Lurker Quotes

You never know what lurks just beneath the surface of my fragile sanity.

I tell you this not as aimless revelation but because I want you to know, as you read me, precisely who I am and where I am and what is on my mind. I want you to understand exactly what you are getting: you are getting a woman who for some time now has felt radically separated from most of the ideas that seem to interest people. You are getting a woman who somewhere along the line misplaced whatever slight faith she ever had in the social contract, in the meliorative principle, in the whole grand pattern of human endeavor. Quite often during the past several years I have felt myself a sleepwalker, moving through the world unconscious of the moment’s high issues, oblivious to its data, alert only to the stuff of bad dreams, the children burning in the locked car in the supermarket parking lot, the bike boys stripping down stolen cars on the captive cripple’s ranch, the freeway sniper who feels “real bad” about picking off the family of five, the hustlers, the insane, the cunning Okie faces that turn up in military investigations, the sullen lurkers in doorways, the lost children, all the ignorant armies jostling in the night. Acquaintances read The New York Times, and try to tell me the news of the world. I listen to call-in shows.

Real rebels, as far as I can see, risk disapproval. The old postmodern insurgents risked the gasp and squeal: shock, disgust, outrage, censorship, accusations of socialism, anarchism, nihilism. Today’s risks are different. The new rebels might be artists willing to risk the yawn, the rolled eyes, the cool smile, the nudged ribs, the parody of gifted ironists, the “Oh how banal.” To risk accusations of sentimentality, melodrama. Of overcredulity. Of softness. Of willingness to be suckered by a world of lurkers and starers who fear gaze and ridicule above imprisonment without law. Who knows.

MirkerLurker: I thought the characters were the reason anyone read Monstrous Sea. rainmaker: You mean like, shipping? MirkerLurker: No, not shipping - shipping's great, and I do it all the time, but I mean... the characters themselves. The struggles they have to go through, and when you really love them, how much they affect you. When the characters are good, they make you care about everything else. That's why I draw them. It probably sounds dumb, but they're like real people to me. And this will probably sound worse, but sometimes I like them better than real people. I can empathize with characters. Real people are harder.

Jason glanced at the creature. It remained the same distance away as before, still as a statue. "What do you want?" Jason asked. No answer. "Are you the thing that followed Tark? You should keep following him. He's the real mastermind. Shoo. Go hide." No response. "Okay, how about you stand guard while I sleep. Keep the giants away. Sound good? All in favor, hold perfectly still. Fine, I guess we have a deal.

rainmaker: Weird, I didn’t know you had such a thing for timid guys. MirkerLurker: Really does it for me when a guy is paralyzed with fear on a regular basis . rainmaker: Aw. Sad. MirkerLurker: What’s sad? rainmaker: That it would never work between us. I’m too courageous.

It is a way now, approximately, of being at home. The forum has become one of the most consistent places of her life, like a familiar cafe that exists someone outside geography and beyond time zones. There are perhaps twenty regular posters on F:F:F:, and some muchlarger and uncounted number of lurkers. And right now there are three people in Chat. But there's no way of knowing exactly who until you are in there, and the chat room she finds not so comforting. It's strange even with friends, like sitting in a pitch-dark cellar conversing with people at a distance of about fifteen feet. the hectic speed, and the brevity of the lines in the thread, plus the feeling that everyone is talking at once, at counmter-purposes, deter her.

See you in the funny pages...mate

You see why I’m such a good vampire? We’re all lying, devious bastards, not like werewolves, if there are werewolves, whose MO is, “Hi, I’m a werewolf, surprise! And fuck you!” No, we lurk. We’re lurkers.

The next real literary "rebels" in this country might well emerge as some weird bunch of anti-rebels, born oglers who dare somehow to back away from ironic watching, who have the childish gall actually to endorse and instantiate single-entendre principles. Who treat of plain old untrendy human troubles and emotions in U.S. life with reverence and conviction. Who eschew self-consciousness and hip fatigue. These anti-rebels would be outdated, of course, before they even started. Dead on the page. Too sincere. Clearly repressed. Backward, quaint, naive, anachronistic. Maybe that'll be the point. Maybe that's why they'll be the next real rebels. Real rebels, as far as I can see, risk disapproval. The old postmodern insurgents risked the gasp and squeal: shock, disgust, outrage, censorship, accusations of socialism, anarchism, nihilism. Today's risks are different. The new rebels might be artists willing to risk the yawn, the rolled eyes, the cool smile, the nudged ribs, the parody of gifted ironists, the "Oh how banal". To risk accusations of sentimentality, melodrama. Of overcredulity. Of softness. Of willingness to be suckered by a world of lurkers and starers who fear gaze and ridicule above imprisonment without law. Who knows

I slammed the door in her face and applied my bloody shoe to the lurkers in the bathtub,

Olympic-grade lurkers.

