| Message | Once upon a time, the world was not round; the oceans spilled off into an abyss somewhere, and maps fit nicely on squares. Sailors believed in the horizon, and horizon existed, just for them. The Earth resided in the center of the universe, and god performed miracles because everyone knew he would. Knights were knights were knights; the French were yet to invent shining armor, and swords didn’t pulled out of stones. A time, before time, when the constellations were what you named them, when poetry was what you wrote it to be.
Imagine, and close your eyes;
I welcome you, to Vanity Press.
No, we do not sell our services here, nor publish for a fitting price. If you so believe, you are mistaken. Our currency is creativity, our price, a work of art. Those of you seeking profit are sadly misinformed--we erect monuments for the unseen, and theatres for the unheard. So, come in, present yourself, and we shall praise you.
For the right price, of course.
(Okay, it’s simple. The idea is to say nice things about whatever’s posted. Being circus manager, I have no part in submission, but will freely provide compliments for all who wish it--I sort of owe it to many of you out there.) |
