[b]Alan Moore
Trust in the fictive process, in the occult interweaving of text and event must be unwavering and absolute. This is the magic place, the mad place at the spark gap between word and world.[/b]
Providing of course the words are actually there.
It does not do to rely too much on silent majorities, Evey, for silence is a fragile thing…One loud noise, and it’s gone.
Our noise in particular.
Finally, faced with horrors both intolerable and unavoidable, I chose madness.
I know: If only that was something that we could choose.
I do prefer to criticise things from a position of ignorance.
What are you gonna do: Kids.
Just look above you. Do you see? That is called the immense board of lights. And there is the Great Black and, strewn across it, small and surrounded and vulnerable and brave, there is the Great White.
Oh. Oh, yeah. Of course. Hah. You know, that’s perfect. That’s really perfect. And the Great White… I mean, there’s so much more black. A-are we losing?
No. Once there was only black. We are winning.
You know, if you want to call it that.
The relentless onslaught of this stupefying imagery that pounds our inner landscapes flat, a carpet-bombing of the mind. The language of the world, that overwhelms us.
And not just television. Well, on most days.