Hello, this is a gentle reminder that not all ghosts are Victorian wailing ladies in fancy dresses. Ghosts also include some eight year olds saying “six-seven!”, girls with “juicy” on the ass of their sweatpants, random salarymen in suits, many perpetually angry indigenous people, in t-shirts and jeans, a crap ton of actual babies, a few karens here and there who finally found out, some goth girls who were secretly glad they died in fancy Victorian dresses so they get to blend in with the genuine articles, a shit ton of peasants from the middle ages, a bunch of brash cowboys overtaken by consumption, and so goddamn many more.
The reason you can’t see any of these is much the opposite: the air is so thick with ghosts, so dense with them, that hearing the roar of twenty ghosts per square meter is something you’ve been used to your whole life, and it sounds like nothing. They’re equally powerless too. Just an endless ether of the dead that you too will join, frustrated forever that like fifteen other people have their random ghostly limbs in your body cause there’s just no goddamn space.
I prefer to think of them as being tied to a place and time. So space-time. As the earth goes around the sun, and the sun goes around the galactic center, and the galaxy moving, we leave a trail of ghosts lost, floating in space. And if you consider the Galaxy’s edges as a “galactic coast” you might even say we’re leaving space ghosts, from coast to coast.
Oh, Space Ghost would love to blast me, wouldn’t you buddy, wouldn’t you‽ But he can’t! And you know why? Because I’m not animated to explode! And even if I was, if he hurt one hair on my pretty little head, he would get in big trouble!
Hello, this is a gentle reminder that not all ghosts are Victorian wailing ladies in fancy dresses. Ghosts also include some eight year olds saying “six-seven!”, girls with “juicy” on the ass of their sweatpants, random salarymen in suits, many perpetually angry indigenous people, in t-shirts and jeans, a crap ton of actual babies, a few karens here and there who finally found out, some goth girls who were secretly glad they died in fancy Victorian dresses so they get to blend in with the genuine articles, a shit ton of peasants from the middle ages, a bunch of brash cowboys overtaken by consumption, and so goddamn many more.
The reason you can’t see any of these is much the opposite: the air is so thick with ghosts, so dense with them, that hearing the roar of twenty ghosts per square meter is something you’ve been used to your whole life, and it sounds like nothing. They’re equally powerless too. Just an endless ether of the dead that you too will join, frustrated forever that like fifteen other people have their random ghostly limbs in your body cause there’s just no goddamn space.
I prefer to think of them as being tied to a place and time. So space-time. As the earth goes around the sun, and the sun goes around the galactic center, and the galaxy moving, we leave a trail of ghosts lost, floating in space. And if you consider the Galaxy’s edges as a “galactic coast” you might even say we’re leaving space ghosts, from coast to coast.
Oh, Space Ghost would love to blast me, wouldn’t you buddy, wouldn’t you‽ But he can’t! And you know why? Because I’m not animated to explode! And even if I was, if he hurt one hair on my pretty little head, he would get in big trouble!