The End Is Nigh #6

Left Jacobi’s house 2:35 a.m. He knows nothing about any attempt to discredit Dr. Manhattan. He was simply been used.

By whom? Russians seem obvius choice. Manhattan and Comedian both key military figures. But Comedian referrred to an island, artists and writers living on it. Doesn’t fit. We can’t concentrate. Too tired. No sleep since saturday.

Walked home past trashcans stuffed with rumors of war, weighing factors; bodies; motives… Waiting for a flash of enlightenment in all this blood and thunder.


The End Is Nigh #5

—– street: newfag’s faces draped across every billboard, every display, littering the sidewalk. Was offered retard love and candyass  love… but not Triforce love. Triforce love; like auld video & computer games… they don’t make it anymore.

We thought about Aaron Baar’s story, on way to cemetery. Could all be lies. Could all be part of revenge scheme, planned during his decade in front of nigga’s cocks.

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. Nevermind. 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 scorecard. Paid last respects quietly, without fuss.

Edward Morgan Blake. Born in —-. Forty-five years a comedian died —-, buried in the rain. Is that what happens to us? A life of conflict with no time for friends… so that when it’s done, only our enemies leave roses.

Violent lives, ending violently. Dollar Bill, The Silhouette, Captain Metropolis… we never die in bed. Not allowed.

Something in our personalities, perhaps? Some animal urge to fight and struggle, making us what we are? Unimportant. We do what we have to do.

Others bury their heads between the swollen teats of indulgence and gratification, piglets squirming beneath a sow for shelter… and the future is bearing down like an express train.

Blake understood. Treated it like a joke, but he understood. He saw the cracks in society, saw the little men in masks trying to hold it together…

He saw the true face of the twentieth & twentyfirst centuries and chose to become a reflection, a parody of it. No one else saw the joke. That’s why he was lonely.

Heard a joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he’s depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel.

Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain.

Doctor says “Treatment is simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That should pick you up “.

Man bursts into tears. Says ” But, doctor…

… I am Pagliaci”.

Good joke. Everybody laugh.

Roll on snare drum.


The End Is Nigh #4

On friday night a comedian died in —–.

Someone threw him out of a window and when he hit the sidewalk his head was driven up into his stomach.

Nobody cares. Nobody cares but us.

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 armaggedon we shall not compromise in this. But there are so many deserving of retribution… and there is so little time.

The End Is Nigh #3

Meeting with Veidt left bad taste in mouth. He is pampered and decadent, betraying even his own shallow, liberal affectations. Possibly homosexual? Must remember to investigate further.

Dreidberg as bad a flabby failure who 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, again whore, dying in a californian rest resort. Captain Metropolis was decapitated in a car crash back in ’74.

Mothman’s in an asylum up in Maine. The Silhouette retired in disgrace, murdered six weeks later by a minor adversary seeking revenge. Dollar Bill got shot. Hooded Justice went missing in ’55.

The Comedian is dead.

Only two names remaining on our list. Both share private quarters at —– research center. We shall go to them.

We shall go and tell the indestructible man that someone plans to murder him.

The End Is Nigh #2

Slept all day. Awoken at 4:37. Landlady complaining about smell. She has five children by five different fathers. We are sure she cheats on welfare. Soon it will be dark.

Beneath us, this awful city, it screams like an abbatoir full of retarded children. ——. On friday night, a comedian died in ——. Somebody knows why. Down there… Somebody knows.

The dusk reeks of fornication and bad consciences. We believe we shall take our exercise.

The End Is Nigh #1

The End Is Nigh

Dog carcass in alley this morning, tire tread on burst stomach. This city is afraid of us. We 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 lies and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout “save us!”… and we’ll look down and whisper “No”.

They had a choice, all of them. They could have followed in the footsteps of good men like our father or V. Decent men who believed in a day’s work for a day’s pay.

Instead they followed the droppings of lechers and fascists and didn’t realize that the trail led over a precipice until it was too late. Don’t tell us they didn’t have a choice.

Now the whole world stands on the brink, staring down into bloody hell, all those faggots and intellectuals and smoothtalkers… and all of a sudden, nobody can think of anything to say.

#25S – Anytime, anywhere: FUCK THE POLICE

1. Go attend a raid/protest/strike


2. Police starts beating people



4. PROFIT!!!!

Fuck The Police FTW!