MirkerLurker: What’s wrong with the name Wallace? Apocalypse_Cow: it’s, uh. emmersmacks: Its silly as hell MirkerLurker: Wallace isn’t a silly name! Apocalypse_Cow: it makes me think of a cartoon character. emmersmacks: There are hardcore potheads on campus named Wallace MirkerLurker: Why do you know the names of hardcore potheads on campus? emmersmacks: Because theyre friendly

Two of them lurked in the ruined graveyard. Two shadowy figures, one hunched and squat, the other lean and menacing, both of them Olympic-grade lurkers. If Bruce Springsteen had ever recorded “Born to Lurk,” these two would have been on the album cover. They had been lurking in the fog for an hour now, but they had been pacing themselves and could lurk for the rest of the night if necessary, with still enough sullen menace left for a final burst of lurking around dawn.

MirkerLurker: He’s not exactly the kind of guy that’s usually interested in me. Apocalypse_Cow: what kind of guy is usually interested in you? MirkerLurker: The kind I make up in my head.

her and Walter on to the internet for people to gawp at and to judge makes her feel queasy. But she’s happy for others to do so. She’s a consummate lurker. She never posts, she never comments, she never likes. She just looks.

Two of them lurked in the ruined graveyard. Two shadowy figures, one hunched and squat, the other lean and menacing, both of them Olympic-grade lurkers. If Bruce Springsteen had ever recorded “Born to Lurk,” these two would have been on the album cover. They had been lurking in the fog for an hour now, but they had been pacing themselves

Shane and Claire quickly moved to stand back to back. So did Eve and Michael. Among the four of them, they were covering every angle. “Lurking isn’t answering,” Shane said. “Oliver? Little help?” Instead, one of the shapes stepped forward into the light. Morley. Claire felt relieved, and annoyed. Of course it was Morley. Why had she ever doubted it? He was the champion lurker of all time.

Monstrous Sea Private Message 2:54 p.m. 28 - Oct -16 rainmaker: Hey, it’s Wallace. Please tell me I blew your mind again. You make the best face when your mind is being blown. MirkerLurker: Whoa that sounded dirty. rainmaker: Too much? MirkerLurker: Ummmmmmmmmm rainmaker: Too much. Noted. MONSTROUS SEA FORUMS USER PROFILE rainmaker * Fanfiction Moderator AGE: Not telling you LOCATION: NO INTERESTS: MS. Writing things.Campfires. Sweaters. Sleeping in. Dogs. Followers 1,350,199 | Following 54 | Posts 9,112 [Unique Works 144] UPDATES View earlier updates Oct 20 2016 The next chapter of the Auburn Blue fanfic will probably be a little late. Just started at the new school. So, that’s fun. Oct 21 2016 Thanks to @joojooboogee for my new avatar! #DallasRainerForever Oct 23 2016 If math homework were a real person, I’d be doing 25 to life. #Mathslaughter Oct 24 2016 There might actually be other MS fans at this school. THANK JESUS I’M SAVED. Oct 26 2016 Life is destroying me today. No time to write. Stupid math. #Mathslaughter Oct 27 2016 Definitely another MS fan at this school. Pros: Awesome; Not alone; Pretty girl. Cons: Pretty girl. #Fuuuuuuuuck Oct 28 2016 Heyyyy let’s not talk about the pretty girl anymore okay she’s probably looking at this.

emmersmacks: E youre going to be around for the Dog Days livewatch right MirkerLurker: Duh. The day I miss Dog Days is the day I eat my own foot. Apocalypse_Cow: *takes screenshot* Apocalypse_Cow: let it be known on this day that if eliza ever misses dog days, she will eat her own foot. emmersmacks: Masterminds would love that one emmersmacks: Creator of Monstrous Sea eats own foot over teen soap opera Apocalypse_Cow: tacky teen soap opera. MirkerLurker: Tacky teen soap opera? Yes. Wildly entertaining? Also yes. emmersmacks: Amen ... Apocalypse_Cow: but seriously tho, dog days is the worst emmersmacks: Not worse than the second season when Chris got with Ben Apocalypse_Cow: chris got with jason in the second season, not ben emmersmacks: Says the guy who doesnt watch Dog Days Apocalypse_Cow: . . . emmersmacks: Ah how the mighty have fallen

