Rarely revealing anything of their private universe, signs are forthright about which part of the signee’s universe is to be abbreviated. Signs are hectoring.
It has been at least a couple of years now since I saw a sign counselling: Go Forth and be Free. I saw it in my head. Anyway, these are fortunately rare in the real world.
Abbreviated, clipped or gelded, curtailed or mutilated, angelic wings furling as an effective blindfold, mopping up, all in all providing a good, simple, continuing salvation from trouble
And its attendant troublemakers.
Suggesting or, more probably, a sign demanding. There’s a wish or need, may or can, dichotomy type thing going on here, with signs and the way they think.
The most talented of signposts seem to control people without detectable sensation — which is the complete anthropomorphic reversal.
Every signee-sign event having a coefficient of mirror-efficiency.
Troublemakers. On that subject, someone has been putting up their own, extracurricular, signs, Beware, Low-Flying Death, someone not travelling in the same direction, Always Enforced.
No road-user should have to be confronted with such.
Overnight, as if mushrooms. Someone wishing to conclusively satirise, in their opinion, the state of us — and, what is more, clandestinely — they didn’t leave a trail to be found, did they. Officialdom will investigate, I am sure.
Signs of Irony: if to be dignified as a constituted campaign, I expect it is called something like this.
Officialdom. The supporters of officialdom are sometimes referred to as badge-bunnies by malcontents, very much in a derogatory fashion. I’ve heard them, reckless, quite nasty, a stark dismissal of the burdens and responsibilities of citizenship.
The officials, and their own signs, which they go to the length of wearing, usually prominently, are not sufficiently respected. Officialdom, I think, is justified in being a country apart.
The illness ‘not by natural inclination a sign-obedient’ could be classified, perhaps used in the future.
Troublemakers. Dealt with firmly. They, I, we, all, left in no doubt.
Signs gain their meaning from their relationships and contrasts with other signs — apparently.
Having decided to read up a bit on signs as a thing, get a bit of learning about them, as it were, and now it’s not so easy, there’s a little bit of flex…
It is not for the wearer of a badge to allow certain words to pass their lips: conciliation, bravery, intellectual rigour…
They spent it all on assurance, broadcast, best for you if you didn’t…
Looking back over, ‘clandestine’ seems an odd antonym for ‘signed’. On the usual perusal for a while, odder. I assume it is not inexact, or at least not unreasonable.
I had not realised the antonym would feel so far away from where I felt I had started.
Doubt, unsigned. An area without signage. Yes, doubt.
The fingerposts are spinning, destination has become a rather nasty sphere of anywhere but here.
The copy without original, the simulacrum, is the sign masquerading… Something about all human meaning as an artificial reference to hermetic truth.
No, seriously, this is just leading to all complications west of impossible. A copy with no original… What? I give up, honestly, I do.
Prison Ahead — Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers. If only it were really that simple.
Because I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than go back to figuring all that out again. Notice then the spike.
The spike of a sign driven hard, securely, lastingly into the earth: this wound being necessary if the placard element of the sign is to remain prominent.
Thinking about it, and also coming as something of a surprise, I suppose the earth is injured by every sign placed — unless this idea were too fanciful to warrant a moment’s further consideration.