Amy Holland

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 of her own road, the Line Lane.

Far far away, behind the word moun­ta­ins, far from the coun­tries Voka­lia and Con­so­nan­tia, the­re live the blind texts. 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.