I love this stuff:

(Read this in that deep, throaty, New York Private Eye raspiness…)

Rorschach’s Journal, October 12th.

Dog carcass in alley this morning. Tire tread on burst stomach. The city is afraid of me. I have seen it’s 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 And all the whores and politicians will look up and shout “save us!”…

And I’ll whisper “no.”

All those liberals, and intellectuals, and smooth-talkers; and all of a sudden no one can think of anything to say. Beneath me, this awful city, it screams like an abattoir full of retarded children. and the night reeks of fornication and bad consciences.

Tonight, a comedian died in New York. Somebody knows why… somebody knows.

October 13th 1985. 8:30pm.

Meeting with Dreiberg left bad taste in mouth; a flabby failure sits whimpering in his basement. Why are so few of us left active, healthy, and without personality disorders? The First Nite Owl runs an auto repair shop. The first Silk Spectre is a bloated, aging whore dying in a California rest resort. Dollar Bill got his cape stuck on a revolving door where he got gunned down. Silhouette… murdered, a victim of her own indecent lifestyle. Mothman is in an asylum in Maine. Even Adrian Veidt; possible homosexual, must investigate further. Only two names remain on my list. Both share private quarters at Rockefeller Military Research Center. I shall go to them. I shall go tell the indestructible man that someone plans to murder him.

October 25th 1985.

Edward Blake, The Comedian, born 1918, buried in the rain. Murdered. Is that what happens to us? No time for friends? Only our enemies leave roses. Violent lives ending violently. Blake understood. Humans are savage in nature. No matter how much you try to dress it up, to disguise it. Blake saw society’s true face. Chose to be a parody of it, a joke. I heard a joke once. Man goes to doctor, says he’s depressed. Life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world. Doctor says “Treatment is simple. The great clown, Pagliacci, is in town. Go see him. That should pick you up”. Man bursts into tears. “But doctor”, he says, “I am Pagliacci.” Good joke. Everybody laughs. Roll on snare drum. Curtains.

• Men get arrested. Dogs get put down.
• God didn’t kill that little girl. Fate didn’t butcher her, destiny didn’t feed her to those dogs. If God saw what went on that night, he didn’t seem to mind. From then on, I knew: God doesn’t make the world this way. We do.
• None of you seem to understand. I’m not locked in here with you… you’re locked in here with me!

• Ancient Pharaohs looked forward to the end of the world. Believed cadavers would rise to reclaim hearts from golden jars. Hurm. Must currently be holding breath in anticipation.
• Never compromise. Not even in the face of Armageddon.