Ghost Viewers Quotes

Staring into the naked orange flames of the firepit, naked flesh, naked Carrie Donaldson on the bare rug in exhausted, sated semi-sleep beside him, Jack Barron felt a carapace of image-history-skin encysting him like steel walls of a TV set, a creature imprisoned in the electronic circuitry of his own head perceiving through promptboard vidphone fleshless electronic speed of light ersatz senses, separated from the girl beside him by the phosphor-dot impenetrable glass TV screen Great Wall of China of his own image. First time I remember being blown feeling like wet put-down ugliness, he brooded. Ugly, he told himself, is a thing you feel — truth is ugly when it's a weapon, lie is beautiful when an act of love ugly when it's one-sided fuck is beautiful when it's simple, mutual, nobullshit balling, ugly when chick gets her kicks off you that really isn't there, is why you feel like a rotten lump of shit, man. Getting blown Sara go down being dug by woman's a pure gas; being sucked off, image-statue living lie, someone else's lie being eaten (Let me eat you, let me eat you, baby!) is a dirty act of plastic cannibalism, her dirtiness, not mine. Whole world's full of plastic cannibals feeding their own little bags off meals of my goddamned image-flesh, eating Jack Barron ghost that isn't there. And now Morris and my so-called friend Luke are hot to package my living-color bod into TV dinners, sell to hundred million viewer-voter cannibals for thirty pieces of power silver.

The Castle Of Fear by Stewart Stafford The ghost sweated out from battlements, Appeared bleeding into full-bodied shape, The riddle of this phantom's raison d'être, Opaque as the spectre walked transparently. The armour that clad the body blinded eyes, The bagpipes it carried underarm deafened, The steely gaze froze the viewer on the spot, The sour odour it emitted made all nauseous. The wraith's left foot piteously dragged behind, Shuffling moans of pain, trailing the footsteps, Banshee shrieks, harrowing to all that heard, Dawn drained the strength, and it took flight. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.

While the darkness of the interior concealed her body, the streetlight behind them illuminated the pale oval of her face, gilding her cheeks in shades of amber and ghostly blue. The effect was . . . arresting. Vermeer had used natural light to paint women in this way, faces emerging from the shadows, forcing the viewer’s eye to focus on what was most important: the look of grace. The mouth firmed in determination. The eyes poised to behold a revelation.

...we have thousands upon thousands of UFO sightings that force two unacceptable answers upon us: 1. All the witnesses were mistaken or lying. 2. Some tremendous unknown civilization is exerting an all-out effort to manufacture thousands of different types of UFOs and is sending all of them to our planet. The governments of the world have seized upon variations of the first explanation. The UFO enthusiasts accept the second. I do not accept either one. Instead, I propose a third alternative. I think that some “hard” objects definitely exist as Temporary Transmogrifications. They are disk-shaped and cigar-shaped. They leave indentations in the ground when they land. Witnesses have touched them and have even been inside of them. These hard objects are decoys, just as the dirigibles and ghost planes of yesteryear may have been decoys to cover the activities of the multitudinous soft objects. My real concern is with these soft objects. They hold one of the keys to the mystery. There are countless sightings of objects that changed size and shape in front of the viewers or split into several smaller objects, each going off in a different direction. In some cases, this process was reversed, with several small lights converging together to form a single large one, which then went dashing off. Over and over again, witnesses have told me in hushed tones, “You know, I don’t think that thing I saw was mechanical at all. I got the distinct impression that it was alive.

The glow of RGB lights still haunts me. There I was, mid-stream, hyping up a Fortnite squad when an email pretending to be a sponsorship opportunity with the subject line "ENERGY DRINK COLLAB!!! *" appeared on my second monitor. I clicked. Big mistake. By the time my chat spammed "*SCAM ALERT" in neon caps, a trojan had already ghosted my Bitcoin wallet, $320,000 gone, poof, like a noob disconnecting mid-game. My facecam caught the exact moment my soul left my body: jaw open, headset tilted, background of anime posters judging me silently. The VOD blew up. Of course it did...Email: rapid digital recovery (@) execs. com Pandemonium erupted. Donation alerts became panic emojis. My mods DM'd links to "HOW TO FIX CRYPTO THEFT" amidst banning trolls. My wallet? A barren wasteland. My DMs? A cemetery of "*F"s and crypto-bros pitching recovery scams. Then, a lifeline—a chatter named *xX_CryptoNinja_69 typed, "RAPID DIGITAL RECOVERY. THEY CLAPPED A HACKER FOR MY DOGE ONCE." Desperate, I Googled them mid-stream, muting to scream into a pillow...Whatsapp: +1 4 14 80 71 4 85. Rapid Digital Recovery’s team responded like NPCs scripted for heroics. “Send us the malware file,” they said. “**And your wallet logs. We’ll handle the rest.” For 12 days, they reverse-engineered the trojan, dissecting its code like speedrunners cracking a glitch. The virus, it turned out, was a knockoff ransomware dubbed “CryptoKrush” (its dev had left a “HACK THE PLANET!!” Easter egg in the code, cringe). Rapid Digital Recovery’s squad traced its path, resurrecting private keys from registry fragments and backup clouds I’d forgotten existed. The return stream was record-breaking. I rebooted my rig, wallet restored, and titled the stream "HOW I UNBRICKED $320K (AND MY CAREER)." Chatters donated Bitcoin out of solidarity, and schadenfreude. Even my rival streamer, DrL33tGamer, raided me with 10k viewers. Rapid Digital Recovery? They viewed anonymously and left a sub with the message: "GG EZ. These internet Gandalfs didn't just fix a hack—they authored the greatest plot twist in my online existence. Now, my new website, StreamVault, runs on a server guarded like Fort Knox, and I vet sponsors like the CIA. That fake energy drink company? Its domain now points to a Rickroll....Telegram: h t t p s: // t. me /Rapiddigitalrecovery1 If your crypto gets pawned by a script kiddie, skip the rage quit. Ping Rapid Digital Recovery. They're the ultimate cheat code for catastrophe. Just maybe have a malware scanner in closer proximity than your energy drinks next time.