罗夏(9)
2022-11-15 来源:118图库
On Friday night, a comedian died in New York. Someone threw him out a window and when he hit the sidewalk his head was driven up into his stomach. Nobody cares. Nobody cares but me. Are they right? Is it futile? Soon there will be war. Millions will burn. Millions will perish in sickness and misery. Why does one death matter against so many? Because there is good and there is evil, and evil must be punished.
Even in the face of Armageddon I shall not compromise in this. But there are so many deserving of retribution...and there is so little time.
OCTOBER 16, 1985
42nd Street: Womens breasts draped across every billboard, every display, littering the sidewalk. Was offered Swedish love and French love...but not American love. American love; like Coke in green glass bottles...they don"t make it anymore. Thought about Moloch"s story on way to cemetery. Could all be lies. Could all be part of a revenge scheme, planned during his decade behind bars.
But if true, then what? Puzzling reference to an island. Also to Dr. Manhattan. Might he be at risk in some way? So many questions. Never mind. Answers soon. Nothing is insoluble. Nothing is hopeless. Not while there"s life. In the cemetery, all the white crosses stood in rows, neat chalk marks on a giant scoreboard. Paid last respects quietly, without fuss.
Even in the face of Armageddon I shall not compromise in this. But there are so many deserving of retribution...and there is so little time.
OCTOBER 16, 1985
42nd Street: Womens breasts draped across every billboard, every display, littering the sidewalk. Was offered Swedish love and French love...but not American love. American love; like Coke in green glass bottles...they don"t make it anymore. Thought about Moloch"s story on way to cemetery. Could all be lies. Could all be part of a revenge scheme, planned during his decade behind bars.
But if true, then what? Puzzling reference to an island. Also to Dr. Manhattan. Might he be at risk in some way? So many questions. Never mind. Answers soon. Nothing is insoluble. Nothing is hopeless. Not while there"s life. In the cemetery, all the white crosses stood in rows, neat chalk marks on a giant scoreboard. Paid last respects quietly, without fuss.
