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Bob


Guest imported_Tesseract

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from the midst which i have been born into

scorned

most of you can't even comprehend what i am saying to you

even in my human form the message i'm relaying

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SLOWLY PULL BACK from Jack's face. It's pressed against TWO LARGE

BREASTS that belong to ... BOB, a big moose of a man, around 35 years

old. Jack is engulfed by Bob's arms in an embrace. Bob weeps openly.

His shoulders inhale themselves up in a long draw, then drop, drop,

drop in jerking sobs. Jack gives Bob some squeezes in return, but his

face is stone.

 

JACK (V.O.)

Bob had bitch tits.

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This is the death plant, I realized. (One of them, at least.) I felt I understood a bit what it meant to die, to have one's conciousness secede from its union with the body, leaving certain familiar elements of understanding behind. And yet, there was consciousness. Some part of me knew that it had to get back, that there were friends and family who loved me, who would be tragically disappointed were they to lose me this way. Was it the Ego, telling stories of this boy it remembered, building him back out of memories and nothing? Or were the effects of the drug simply fading?

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Guest imported_Tesseract

'I feel like Deniro in taxi driver

with Jodie Foster and Harvey Keitel

looks like i'm walking into a living hell'

 

...Yes i was listening to Judgement Night,

after at leats 2 years.

Dope, haha

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