Stood in firelight, sweltering bloodstain on chest like map of violent new continent. Felt cleansed. Felt dark planet turn under my feet and knew what cats know that makes them scream like babies in night. Looked at sky through smoke heavy with human fat and God was not there. The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever, and we are alone... Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later. Born from oblivion; bear children, hellbound as ourselves; go into oblivion. There is nothing else. Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It's us. Only us.
- Alan Moore, Watchmen: Chapter VI, "The Abyss Gazes Also"

"A Herd of Beautiful Wild Ponies Running Free Across the Plains"
I've been in a real Rorschach mood lately. I don't know why. Hell, I don't even really know what that means!

I've always loved moments when arbitray events convince you that there's no God/free-will/such-thing-as-love. Like yesterday, I went out to lunch, and it was just pouring rain, and I came back and told the office, "There is no God. There is just rain. Pouring, warring rain." Or when you watch The Wizard while researching "Wizard: World's Greatest Detective," and realize that mixed tapes are meaningless and you don't understand the significance of "More Adventurous". Or your flight comes into Newark after an extended weekend back in Mo-Town, sticking it to The Man, and The Dour Bitch at Burger King won't make you a Whopper.

I'm not happy, but I'm funny... I hope.