“Urgu” means “old stuff/junk” in the now long-forgotten language of the Urgu of North-Western Monkogrovolia, these days incorporated into the greater China and Russia. The Urgu of Monkogrovolia were a people not prone to collecting, since they were on the move, constantly -being nomads this would have practical reasons of course. The word urgu was applied to things that were, practically, thrown away -looked down upon, if not directly frowned upon. If a person of the Urgu-tribe was disliked, he or she was called urgu. As an anthropologist, I spent several years embedded with the Urgu during the late 1990’s, as an anthropology major at the Icelandic Vatnajökull University, studying certain tribal elements of painful initiation ritual that had hitherto been overlooked by my illustrious precursors, such as Mircea Eliade, et. al.

Well, folks, this blogpost is dedicated to urgu, my own personal urgu. Since I am not a nomad and since the internet is vast and as unlimited, eternal and infinite as the universe itself, I can defy the Urgu and in this post present something that is from the past, my past.

The drawing below is what the cover of my first book would have looked like, had I known better, and had my editor not told me this design wasn’t good enough. It’s not that I don’t like the other cover, it’s just that this is what I intended. Also, the title of the book is different, and more to the point. I don’t think I’ll ever let anyone ever tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do when it comes to my art or books or anything, it just turns out wrong. Personally I think this cover and especially the title is the best. In order to create art and publish things you need to work with people who are sensitive and sensible, and they need to be aesthetes. Few publishers, really, are. The ones who are, are most likely struggling. Well, for me the most important thing in this case is the result, not the money involved, since there is rarely any money involved in publishing or writing or art anyway.

Födelsedeg means, literally, “Birth-Dough”, which of course makes no sense in English, and hardly even in Swedish. However, it might make sense if you read the contents of the book. Most likely, you never will.




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