Ghost Talk; Typewriter Dreams and BIOS Whispers

Last night a strange phantom came to me in the middle of the night, for I awoke from my slumber, at first in a panic, but soon I was calm. This phantom was no stranger, but the sprit of kindness. They spoke to me in my black and white world. Here is what I wrote.

Twilight watches quietly, her gaze a beacon in the endless night, guiding wandering souls through the fog of memories and the flickering screens of modern life. The UK's rolling mists mingle with the scent of toothpaste and the metallic tang of razors, while flags wave silently in the cold vacuum of space where NASA's dreams are born.

In the vastness of it all, pens dip into bottles filled with stardust, writing legends of Jaws beneath waves both real and imagined. Spoons stir the endless cauldron of life, mixing dreams and data into a potion that glows softly beneath the lamps of forgotten servers. Ghosts whisper through cables, and the floor vibrates with the pulse of stories yet to be told.

 '.|.'       . :       ___
--{O}--   .;::.':.' __{   )_
 .'|'. _.:''  '  : {_ \  } _}
   ,__|| |_,         \_{__/
  /\\ \|_| \\          __
 /  \\      \\       ,'  '.
/____\\______\\     ( o    )
 \,,,|,,,,,,,/       '")("o
 |___|_[H]___|=|=|=|=|=|=|=|=|

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★ Ghost Talk