Rorshach

Rorshach at Comic Con.


RORSHACH’S JOURNAL.
July 24th, 2008

Top Cow booth: Women’s breasts draped across every cover, every display. Was offered free hug, free poster, free button… but not free comic. Free comic like instant courage — only find it on Internet.

Thought about Fortress Maximus story on way to Watchmen panel. Could happen, probably won’t. Don’t know if editor even remembers me the morning after. If not, then what? So many questions. Never mind. Answers soon. Nothing is hopeless. Not while I have his business card and an e-mail account.

In Watchmen panel, all movie stars stood in row. Neat Hollywood heroes on a giant cash register. Paid respects quietly, without fuss. Alan Moore, writer, born 1953, hates your comic book movie.

Look around at audience. Is this what happens to us? A life of comics with no time for friends… so that when it’s done, only our intellectual properties leave roses? Something in our personalities, perhaps? Some animal urge to pitch and struggle, making us what we are?

Unimportant. We do what we have to do. Bury our heads between the swollen teats of indulgence, gratification and fantastic movie options, piglets squirming beneath a sow for shelter. But there is no shelter… and this movie release is bearing down like an express train.

Hurm. Zack Snyder kicking over fanboys, shouting, “This… is… Comic-Con!”

True face of twenty-first century comic book industry. A reflection, a parody of it. Good joke. Everybody laugh. Roll snare drum. Curtains.

I wonder if Newsarama will win Eisner tonight?

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