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Rorschach’s Journal, Nov 1, 1985 Final entry? Left Veidt's office just before Midnight. Dreiberg, convinced Veidt's behind everything, is serious about visiting Antarctica. Owlship capable, apparently, but are we? Veidt. Cannot imagine more dangerous opponent. Assuming journey possible, tracking him to his lair only option. Still feel uneasy. Unfamiliar territory. He could kill us both, there in the snow. Nobody would ever know...first night in November. I am cold tonight. Offices below, headstones marking daily graves of thousands. Inside, clock faces, as observed as those of celebrities, hands commence final laps. Oblivion gallops closer, favoring the spur, sparing the rein...I think we will be gone soon. Veidt is faster than Dreiberg. Perhaps faster than me. Return seems unlikely. This last entry. Will shortly mail to only people can trust. Tell Dreiberg I need to check my maildrop. He believes me. If reading this now, whether I am alive or dead, you will know truth. Whatever the precise nature of this conspiracy, Adrian Veidt responsible. Have done best to make this legible. Believe it paints a disturbing picture. Appreciate your recent support and hope world survives long enough for this to reach you. But tanks are in East Berlin and writing is on wall. For my own part, regret nothing. Have lived life, free from compromise...and step into the shadow now without complaint.
by Anon-394377556
Nov 1, 1985 Final entry? Left Veidt's office just before Midnight. Dreiberg, convinced Veidt's behind everything, is serious about visiting Antarctica. Owlship capable, apparently, but are we? Veidt. Cannot imagine more dangerous opponent. Assuming journey possible, tracking him to his lair only option. Still feel uneasy. Unfamiliar territory. He could kill us both, there in the snow. Nobody would ever know...first night in November. I am cold tonight. Offices below, headstones marking daily graves of thousands. Inside, clock faces, as observed as those of celebrities, hands commence final laps. Oblivion gallops closer, favoring the spur, sparing the rein...I think we will be gone soon. Veidt is faster than Dreiberg. Perhaps faster than me. Return seems unlikely. This last entry. Will shortly mail to only people can trust. Tell Dreiberg I need to check my maildrop. He believes me. If reading this now, whether I am alive or dead, you will know truth. Whatever the precise nature of this conspiracy, Adrian Veidt responsible. Have done best to make this legible. Believe it paints a disturbing picture. Appreciate your recent support and hope world survives long enough for this to reach you. But tanks are in East Berlin and writing is on wall. For my own part, regret nothing. Have lived life, free from compromise...and step into the shadow now without complaint.
by Anon-394377556
So today in my tuition while we were about to leave one of the student asked my tutor who painted the painting which was on the table and my tutor replied “oh you see we used to have a fish bowl and in that we had two fishs one was a little smaller than the other, we would watch when the smaller one always used to annoy the bigger fish it would tag the big fish and run and the big one chased one small and the big fish always likes to jump up the bowl not to high up a little it always jumps and gets exited when I had to clean the bowl and transfer the fishs somewhere else and you know we had them for 7 months they were together for 7 months. Recently last month we saw that the small fish died and the big fish was not in the fish bowl, we paused for a minute and then realized that the big one was lying dead outside the pot on the table. The big fish had suicide itself because the small fish died. My daughter had painted this painting as a remembrance of these two” :)
by Anon-1286030508
I feel you. The day was stagnant and eerie. Coalesced neurosis solidified into a desk. No longer was the wandering of yesterday, the fleeing from tread on tracks of knowledge. There was only time for delivery. Directness was celebrated and results obsessed over. It wasn’t their fault. Buildings glisten under shielded barriers and fruit flavored walls that warp smiles into winces or paralyzed smirks rendering them perverse in the land of locked chance, locked paints and locked wood - they cut the budget - they didn’t have it - swaying as a boat, as the violence of progression.
by Anon-1379835554
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