i. johnathan doe: name given to the disfigured deceased - the unrecognizable corpse set ablaze or with it’s face stripped or whatever else gratuitous violence befell those, unfortunate few into anonymity. those unknown are forever lost in their prior, mortal endeavors. sleep-paralysis shadows, jane and john doe, the forgotten ashes that lay, intertwined with the seabed, jane and john, the bodies decomposed in vats of acid that don’t survive the over exposure of the substance, jane and john…
ii. he wears a mask too, like thy bat. whatever fears you have, he takes hold, and exchanges a smile. do not fret, there is no time, crestfallen fellows, those who wallow in pity, in fear, do not do so——-i will put things right, forever and always. the cheer outweighs the depression that gotham holds, above heads of the optimistic, to dampen their days, to tamper, with their bright outlooks. he can’t remember, like static in his head, a channel that just cannot pick up any signal - f uzzy in terfe rence - blurring his past. possession taking hold. he wants, like a spoiled brat, he WANTS change. the darkness of this city cannot continue. the oppression clouds what this city, should be.
iii. …arkham is a fucked up place. need more be said? he had learnt that optimism, in the face of forgetting the world below your feet, is not a fantastic trade-off. doe, is not insane——it’s not a simple case of stereotyping, of craziness upon a unreliable scale——there is a black void, a being inside, calling out for blood. the smiles were an empty type of sustenance that kept the being hardly placid - drooling and frothing at the gums, instead. and now - like a feral beast onto fresh meat, he FEASTS, whenever necessary. if he is hungry - he will kill. his purpose is found, dots connected, if he knows not himself, then why not cause his very home the same grief, confusion, horror. why not, for a laugh, a huge, long, fucking laugh, target LAW. why not, target the one man heading it all; BATMAN.
iv. the smell of fresh-air is no longer satisfying enough; prior naivete wrought the air to seem crisp, but now all he could smell was smoke, and smog, and GARBAGE laced with filthy rats, lining the streets. playing up to the strengths of the psychiatrists wasn’t hard - psychosis wasn’t the issue - but then, nobody knew what the issue was. not even he knew. he just knew, that he had to fulfill whatever desire hit his head, no matter how bloody, this place was deserving of hell, and he’d be the unfiltered deliverance of ANARCHY, if that’s what was so declared. batman was worthy of his jokes, worthy of his smiles, of his never-ending DEATH TOLL paired against his one, flawed, rule; never to kill a single soul. yin and yang, rules paired against lack thereof, LIFE against DEATH—-or debatably vice versa, an eternal battle that would live on, to inspire further jokers, further batmen.
both infested with whatever void drives them, still, now. a vacuum of misplaced goodness, scales of reason, or BIAS, vs the vacuum of suffering, and freedom unto a WARZONE where chaos reigns just.
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