Advertisement designed for Urban Moto’s T-shirts.
See previous versions here and here.
I come up with and change the text for each issue of Urban Moto:
Benjamin Franklin sought to cultivate his character by a plan of thirteen virtues:
1. TEMPERANCE – Eat not to dullness; drink not to elevation.
2. SILENCE – Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation.
3. ORDER – Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time.
4. RESOLUTION – Resolve to perform what you ought; perform without fail what you resolve.
5. FRUGALITY – Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; i.e., waste nothing.
6. INDUSTRY – Lose no time; be always employ’d in something useful; cut off all unnecessary actions.
7. SINCERITY – Use no hurtful deceit; think innocently and justly, and, if you speak, speak accordingly.
8. JUSTICE – Wrong none by doing injuries, or omitting the benefits that are your duty.
9. MODERATION – Avoid extremes; forbear resenting injuries so much as you think they deserve.
10. CLEANLINESS – Tolerate no uncleanliness in body, cloaths, or habitation.
11. TRANQUILLITY – Be not disturbed at trifles, or at accidents common or unavoidable.
12. CHASTITY – Rarely use venery but for health or offspring, never to dullness, weakness, or the injury of your own or another’s peace or reputation.
13. HUMILITY – Imitate Jesus and Socrates.
(the text was taken from a spam email)
A kind of snow, which hesitates
(Our fortitude grows dim in
By the design of our own silent eyes
Or else, like us, sunk into some long gaze
Seen. What you know is only manifest
Calling me to you with wild gesturings
Silence, are in his hand—birds in a snare;
As if your absence now concluded long ago.
Cuts out of its width (81). Unfair
They tear apart the mist, it is as though,
Swaying in unison beneath the snow,
snoozing. A schoolgirl on vacation gapes,
VIII. Russia: The Great Northern Expedition
—Now that you notice it—have just moved past
At San Biagio, in the most intense room
Covering the land—
In dense bare branches, or the ubiquitous
XXI. Flying in the Arctic
Never does any motion, sound, or light
My only thought is for what has
To listen, by the sputtering, smoking fire,
Through the back of the picture at the patch of white
Will hear the storm-blast of his clarion.
Over the chilly dale.
Snow haze gleams like sand.
Calling me to you with wild gesturings
IX. After the Great Northern Expedition
And piled up at the base of the columns
Rise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.
That open before me? What I see
Only whirled snow heaped up by whirled snow,
VIII. Russia: The Great Northern Expedition
Beyond ice floe and berg and ice-bound sea,
Sphinx of questioning substance, or a sort
Deep in the fog that quenches every ray,
It’s snowing, it’s returning to a town
He terrifies the Vast, he seems so wild;
One flash of eye, or blow one clarion-blast;