The human mind struggles to comprehend the signals from its eyes. Willem Dafoe’s dick seems to exist in all points of time and states of engorgement at once. An impossible mass of possibly sentient flesh, held together by varicose veins and the night-terrors of quantum physicists. Good god, it’s coming out of the walls. It slips deep inside my freshly dilated temporal cavity without lubrication, prematurely climaxing all over my memories of August 4th 2007. It goes deeper nonetheless. It was a bridesmaid at my wedding. A taxi driver home from new year 1998. My date to prom. The first face I saw. And deeper still, into the widening chasm before my birth. Oh jesus. I think Willem Dafoe has become my father.

“I told you we should have used a stunt cock, Lars.” He says. I don’t hear him. I am already dead.

– Lars Von Trier