shepard fairey








gustav dore

our boys

death and burial


Thursday, August 23, 2012


is the font to use, surely, if you’re never
going away; if the one thing that can be counted upon,
above all others, is you’ll do what you say you will.

I’ve failed that responsibility recently,
and voluntarily, yet not yet faced up to
the consequence. Perhaps changing

my font to one seeming less durable,
one a bit less dependably concrete, might
ease my queasy escape of what’s expected

into the vague outlines of an undefined ephemera.
The consequent reassessment and likely downgrade
of permissions, I can handle on my own, but

the near-certain pejorative retitlement ensuing,
might just as well be assisted by an active association
with a expressive personal font, one whose

name is suggestive of something to approximate
the exhaustive compendium of virtue assembled by
a working diagnostic synthesis of the very qualities

I have proven I lack; but, in any case, its name
shouldn’t seem as if descriptive of valuations of
character, or indicative of traits whose

deficits could seem attributable to me, or that, unjustifiably,
I might be expected to exhibit: Blackadder ITC, say,
on the one hand, while yet, admittedly, with

Wingdings all over the other.

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