend Uncle Max is --

“It was shiny cloth on the Reichstag, like aluminum foil clouds. This
artist guy, Crisco..."

"Christo, Uncle Max, Chris-toe... Christo and Jeanne-Claude..."

"Yeah, yeah yeah... I know I know," as he lifts a set of bricks onto the
boards with his tongs.

"...they wrap all kinds of things. It is mostly cloth."

"You ask me, Ulrich, he does it to attract women so he can bed them."

"How can you say that Uncle Max, his wife is his partner?"

"Don't tweak the line, Ulrich, step back and watch where you lean. Hand
me that level."

"We need to keep up the work with Joe and Charlie."

"I know, I know. They are swine masons, not even German. Not fit for a
horse barn... Oh, but he is a smart French boy, this Crisco, does it
right in front of her dainty nose."

"You can't know that," as Ulrich lifts to pour water from the bucket to
temper his mortar, "Besides, they are not French."

"And they say when he put cloth around islands he made love to mermaids."

"You're making a bad joke."

"You telling me the Reichstag is not full of gaudy nymphs!"

"Uncle Max, you exaggerate."

"Don't listen to the raving of an old mule past his use. Go there and
see for yourself."

"Ok, ok, I will."

"They saunter past every day wiggling their fat hips. Oh-la! German
women! The weak little German sun wants to be bright but when they pass
on the street their haunches drown out all the light and the German
manhood is half blinded. With one eye we peek around the folds of her
skirts..."

"Enough!"

"They are like good horses, Ulrich, good fine strong horses."

"Keep to the trowel old man, and watch your mortar."

"A real artist would want to hoist their bridle, quickly, boomp boomp,
goodbye!"

"I could be an artist, a far better artist than Christo, and without
your decadent horses."

"Then quick quick he will have to trot away from their juicy babies."

"Aaargh!"

"Good strong German babies, like you."

"Ahya ahya ahya," shouting to drown out his uncle's litany.

"The greatest artist will spawn hundreds of babies and God will make
them all lift bricks and slap their arses with mortar," he swiftly lifts
up to butter a tan brick of thousands. "There will be a thousand
thousand brick outhouses stretched from here to Barcelona all wrapped in
brightly colored caterpillar shit. The little farts will sit up late
into darkness at the gardens to suck Weizenbock and remember the best
days, the Grand Expedition of the slippery brick..."

"Watch the line, Uncle, your bricks waver."

"A harness of flashy silk, even shiny nylon hides many flaws."

"Keep the line straight before you go blind."

"You see there how he never does a fachwerk barn. Do you see him working
a farm?"

"What does a farm have to do with Christo's art?"

"Put expensive cloth over a wooden shack the chickens will run away."

"Christo is a conceptual artist."

"Blauk blauk blauk the chicks will run from the darkened sky. Artists
are coo coo, son, they are prophets with twelve-inch egos no longer than
my middle finger. Like this, see."

"Keep your finger to the trowel and speak less, uncle."

"When he puts a veil on a mountain he gets..."

"Shut up!"

"If you had a choice, which you do not, would you rather have a mermaid,
a law clerk in heels or a nanny goat?"

"Stop!"

"So, Ulrich, give me another reason a grown man would play with soiled
cloth."

(frm Wrapped Autos by Gabriel Orgrease)

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