Just as Chronos split the heavens from earth, time divided the universe, and destroyed the eternal, changeless being that was the ten-dimensional universe. After that, all civilizations had to exist within the limits of time and space. The universe became the infinite unknown. With time came hope, anticipation, surprise, remembrance, oblivion … and above all, freedom.” “These are meaningless,” said Sophon drily. “Eternity is the only existence.” “That wasn’t how the Lurker felt. It was suffocating under the ten-dimensional universe, with its perfect symmetry and eternal immutability. As the dimensions collapsed, more and more consciousnesses, separated from the unity of the Edenic Age, came to believe in the Lurker’s cause and joined its legion. Risking annihilation, they wanted to join time and to call for yet more time. This was the reason the Master failed, don’t you see? “They need time. Other than the Master, all living beings need time.

emmersmacks: Hold on emmersmacks: Wait emmersmacks: So you stood up for him? MirkerLurker: Yeah. emmersmacks: . . . Im failing to see the issue here E emmersmacks: Did they hurt you?? MirkerLurker: No . . . not really. Just took my sketchbook and threw it around a little. MirkerLurker: Okay look I know it doesn’t sound that bad MirkerLurker: But, like, you don’t understand the way this guy looks at me. He’s one of those where it’s like, “Why are you even standing in front of me, you’re uglier than the stuff I crap out after eating too muchChipotle.” 3:19 p.m. (Apocalypse_Cow has joined the message) Apocalypse_Cow: i feel like i came in at a bad time. i’ll go. emmersmacks: E is having a crisis Apocalypse_Cow: crisis over what? MirkerLurker: Just this stupid new kid at school who may or may not be a fanficwriter for Monstrous Sea and who definitely thinks I am the scum of the earth. emmersmacks: Why would he think that?? You stood up for him MirkerLurker: I don’t know! Because I emasculated him, probably. Or something. Max, I need advice from someone who’s felt emasculated. Apocalypse_Cow: why would you immediately assume i’ve felt emasculated before? MirkerLurker: Because you’re the only male here. Apocalypse_Cow: if you want to know if some guys feel emasculated when a girl stands up to a bully for them, then unfortunately i must say that yes, that does happen. Apocalypse_Cow: BUT NOT ME. Apocalypse_Cow: LET IT BE KNOWN THAT MAX CHOPRA HAS NEVER FELT EMASCULATED. Apocalypse_Cow: but really, did this guy say something to you? why feel so bad about it? MirkerLurker: He didn’t say ANYTHING. That’s the problem! MirkerLurker: He just stood there and wouldn’t even look at me. emmersmacks: Did you say anything MirkerLurker: . . . No. emmersmacks: Well emmersmacks: E emmersmacks: There you might have a problem Apocalypse_Cow: you’re getting schooled in social skills by a twelve-year-old in college. how does that feel emmersmacks: Im fourteen not twelve emmersmacks: Asshole Apocalypse_Cow: wait, he left a note in your sketchbook? what did it say? MirkerLurker: It said thanks, and that the pictures were good. emmersmacks: OH MY GOD emmersmacks: THATS WHY HE DIDNT TALK MirkerLurker: What? emmersmacks: HE WAS TOO NERVOUS emmersmacks: AW HE LIKES YOU E MirkerLurker: I really really doubt that. MirkerLurker: Like, I mean, REALLY doubt it. MirkerLurker: He’s not exactly the kind of guy that’s usually interested in me. Apocalypse_Cow: what kind of guy is usually interested in you? MirkerLurker: The kind I make up in my head. Apocalypse_Cow: wooooooooooooooooooooooow Apocalypse_Cow: woooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooow Apocalypse_Cow: woooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooow Apocalypse_Cow: do you want me to go ahead and fill your house with cats right now, or do you want to put that off for a few years? MirkerLurker: Har har

Closed, hierarchical cultures do not prosper. Less-than-authentic business practices do not go unrevealed. Orders are not so easily barked to subordinates behind closed doors with an evil laugh, because there seem to be lurkers behind every partially open door. Less and less gets past those socially enabled workers every day. They are more aware; we are held more accountable.

