This Is Not Magic. This

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.

Do You Remember All Of Your Audiences?" Marco Asks. "not All Of Them," Celia Says. "but I Remember The People Who Look At Me The Way You Do." "what Way Might That Be?" "as Though They Cannot Decide If They Are Afraid Of Me Or They Want To Kiss Me." " I Am Not Afraid Of You," Marco Says.

I Couldn't Tell The Difference Between What Was Real And What I Wanted To Be Real.

Have You Ever Thought About It, About Simply Leaving? Really, Truly Thought About It With The Intent To Follow Through And Not As A Dream Or A Passing Fancy?

I Thought A Circus Environment Would Be An Interesting Venue To Explore, Where You Didn't Just Have One Tent With Three Rings And A Show Going On But Where You Could Explore Different Things In Different Tents.