[Through the eyes of madness: Joker]





There is something…. Enticing in the sound.


The feeling of knowing exactly what is causing the sound that is filling your mind.


The knowledge you caused such an exquisite backdrop top the world.


The sound of blood hitting the floor is a category that those fools in big companies never recognise as music.

There is the splatter of a head exploding into mist. LOUD shocking attention grabbing unforgettable! Truly UNFORGETTABLE! I could dance forever in that moment.

I have one hell of a mean jazz step you know.

But it's over too quick. One measly moment where the bang of a gun can be drowned out by its consequences, and that's all you get. As much as I adore it, there is no way that it is worth all the hassle of cleaning up and hiding the body and- oh who am I kidding? Like I can ever be bothered with that kind of time wasting monotony.

Besides, why go to all that trouble if you're gonna hide it away? Am I right! I thought I was…. The sounds, the sights, the feel and the actions of murder are all unique little masterpieces. And to keep them to yourself would be just down right selfish.

And no one can ever call me selfish! When was the last time you saw me NOT sharing all I have with the people of this city? Huh? You know I'm right. My best toys. all my time and work and plans. all my best men. All given free of charge and without thought of reward to make a day in the life of a stranger absolutely unique.

I'm so very generous. Generous little me. HA-HA! And then they go and hate me for it. Can ya believe it boys and girls? All they see is the twisted bodies and scared faces and they call me a monster!

They don't see the patterns in the blood. (For instance what I see is a puppy being strangled in it's sleep by a malnourished angel. Harley keeps insisting that it's a Mother hugging her young. And she had better well hope she isn't hinting at anything. She'd make a terrible mother!)

They never got to experience the cries and the begging and attempts to explain why there lives are worth MORE then being bled to death in some filthy unused basement, oh-so away from home. It's almost tragic in a funny kind of way. Like a dog with its legs broken, trying in vain to pull itself out of the way of the approaching steam roller that you have no intention of driving around.

If they made it, you'd be impressed. Wonder at the determination and spirit.

But it's just more fun to see them try. Fail. And die with an expression of hopelessness.

Besides, if you are gonna actually scare anyone with a steam roller, it needs a few good bloodstains to show you mean business!

There are so many who don't take me seriously.

And there is absolutely nothing that I can take seriously.

Take the Bat for an example. He puts on his cape and his mask with the absolutely adorable little ears. And he sits on a roof in the rain (such a good way to get himself pneumonia. Wouldn't that be a riot? Imagine the dark knight in bed with a thermometer in his grumpy scowling face. HAHAHAHAHA!) and he broods away all: "Gotham is DARK and GRIM and I am a man dressed like a Bat! And I shall fight this by being even grimmer! That'll solve everything!"

And even after the man talks to himself while wearing the worlds most expensive PJ's he expects people to take him seriously!

Can you believe it? I can't make my mind up which is worse. The fact that anyone calling themselves "flying-mouse-man" can have the gall to demand respect.

Or the fact that people are actually scared of him! What do I have to do to get that kind of respect? eh? Beat up armed men with my bare hands?


One second thoughts, he can keep the damn fear. If he's willing to make such a fool of himself then he should be getting SOME benefits.

And out of every man, woman, child and severely flattened Dog in the world. HE is the one who understands me the most. Now isn't that what is really insane?