MOMMA DIDN T RAISE NO QUITTER SKIN
MOMMA DIDN T RAISE NO QUITTER FULL

Memorized their descriptions then prepared for work. Across street, boy's were defacing abandoned building.

MOMMA DIDN T RAISE NO QUITTER SKIN

Disturbed to find I had fallen asleep without removing the skin from my head. Walked home past trashcans stuffed with rumors od war, weighing factors-bodies, motives.waiting for a flash of enlightenment in all this blood and thunder. By whom? Russians seem obvious choice: Manhattan and Comedian both key military figures. He knows nothing about any attempt to discredit Dr. Says 'But, Doctor.I am Pagliacci.' Good joke. That should pick you up.' Man bursts into tears. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. 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 century and chose to become a reflection of it, a parody of it. Treated it like a joke, but he understood. Something in our personalities, perhaps? Some animal urge to fight and struggle, making us what we are? Unimportant. Dollar Bill, The Silhouette, Captain Metropolis.we never die in bed. 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. Paid last respects quietly, without fuss. In the cemetery, all the white crosses stood in rows, neat chalk marks on a giant scoreboard. Might he be at risk in some way? So many questions. But if true, then what? Puzzling reference to an island. Could all be part of a revenge scheme, planned during his decade behind bars. Thought about Moloch's story on way to cemetery. American love like Coke in green glass bottles.they don't make it anymore. Was offered Swedish love and French love.but not American love. But there are so many deserving of retribution.and there is so little time.Ĥ2nd Street: Womens breasts draped across every billboard, every display, littering the sidewalk. Even in the face of Armageddon I shall not compromise in this. Why does one death matter against so many? Because there is good and there is evil, and evil must be punished. Millions will perish in sickness and misery. Are they right? Is it futile? Soon there will be war. Someone threw him out a window and when he hit the sidewalk his head was driven up into his stomach. On Friday night, a comedian died in New York. I shall go and tell the indestrucible man that someone plans to murder him. Both share private quarters at Rockefeller Military Research Center. The Silhouette retired in disgrace, murdered six weeks later by a minor adversary seeking revenge. Captain Metropolis was decapitated in a car crash back in '74. The first Silk Spectre is a bloated, aging whore, dying in a Californian rest resort. Why are so few of us left active, healthy, and without personality disorders? The first Nite Owl runs an auto repair shop. A flabby failure who sits whimpering in his basement. Possibly homosexual? Must remember to investigate further. He is pampered and decadent, betraying even his shallow, liberal affections. Meeting with Veidt left bad taste in mouth. The dusk reeks of fornication and bad consciences.

MOMMA DIDN T RAISE NO QUITTER FULL

Beneath me, this awful city, it screams like an abattoir full of retarded children. She has five children by five different fathers.

Now the whole world stands on the brink, staring down into bloody Hell, all those liberals and intellectuals and smooth talkers.and all of a sudden nobody can think of anything to say. Instead they followed the droppings of lechers and communists and didn't realize that the trail led over a precipe until it was too late. Decent men who believed in a day's work for a day's pay. They could have followed in the footsteps of good men like my father, or president Truman. 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!'.

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 following are excerpts from the journal.ĭog carcass in alley this morning. Rorschach's JournalThis journal was mailed to The New Frontiersman, by Walter Kovacs, AKA Rorschach.

Momma didn t raise no quitter