Separated they live in Bookmarksgrove right at the coast of the Semantics, a large language ocean.

A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia. It is a paradisematic country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth.

The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands of bad Commas, wild Question Marks and devious Semikoli, but the Little Blind Text didn’t listen. She packed her seven versalia, put her initial into the belt and made herself on the way.

Even the all-powerful Pointing has no control about the blind texts it is an almost unorthographic life One day however a small line of blind text by the name of Lorem Ipsum decided to leave for the far World of Grammar.

John Doe

She packed her seven versalia, put her initial into the belt and made herself on the way.

When she reached the first hills of the Italic Mountains, she had a last view back on the skyline of her hometown Bookmarksgrove, the headline of Alphabet Village and the subline of her own road, the Line Lane.

Little Blind Text

Pityful a rethoric question ran over her cheek, then she continued her way. On her way she met a copy.

The copy warned the Little Blind Text, that where it came from it would have been rewritten a thousand times and everything that was left from its origin would be the word “and” and the Little Blind Text should turn around and return to its own, safe country.

• But nothing the copy said could convince her and so it didn’t take long until a few insidious Copy Writers ambushed her,
• Made her drunk with Longe and Parole and dragged her into their agency.
• Where they abused her for their projects again and again.

And if she hasn’t been rewritten, then they are still using her. Far far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts.

Bookmarksgrove

Separated they live in Bookmarksgrove right at the coast of the Semantics, a large language ocean. A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia.

It is a paradisematic country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth.

Even the all-powerful Pointing has no control about the blind texts it is an almost unorthographic life One day however a small line of blind text by the name of Lorem Ipsum decided to leave for the far World of Grammar.

The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands of bad Commas, wild Question Marks and devious Semikoli, but the Little Blind Text didn’t listen. She packed her seven versalia, put her initial into the belt and made herself on the way. When she reached the first hills of the Italic Mountains, she had a last view back on the skyline of her hometown Bookmarksgrove, the headline of Alphabet Village and the subline

When the ITV news flash sign came on the TV screen everyone looked up. When the flash sign was immediately followed by a still of Elvis Presley, a quiet voice breathed, “Oh, my God.”

“Reports are coming in that Elvis Presley, the rock and roll singer, died this evening at his home in Memphis, Tennessee.”

We all looked at each other in disbelief.

“Elvis is dead!”

It didn’t seem quite credible. And yet it wasn’t the kind of shock that followed the news of J.F.K. being cut down. There had been so much speculation about Presley’s mental and physical health that his death was unpleasantly predictable.

It was almost impossible to know what to think. My first impulse was to pick up the phone and call a couple of people. I tried two numbers, but they were both busy. Obviously other people had reacted the same way. It was the kind of news that demanded to be passed on. Elvis had always been there. For more than two decades he’d maintained a unique position in too many people’s lives. Despite all the depressing rumours it scarcely seemed possible that he’d gone, that Elvis Presley was dead at 42.

I guess the only word I can use is numb. Numb, and just very slightly embarrassed at the way I was reacting. It wasn’t the ordinary kind of grief that you feel for a personal friend. There was no voice telling me that I’d never see Elvis Presley again. Jesus Christ, I’d never seen him, ever. I didn’t even regret that I’d never get the chance to see him. The Elvis Presley I’d have given my right arm to watch was the wild hoodlum in the gold jacket who vanished into the US Army and never returned. I’d mourned his passing many years ago.