Blowfish Fugue -002- "Maenic-Depressive"

Blowfish Fugue -002- "Maenic-Depressive"

20010325.0004 EST @lanta, GA, USA

     When I get reloaded I don't have any memory of the stuff that happens after I made the last save-state (or whatever you want to call making a record for the backups) up until the point that thing happens which makes getting reloaded a good idea. Most people who are lucky enough to get reloaded after a fatal mistake only get vague clues to what the hell happened to kill them. I'm pretty much dictating 24/seven, though, to my journal. And my contract specifies unlimited reloads -- so I live dangerously.
     These journal entries from the afterlife are starting to bug me. They often don't make enough sense. I end up missing plenty of time and I get to freak myself out fairly often with messages back to myself from these dead-end paths.
     I think I'm gonna separate out of my notes everything that I don't remember writing -- all of those breadcrumb trails from backtracking, jumping back to save points. Make a book out of my ghostly not-quite-me alternative dead-end life.

* * * * *     This place is so loud it makes my language center stutter; it takes an awful lot of concentration to get the text into the outgoing feed intact. The beat enforces a complicated breathing rhythm which interferes with the NLP [natural language processor] code, somehow. I expect the next me will have to do some heavy editing to make this readable. For the whopping eight percent of you out there who are still literate.
     Tonight I'm covering a saved-only event. (Am I the last person alive who remembers a time when the question "Are you saved?" was an invitation to a fistfight with a fundamentalist religious nut?) Technically illegal, but great fun. Like most of my college years.
     The hosts are checking timestamps on state-records to try to limit their already sky-high liability, but it's just an excuse to turn people away they don't like. Three-quarters of the people here have forged timestamps and most of them will have to repeat grades of high school if things go sour tonight. The ones who actually have even been saved, that is.
     And then there's the possibility that someone here will just go apeshit and pop as many reset buttons as possible just to exercise the psychosis of the week. Or maybe just pique. That kind of thing tends to happen at this kind of outing -- people without the stomach for real murder really piss me off.
     I'm at an underground Maenad rave-bash -- bring your own chemicals and thirst for bloodshed, everybody dances and anyone who falls down gets ripped to shreds and taken home as souvenirs by the survivors. Good wholesome family entertainment. And free meat if you're hungry -- and not worried about The Taint.
     The rumors bring the children in droves -- rumors of being thrown down and raped by the Maenies. It merely sounds charming. Traditionally, they only have rough wanton sex with people they are currently killing. It's all fun and games until somebody's arm gets ripped off and used as a dildo.
     Oh, yeah. Don't let 'em go down on you, either. 'Nuff said.
     But the music is fine.
     Maybe I should just start the shooting myself. But I'll wait until there's a lull in the drums.
* * * * *     See? That's what I mean. I get just enough hints to get interested, but no details. I never get popped when there's media coverage. I hope I had a good time.

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