Author Topic: What About Bob?  (Read 2400 times)

Bobby Campbell

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What About Bob?
« on: May 22, 2008, 04:51:51 am »
I asked him please if I could come by on his Movie Night & I dunno, chill & stuff. He said “Sure.” Frankly I couldn’t fucking believe it! I had e-mail contact from when the Maybe Logic Academy first opened and was sitting ‘round all baked w/ an open line to Robert Anton Wilson, what would you do?! I guess this was Early Fall 2004? After 8 Dimensions of “Mind” & Before Quantum Psychology, obviously I was 23 at the time, natch.

When he gave me his address it didn’t say which town he lived in. I assume it’s Santa Cruz, but when I MapQuest the directions: There’s no such Address in Santa Cruz, yet there’s one that matches in L.A. I say word, and buy plane tickets about 350 miles from my intended destination. [Thanks to looking up the geography of Monetary Bay, I eventually solved the address mystery, though now had the task of getting from L.A. to Capitola in 7 hours, (Plane lands @ 12:00 RAW says be there @ 7:00) Mission Impossible, or so I was told, L.A. traffic going as it doesn’t.]

I don’t get a wink of sleep the night before, I fucked up the skin tone on the drawing I was making him, and was up all night performing artistic surgery, I got it right just in time to begin my journey...no movie on the plane, WACK! Though otherwise an all aces flight, BUT! When I land in L.A. I find that my Car Rental situation is all fucked up (for a variety of reasons) and it’s 2 hours before I hustle up some wheels and gets to getting. Now I have 5 hours to get from L.A. to Capitola, I fear not and BLAST FORTH!

2 pm out of Los Angeles, not a lick of that famous traffic, not a lick (GO BABY GO!) I got tunes, I got soda pop, and a heavy fucking foot, I am NOT missing this movie, I put the pedal to the metal, 100 MPH to Robert Anton Wilson’s house, “real cool time.”

Without fail I almost run out of gas, get rather lost, & even for a moment lose all hope. But as it was so it went: 7:30 pm, I reach my destination.

I ring the buzzer, right? “Hello?” (that’s him, I mean really him, how strange!)

“Um...Mr. Wilson? This is Bobby...y’know...um....from class?”

I get buzzed in and then for good measure find myself lost on the way through the apt complex! found by one of Bob’s friends, and lead in to meet the big fella...

Now the whole drive up I have it in my head that I’m meeting ROBERT ANTON WILSON-THE RISING PROMETHEUS PULLING THE ILLUMINATUS! COSMIC TRIGGER. Or well, you get the drift...and when I get there I find something even better: Bob Wilson, nice old man. He says my hand is cold after we shake hello.

He seems to genuinely have no idea why a fellow might fly across the country to meet him, “or what’s left of him!” he says, cracking a solid joke about his health, and really kind of putting me at ease. I introduce myself as “Bob” to another of his friends (that being my going name, mostly.) That don’t fly at all! He’s Bob & I’m Bobby. After a bit of small talk w/ his lovely group of friends I find that I’m sitting all alone with him. He looks at me some what strangely, I think that I don’t know at all what to say! But then I know just what to do. I walk over and give him his drawing, he likes it. Mission Accomplished.



An homage to the painting Elwood P Dowd receives in Harvey, though changed such that the rabbit gets a big ol’ grin. Bob agrees that the Pookha would smile. And w/ a move I still find inspirational to this day, has his wheel chair sent out of the room, and walks just fine the entire night.

I eat some pizza, drink some wine, WE BURN ONE! Even some shortie wops pop over! We watch then Son of Frankenstein. and I mean I’m fucking BLAZED, the movie is beyond hilarious, and the game is so real I can hardly fucking stand it!

Igor gets all the best lines:
"Because I robbed graves...THEY SAID!"
"BUT HIS MOTHER WAS LIGHTNING!"

He pauses the movie after a prodigious thunderclap, looks over and says that at the sound of thunder man relives the terror of the monster in the sky. ("God") (this before I learned the Vico line, needless to say it made an impression) after someone delivers the line “Everything is under control” he pauses again and remarks that that would be a good title for a book, and that really everything WAS under control. I don’t even know what to think! (at one point during the movie I look around and it appears everyone but me is asleep!?!)

After the movie he splits out to the porch and smokes grits & talks w/ his young friends (as true equals). He asks me for help lifting him out of his seat, I get surprised by the size of him and a nice girl helps me lift him up (I took lesson from that) and I then notice just something small that brings into focus the reality of Mr. Wilson as an artist...his screen door had a tear in it. That to me made the whole thing SO LEGIT, his screen door was torn, he was a regular guy, really, and not just because it’s advisable or fashionable to act modest, he really was the real deal, and I had a night not that different from every other night, more beauty in that I think than if I had met ROBERT ANTON WILSON, no please, I prefer Bob Wilson, that nice old man I met one time…

Though then the Tale of the Tribe was still to come, and that of which it is wisest not to speak!!!

Bobby Campbell

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Re: What About Bob?
« Reply #1 on: May 22, 2008, 06:41:52 am »











Reverend Loveshade

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Re: What About Bob?
« Reply #2 on: June 06, 2008, 05:44:56 am »
I miss Grandbob.
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The Good Reverend Roger

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Re: What About Bob?
« Reply #3 on: June 06, 2008, 05:47:57 am »
I'd miss him more if he was capable of finishing a fucking book without channeling James Joyce.

No, really.  That pisses me off.  You go through a few thousand pages, and the conclusion?

Pure.  169%.  CRAP.
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Bebek Sincap Ratatosk

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Re: What About Bob?
« Reply #4 on: June 06, 2008, 03:39:43 pm »
I miss him too, Rev.


I'd miss him more if he was capable of finishing a fucking book without channeling James Joyce.

No, really.  That pisses me off.  You go through a few thousand pages, and the conclusion?

Pure.  169%.  CRAP.


Roger, read moar. You must have read only a couple of his sillier novels.
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