Rorschachs Journal: June 11th, 1968

"Counted seventeen transients in neighborhood this morning. Must remember to begin looking for new apartment tomorrow.

City is changing.

It is being speckled by first few drops of impenetrable black ink, and sooner or later the rest of the bottle will inevitably come gushing down in pursuit. I can see it, smell it - spectral residents, iron fortresses stretching out into the sky. Ten billion dots of phosphorescent light arrayed as toothpaste commercials and puerile fantasies... Dopers, politicians, preachers, whores, hippies, liars, pushers, poets, advocates, thieves... All are gray. Soon to be black and truly great men are all no longer with us - General Patton, President Truman... my father.

Once a year I ponder most ancient of riddles ... which came first? Were these men like Atlas of myth, laboring to bear the world aloft, desperately seeking their successors and finally dying unfulfilled, leaving us all to plunge down into depravity?

Or did forces of compromise take a more active role in whole affair, loosing their snarling dogs and hunting down each of them one-by-one, opening the way for some sinister masterplan?

And if latter formulation is correct, when did hunt begin? Has all of recorded history been merely a slow, steady slide into the abyss?"