October 12th, 1985. Tonight, a comedian died in New York.

spockemon:

- God doesn’t make the world this way. We do.

You wanna know my past? Okay. Happily. It’s a matter of public record that by seventeen both my parents were dead, leaving me alone. I guess you could say I’ve always been alone. I mean, they say I’m the smartest man in the world, but the truth is I’ve often felt stupid at being unable to relate to anybody. Well.. anyone living, that is. The only person with whom I felt any kinship died three hundred years before the birth of Christ. Alexander of Macedonia. His vision of a United world, well, it was unprecedented. I wanted needed to match his accomplishments, and so I resolved to apply antiquity’s teachings to our world today, and so began my path to conquest. Conquest not of men, but of the evils that beset them.

God I’m tired of being afraid, afraid of war, afraid of the mask-killer.. and afraid of this goddamn suit, and how much I need it.

Rorschach’s Journal. October 12th, 1985: Dog carcass in alley this morning, tire tread on burst stomach. This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face. The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood and when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout “Save us!” and I’ll whisper “No.”

I feel fear… for the last time.