The problem with the social media is that it favors the counts versus the real contributions. 98 % of the online community are lurkers.

What a pleasure, a very pleasant pleasure, indeed.” The way his tone slid over his words gave him a delightful, roguish appeal that made Jane want to kiss him on the spot. Or the lips, whichever was closer. Hm, maybe she really could see this through. “And this is his good friend Mr. Nobley,” Aunt Saffronia said, “who has agreed to honor us with his presence for some of the hunting season while his estate is under renovation.” Mr. Nobley was taller than Colonel Andrews, and his jaw was in no need of the long sideburns to give it definition. The line of his shoulders identified him as the most likely of the bunch to have been the shadowy lurker from the great hall. In the light, she found him handsome, in a brooding sort of way. Of course, Jane thought, one man of each type for the buffet. Don’t mind if I do. Mr. Nobley bowed stiffly, then walked away to look out the window. “How do you do?” said Jane to his back. Aunt Saffronia laughed. “Do not mind Mr. Nobley. He is annoyed to be trapped here with such minor country gentry, are you not, sir?” Mr. Nobley looked back at Aunt Saffronia. “I do not know what you mean, madam.” His eyes flicked to Jane. She found herself thinking, I wonder if he thinks I’m pretty? Then thought, don’t be silly, it’s all an act. Then thought, What fun!

Chanters, second-edition sellers, boardwalkers, strawers, mountebanks, clowns, jugglers, conjurors, grease removers, nostrum vendors, fortune-tellers, French polishers, turnpike sailors, various classes of lurkers and peepers, stenographic-card sellers, racetrack-card sellers.

But every now and then, when the posters on these sites muttered about “lurkers,” I’d shudder like a Soviet mole in the Pentagon. Because, yes, I lurked: I visited boards but didn’t post; I took without giving.

I pop in every now and then to comment on the show, but for the most part I sit back, stop thinking, and enjoy a group of pretty twenty-somethings pretending to be teenagers, making astronomically bad decisions and learning from their mistakes. Every once in a while, a troll account will take over the chat window with screaming caps or strings of emoticons, and the account Forges_ of_Risht appears to block them. A message from Max appears on my phone. Apocalypse_Cow: forges, reporting for duty with the banhammer. MirkerLurker: Excellent work, soldier. Apocalypse_Cow: see, there’s a reason you hired me for this job. MirkerLurker: Yeah, so Emmy doesn’t have to do that and take care of the website. Apocalypse_Cow: har har. MirkerLurker: But really, great job. No one wields the banhammer quite as well as you. Max sends more emojis. A lady dancing the salsa. Nail painting. A lightning bolt.

These “green revolutionaries” do not believe that we must forever impotently fall short of the bull’s-eye. They refuse to admit original sin, or inborn neuroses, or even the theosophists’ “Lurker at the Threshold” (one who supposedly eats the heads of those people rash enough to invade the higher planes without an invitation). They will not accept the perpetual barrier between desire and reality lamented by T.S. Eliot in his poem “The Hollow Men.” According to Eliot’s quite orthodox Christian view, there is a “Shadow” that always falls between “the idea and the reality,” “the desire and the spasm,” “the motion and the Act.” This Shadow is, of course, Original Sin and by definition no man or woman can remove it.

1% of the user population might start a group (or a thread within a group) 10% of the user population might participate actively, and actually author content whether starting a thread or responding to a thread-in-progress 100% of the user population benefits from the activities of the above groups (lurkers)19 This is often called the “1/10/100” rule, and it’s no surprise that the 1 percent of highly engaged users is extremely valuable.

They stayed far away from the translucence that surrounded the people who showed me their lives. I wasn’t sure, but I suspected the lurkers were the dead who couldn’t let go, the dead who didn’t believe in an afterlife, so refused to see the life after, even though it glowed like a sea of candles and beckoned them sweetly. Maybe they couldn’t see it.

Plus, Mrs. Lurker was beginning to get quite annoyed because I was firing them faster than she could sweep them up.

She’s a consummate lurker. She never posts, she never comments, she never likes. She just looks.

