Les photographies publiées sur ce blog ne peuvent pas être reproduites ailleurs, même sur Internet, sans mon autorisation explicite.
footnote in true scale, at a
drawing by the late
Professor of Architecture
William Feay Shellman, Jr
unattributed by its
"If music be the food of love," then shut up, Orsino, and clothe your pucky boybreast in a shirt upon my copyright.
This, I thought, had gone too far. There one lay, furnishing receptive surfaces for some incisive stenograph, only to be barred from its display without exquisite ceremony of creative consent. Who knew, which had come first, the chicken or the egg?
So much for Cuius regio, eius religio - "my tits, my terms" - where loquation may be licensed by the hour, and one's flesh alienated beyond Portia's wildest justice. Oh, bother, this homespun web of endlessly spinning derivatives, dripping shadlike chads of provenance.
What is shelf-life, in a sphere of no shelves? But I stray. I post this notice to admonish all readers, in sympathy, to allow nothing discovered here the slightest assimilation in your thoughts or expression by your infinite means of expulsion, without prior application to every being or other entity ever named (or not) in this non-existent space, and those known to them, past or future in unknowable time. I exempt myself from this seigneurage; I haven't the slightest thought of being bound to what matter passes through here.
a privately held fiction
Anonymous other deities