I Don't Think There's Anything Wrong Being

There Is A Movement Happening, A Quiet One. A Low-profile, Low-resolution Revolution. Comprised Of Writers And Dreamers, Of Guerrilla Artists And Thought-ninjas. Those With Something To Say. They Communicate Through Text Inscribed On True Public Spaces, Rather Than Blogs And Forums. Choosing Fewer Words, Even Without Being Bound By 140 Character Limits. Using Ink Instead Of Pixels. Sending Messages In Living, Breathing Space. Pens Scream Louder Into The Void. Even If Permanent Ink Is Not Aptly Named.

“nothing's Impossible,” Poppet Responds. She Smiles At Him And Jumps, Her Red Hair Trailing Out Behind Her As She Falls.

Unusual Yet Beautiful. Provocative While Remaining Elegant.

It Is Perhaps Both A Blessing And A Curse That Fictional Worlds Spring Into My Mind Nearly Fully Formed And It Takes Quite A While To Sift Through Everything To Find The Story.

Why Haven’t You Asked Me How I Do My Tricks?” Celia Asks, Once They Have Reached The Point Where She Is Certain He Is Not Simply Being Polite About The Matter. “because I Do Not Wish To Know,” He Says. “i Prefer To Remain Unenlightened, To Better Remain In The Dark.