Imaginary Friends

[Darth Inhaler]

I was on this topic with a friend of mine the other day. We were thinking about imaginary friends, and also people hallucinated by schizophrenics, and we wondered if those people really do exist. If they do exist, would it be considered murder if you purposely made yourself believe they didn't exist until they eventually faded away? Do those people have emotions, do they feed and breathe? Is the soul of these imaginary beings really the same soul that inhabits "real" people? Perhaps these people were created the same way (I believe) God made man?

Tell me your thoughts.

[SpRi7e]

There not real people and no one would ever know that it was a person so the answer is no.

[longjohnsilver]

i'm an imaginary friend mass murderer and i love it

[Ikku]

Fool, you just asked if we think imaginary friends are real. Imaginary friends. What the hell?

[dylann]

you and your friend must have been pretty fucking baked lol

[WeedGuru_Flow]

God is an imaginary friend for adults ... so this is an endless discussion :p

[(weedguru)scarf]

i am an imaginary friend!

[herbie]

You might wanna read some Carl Jung he has interesting ideas about this stuff

[Gorecore]

I have a few imaginary friends. I haven't named any of them, none of them have spoken their own name aloud. Those friends reside in different rooms in the hotel that is my head.

There's a corpsely thin man living in the darkest room. I think I speak with him the most. Even though I've never heard this man's voice, his thoughts prickle my spine the most.

He only told me his name once. It was during the month of December that he told me his name was Rak Bah. He sat slumped in his chair and was nearly motionless. If not for his one eye peering out from behind a jagged part in the front of his long black hair, I'd swear he was dead. Black, quivering, and filling with tears the eye never left my face.

I could hear one word now. It keeps repeating over and over. It screams then whispers somewhere deep from inside Rak Bah's chest and into my skull. When it seems that hearing the word one more time would surely make me fire a nailgun through my temple, he stops.

A faint creak sighs from his taut neck muscles as his head raises up to look straight ahead. Just before a throat crawling scream ejected from my mouth, he takes one of his fingernails and imbeds the dirt crusted hook up and under his eye to extract the wet orb. He holds his diseased eyeball out to me, palm out, arm extended, muscles twitching to some crazy song that only he can hear.

"Eat this to see." his mucus-laden voice bubbled quietly in my mind. "Eat this to see..."

[Jay212]

also, if a schizo's second personality faded away.. it wouldn't be murder. It's a personality, not a person. You can't murder a personality.

[onelove-maryjane]

yeh i really dont think its murder to stop talking to somoene

[President Beavis]

Oh imaginary friends are real alright, they're the people you imagine to be your friends until you realize they're just using you for your dope.

[SQUEEZABLE]

You might wanna read some Carl Jung he has interesting ideas about this stuff

the man johnny depp played in the film blow?

[WeedGuru_Flow]

Yessir!

[(weedguru)scarf]

I have a few imaginary friends. I haven't named any of them, none of them have spoken their own name aloud. Those friends reside in different rooms in the hotel that is my head.

There's a corpsely thin man living in the darkest room. I think I speak with him the most. Even though I've never heard this man's voice, his thoughts prickle my spine the most.

He only told me his name once. It was during the month of December that he told me his name was Rak Bah. He sat slumped in his chair and was nearly motionless. If not for his one eye peering out from behind a jagged part in the front of his long black hair, I'd swear he was dead. Black, quivering, and filling with tears the eye never left my face.

I could hear one word now. It keeps repeating over and over. It screams then whispers somewhere deep from inside Rak Bah's chest and into my skull. When it seems that hearing the word one more time would surely make me fire a nailgun through my temple, he stops.

A faint creak sighs from his taut neck muscles as his head raises up to look straight ahead. Just before a throat crawling scream ejected from my mouth, he takes one of his fingernails and imbeds the dirt crusted hook up and under his eye to extract the wet orb. He holds his diseased eyeball out to me, palm out, arm extended, muscles twitching to some crazy song that only he can hear.

"Eat this to see." his mucus-laden voice bubbled quietly in my mind. "Eat this to see..."

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