It Is Likely To Make

You're In The Right Place At The Right Time, And You Care Enough To Do What Needs To Be Done. Sometimes That's Enough.

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.

It’s Said That All Hallows’ Eve Is One Of The Nights When The Veil Between The Worlds Is Thin - And Whether You Believe In Such Things Or Not, Those Roaming Spirits Probably Believe In You, Or At Least Acknowledge Your Existence, Considering That It Used To Be Their Own. Even The Air Feels Different On Halloween, Autumn-crisp And Bright.

Celia." He Says Without Looking Up At Her, "why Do We Wind Our Watch?" "because Everything Requires Energy," She Recites Obediently, Eyes Still Focused On Her Hand. "we Must Put Effort And Energy Into Anything We Wish To Change.

I Mean Only That I Hope They Find Darkness Or Paradise Without Fear Of It, If They Can.