I love typography. In all shapes and forms. Being Swiss, one might think it would have to be perfectly kerned, placed on a thoughtful grid. And, don’t get me wrong. I enjoy that. But I also like the imperfect, the fucked up, the misspelled.
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A man, my baby girl, stood up in his chair and said:
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A man, my baby girl, stood up in his chair and said:
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This is a test. For pictures and Type.
A man, my baby girl, stood up from his chair and said: 'I am dead among the living'.
Imagine that:
Heaven just walked in.
Liquid days and things to look forward to.
Baby girl and worlds of glass.
He sat down in his chair, a tear rolled down his cheek and everybody applauded.
'Can you yell me how you became a prince?'
A raindrop-teardrop rolls down a window on a Sunday afternoon. Her finger makes a winding road out of its path.
Baby girl, did you applaud your daddy too?
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