Callers themselves were screened by psych grad students and a profile was worked up using a series of five innocuous questions that ferreted out lurkers, stalkers, weenie wavers, bondage aficionados, self-published poets,

That is the second time you have said that. Genesis-8?” I take his hand. He goes rigid as I flip it over and trail my fingers over the grooves along his palms. It’s the first touch I give him freely. “It was once a manufactured drug that could bond with a human’s genome, I believe, like a cellular virus, one that could change us from within so we could use alien technology. Lurker technology belongs to a species of aliens that briefly cohabited on this planet with humans. A species that was far more advanced than us. They’re ancestors of yours.” Holding his hand, I peer up at him, recalling what Celeste shared with me and the strange myths handed down through my family. “Reptilian in nature, Lurkers were closest to Earth’s serpents, so geneticists spliced a serpent’s DNA, with human and Lurker, manufacturing your kind, a species who could breed the drug naturally and share it with others, with humans. Genesis-8 is what we call the pure drug, but what’s inside you, what’s in your veins, is wholly organic.

All right, so . . . she’d expected there to be more people here. The Facebook group she’d found—Camp Star Wars: Omaha!!!—had eighty-five members, not including Elena, who was more of a lurker than a joiner. This was definitely the right theater; the Facebook posts had been very clear. (Maybe it was Troy who posted them.) Elena had planned to continue her more-lurker-than-joiner strategy in the line. She thought she’d show up and then sort of disappear into the crowd until she got her sea legs. Her line legs. It was a pretty good strategy for most social situations: show up, fall back, let somebody else break the ice and take the spotlight. Somebody else always would. Extroverts were nothing if not dependable. But even an expert mid-trovert like Elena couldn’t lie low in a crowd of three. (Though this Gabe kid seemed to be trying.) Elena was going to be here for four days. She was going to have to talk to these people, at least until someone else showed up.

There are plenty of boys clustered around the wall, laughing, shoving each other playfully, yelling, competing for the attention of the girls. But somehow I know that the one who’s staring at me is the boy leaning against the post holding up the canopy, his shoulders square to it, his head ducked over the cigarette he’s holding, a tiny red point flaring in the shadow as he pulls on the filter. I shake my head and say firmly to myself, Smoking’s disgusting. I’m still looking, though. He’s tall and slim, I can tell that much. And his hair, dropping over his forehead, is jet-black, as if he were a hero in a manga book, drawn with pen and ink, two or three thick glossy strands separating into perfect dark curves. I snap my head back from the lurker in the shadows to the actual boy still holding my hand, only to see that Leonardo is looking over my shoulder in the same direction. “Luca!” he exclaims, dropping my hand to wave at someone. “Finalmente!” I am determined not to turn. Just in case it’s the same boy. I don’t want to look too interested, or too eager. Besides, he might be really ugly. Or spotty. Or have some silly chinstrap shaved onto his face-- “Eccolo!” Leonardo’s saying happily, and it would be silly of me, by now, not to turn to face the person who’s strolled over and is leaning against the side of the table. I look up at him, and my heart stops for a moment. “Luca!” Andrea says, echoing Leonardo. “Finalmente!” “This is Luca, our friend,” Leonardo says happily as I think: Luca. Finally. “Ciao,” Luca says, nodding at us, his long legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles. He’s wearing a dark blue shirt tucked into black jeans, and silver rings on a couple of his long fingers, the cigarette held loosely between them. His inky hair tumbles over his forehead, and I see, with a shock like a knife to the chest, that his eyes, heavily fringed with thick black lashes, are the midnight blue of sapphires or deep seawater. I can’t speak.

MirkerLurker: I don’t know! Because I emasculated him, probably. Or something. Max, I need advice from someone who’s felt emasculated. Apocalypse_Cow: why would you immediately assume i’ve felt emasculated before? MirkerLurker: Because you’re the only male here. Apocalypse_Cow: if you want to know if some guys feel emasculated when a girl stands up to a bully for them, then unfortunately i must say that yes, that does happen. Apocalypse_Cow: BUT NOT ME. Apocalypse_Cow: LET IT BE KNOWN THAT MAX CHOPRA HAS NEVER FELT EMASCULATED.

A Night Lurker grips me with savage hands.

MirkerLurker: He’s not exactly the kind of guy that’s usually interested in me. Apocalypse_Cow: what kind of guy is usually interested in you? MirkerLurker: The kind I make up in my head. Apocalypse_Cow: wooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooow Apocalypse_Cow: wooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooow Apocalypse_Cow: wooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooooo​ooow Apocalypse_Cow: do you want me to go ahead and fill your house with cats right now, or do you want to put that off for a few years?