Im­pres­si­ve mo­ti­on gra­phics

Un­der­stand the ru­les

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.

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.

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 of her own road, the Li­ne La­ne. 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.

Blog­ging The­me

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. 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.

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.