“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. Its us. Only us.” – Walter Kovacks (aka Rorschach)
This comic hits like a wrecking ball into the facades erected by countless mind numbing four color adventures that we reside in week after after week. We have become content to wallow in the rot of mediocrity – accustomed to sub-par pablum we are being spoon fed by individuals that prey on our servitude to the spandex adorned mythical figures, to which our existence is tied to by a never-ending, invisible thread.
Our minds are filled with beings of incredible strength that preach to us of truth and accomplish the impossible. In worlds slightly left of center from our own, these powerful plays run through their verses over and over again until we are numb and lifeless and content to let the void wash over us in a pitiful desire to feel something of value.
The horror of our lives is all we have in common and we escape inside a cerebral landscape to which all our fears can be conquered. But what happens when those pages hold something indifferent to our subsistence? Something that grabs hold and shakes us out of our stupor? There are only two choices: Turn away or gaze at it.
Today I gazed at something that made me remember why I read comics. Something that I know long after I’ve read it will continue to visit me – and not in a pleasant way. This comic drips with a nihilistic energy – it is a descent into the essence of emptiness. The acquaintances we meet here are not benevolent and remind us that yes the world is indeed rudderless. Brutal – and beautiful in its devastation.
It woke me up for a moment and caused me to look up in the sky, only to find nothing.
There is nothing there.
“Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster….” – Nietzche