The fricking thing keeps pointing more and more westward, and there's a tropical depression behind it. You have to read Lovecraft to understand how much dread pictures like this inspire in those of us who've been whacked by them. They might as well all be named Cthulu.
The moral psychology of all of this is horrible too. You so desperately don't want it to hit you. As someone who went through Katrina and Gustav (which was far worse for Baton Rouge; though neither Katrina nor Gustav were nearly as bad for Baton Rouge as Katrina was for New Orleans and the southern parishes) this desperation is a million times more intense once you have children (Thomas was one year old during Gustav and got heat rash during the week of no power and closed stores and services; I ran out of blood pressure medicine). But then if it hits someplace else you are overwhelingly relieved, but this relief is parasitic on the suffering of others. I try to be a Christian, but I can't help this response. . .
Anyhow, here's one of the only three Katrina inspired works of art that doesn't irritate me, nauseate me, or cause anxiety attacks (the other two being George Rodrigue's Blue Dog Katrina prints and the remake of Bad Lieutenant in New Orleans; I also love all of Mike West's pre-Katrina punk rock bluegrass that eerily predicted it). Art does make things slightly more bearable, and sometimes even joyous in an awful world.