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Stalking Quotes

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Stalking Quotes

“How can I give up stalking when I have a family to feed? Get a job? I don't want to work for you, your work makes me puke, do you understand? This is the way I figure it: if a man works with you, he is always working for one of you, he is a slave and nothing else. And I always wanted to be myself, on my own, so that I could spit at you all, at your boredom and despair.”

“In This Darkness by Stewart Stafford A limo drove through mansion gates, Rock star John saw her wait again, Hysterically begging for autographs, The gates closed behind the limo. John said stop, and exited the car, "I'll sign it for you tomorrow, 100%," "No," she said, "sign tonight... now," He strode towards his home gates. He rummaged in his coat pockets, Ripping a cigarette packet to sign, He found a tiny pencil in his pants, Trailing breath vapour in the night. "I can't see you in this darkness," A chilling laugh from the fan's side, Three muzzle flashes, John died, Contorted on a bloody driveway. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

“Never stand in the way of letting God use people’s actions, in order to solve a greater issue in the world.”

“I was deluded, and I knew it. Worse: my love for Pippa was muddied-up below the waterline with my mother, with my mother's death, with losing my mother and not being able to get her back. All that blind, infantile hunger to save and be saved, to repeat the past and make it different, had somehow attached itself, ravenously, to her. There was an instability in it, a sickness. I was seeing things that weren't there. I was only one step away from some trailer park loner stalking a girl he'd spotted in the mall. For the truth of it was: Pippa and I saw each other maybe twice a year; we e-mailed and texted, though with no great regularity; when she was in town we loaned each other books and went to the movies; we were friends; nothing more. My hopes for a relationship with her were wholly unreal, whereas my ongoing misery, and frustration, were an all-too-horrible reality. Was groundless, hopeless, unrequited obsession any way to waste the rest of my life?”

“I Am The Cobra by Stewart Stafford A prisoner in his distant brain, Drowning man courts stardom, Became an ass in assassination, A zilch begetting zilch ad infinitum. Helicopter Christian and Satanist, Cauliflower man, now a cabbage, In judgement, cutting off phonies, Blind to himself in lost daydreams. In the cobra's deadly surprise strike, The attacker's venom splashed back, Bars in his head now physical restraints, A malingering, slow death from snakebite. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

“Elizza continued to scroll. It only got worse from there. Bandwagons of other girls, Libyan and non-Libyan, joined the thread with their own comments, so that within twenty or so tweets about the subject, what started out as blatant appreciation of male physical perfection soon downward spiraled into down-right stalking. She had to stop herself after a few minutes of reading—she didn’t think she could handle much more of it. She only knew of one word to describe the sad little thread, if only she could think of it. What is that word the young kids used these days? Oh yeah. Thirsty.”

“She sized him up again, once she was sure he wasn’t looking, and this time took note of his sneakers. She hated his sneakers. Not just because they were gray, which made them ugly and boring, but because they were gray with old, frayed, orange laces too. Timotheé Chalamet could pull that look off, but not her brother.”

“Jeffrey successfully managed a fast-food restaurant in Rutland, where he taught his staff to remain happy and friendly with customers at all times. ‘If you’re not smiling,’ he told them, ‘the customers won’t smile either, and that makes them one step closer to being nasty fucking assholes who none of us need in our lives.”

“There really was nothing else like it on earth. Nothing else he’d ever experienced before, anyhow. It was an unmatched, unrivaled, kinetic high just to be inside the front door of someone else’s house without their knowledge or permission, let alone any of the other miniature highs of opening drawers and cabinets to snoop around. Whereas some folks were built to avoid such drama by nature, Pat lived for this kind of thing. He’d been born for it.”

“It was a high no booze or drug could ever hope to achieve in similar doses, though if he could bottle that feeling for himself and the world, he wouldn’t hesitate at all. It was simply unlike anything else he’d ever felt before, and not being able to tell anyone what he’d done only made the adventure that much more incredible.”