S.O.S/Songs Of Sanity

[r3vange]

Deep among the wreckage of thoughts and feelings
lost in the void of a damaged brain, somewhere underneath the thousand voices in a deranged mind lived a
skinny little girl. Her fragile body was trapped under the rubble of a wicked existence. The little girl'€™s name
was Mary. And Mary didn'€™t want anything different than any other 10 year old girl. But life is a cruel
mistress...The 10 year old Mary ate her parents, the 10 year old Mary survived for a full month in the
Cardamine fields, the 10 year old Mary'€™s DNA and most importantly mind turned into an atrocity. The 10
year old Mary is still there, her screams to be set free turning into psychotic rage twisted and misinterpreted
by thousands of other weeps. That little Mary was never heard, yet she was the fuel powering it all, the
raison d'etre of Maria Martinez .

And what did Maria want? She didn'€™t know herself, whatever she wanted she had one way or another,
locked in her own twisted cycle of killing the things she loves and then using it as an excuse to do it again
and again and again, until her cells are so degraded they could no longer keep their bonds together. Was
she happy in all of this? One could have a hard time finding a happier person in all of Sirius. Because
delusion is a blessing. Because in the land of the wicked the crazy one is a king. What did Maria want? To
put some space between the cacophony in her head and the orderly world so conveniently stacked against
her senses. She wanted to build a fortress, her very own castle in which she could be the one and
only'€¦servant. And indeed she found such a castle.

Deep in the Silverton field the skeleton of what was once a driving force for Liberty'€™s expansion floating
there not unlike a human being. One that lived a glorious life fighting for somebody else'€™s development left
out and abandoned for the crows to pick. The irony of it all is that human beings can'€™t find a deranged
Maltese girl to live in their skeletons once the vultures have devoured their flesh. This corpse was to be
Maria'€™s protection from the wicked longings of her own mind.

The Sabre attached itself to station'€™s outer hull like a flea ready to unleash the vermin in its circulatory
systems of corridors. Indeed Maria was a vermin relative to the dead hulk, revival to the dead is just
another way of saying death for the living. The dark depressurized corridors filled with empty containers
endlessly spinning in their weightless dance, sounds of squealing metal and lost dreams. It took Maria three
weeks and almost one million credits to turn the dead skeleton into a macabre piece of art. And then again
one would look and see dark corridors, hear peculiar sounds of debris hitting the outer hull, the creepy
releases of trapped gasses between the bulkheads'€¦The station was almost the same'€¦.almost, the striking
analogy- being dead is almost the same as being alive'€¦but that '€œalmost'€ makes all the difference in the
world. What were once posters to motivate the miners were now weird works of art instilling unrest, creepy
statues of deformed human figures frozen still in their imaginary pain. Death is all about repurposing, a
simple truth misunderstood by religions and governments alike. When you die you become a corpse, food
for some, bounty money for others, your flesh rots and your vessel expires as turns to nutrients for the soil
or your space coffin crashes into a barren planet and spreads bacteria which in 10 000 000 years turn to
living creatures that live die and get repurposed again'€¦The cycle begun...

...a castle was built

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[r3vange]

The butterflies in the stomach...associated with love and excitement since forever. The feeling that
uplifts...what a boring feeling. Things that make sense to normal human beings are completely
uncoordinated to the deranged mind. The simplest signs that define human emotion; happiness, love, hate,
laughter, cry were all merged into something so complex that it eventually became unreadable even to the
madness to that created. But then again can anyone define what is love? Can anyone put a definition behind
beautiful, ugly, annoying? It'€™s all a point of view'€¦ The beauty of the moment; the curved atmospheric glow
of Manhattan as the Sabre descended closer and closer to the surface, the air molecules which started
colliding with the hull living their last moments before igniting into a trail of plasma before being lost in
eternity

Lower Manhattan City. The cesspit formed under the most civilized place in the known universe. A breathing
living entity made of all wretched things a person can imagine, feeding off human misery and sin. In the
very heart of it was the reason for the infection - the ASL-SS 1 '€œLiberty'€. Like a splinter in the middle of a
searing wound with power cables running to and from it as if they are arteries helping to spread the viral
infection. Down below the sun rarely shines obstructed by the mile tall skyscrapers, power lines, elevated
skyways and landing pads. The Manhattan from the news and magazines was somewhere '€œup there'€
separated by thousands of light years from the streets that Maria was now walking. The crowded streets lit
by decaying neon signs, filled with lowlifes all of sorts, robots made of an unholy union between several
metal bodies born in the perverse dreams of some two bit lane hacker, street vendors selling various goods
and food, cars slowly making their way through the crowds...all pulsating. Martinez loved that pulse, the
pulse of wild life left to develop on its own accord in the technological jungle. Yes, the technology and
architecture of the lower city were quite literally taking the piss off Neo Art Deco styling of the upper city.
The buildings hidden in the bowels and adjacent to the foundation of the skyscrapers did not progress much
past the technological level of the landfalls.

Down in this paradise of wickedness Maria felt at home. A place where everyone of the million people was a
madman in his own right out pursuing his goals begging for scraps in the dark alleys or just heading to the
nearest bar or club to get stupidly drunk and start some form of misconduct. She was not here to get drunk,
not that she could, she was not here to make another shady deal which would grant her a hefty sum of
money, she was out hunting, hunting for somebody else'€™s excitement. Her part was over, she was down
there already. What limited control she could exert over her shattered mind she did. Now it was all instinct
given away only by that barely noticeable curve at the end of her lip forming a rather maniacal smile.

And the instinct kicked in. Going to a local dive '€œTech Noir'€, ordering a sidewinder fang, running her
unusually long and rather sharp nails along the glasses'€™ rim, aware that inevitably somebody will come to
her driven by his own instincts. She would smile, laugh, drink and dance turning into a massive neon sign
promptly stating the obvious '€œCome take me'€. Eventually she will draw him closer as they dance, kiss him
and seal his fate. Martinez'€™ DNA was almost 47% Cardamine strands, her kisses were quite literally
poisonous, her body fluids could get the average human intoxicated and utterly helpless within minutes. And
when her words finally started to make sense broken through the prism of his Cardamine clouded brain she
would go home with him and show him how badly the butterflies in the stomach can be broken'€¦

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[r3vange]

]Planet Manhattan
New York System
3428 A.S

Wake up. Again, and again ‘till the end of time, and when time ends keep waiting for it to begin again. Who
would mourn the last “human” in the galaxy? Who would kiss Maria to wake her from the 2000 year
slumber? The real question perhaps is was she sleeping at all? And can you perceive yourself as the last of
a kind if you never really considered yourself a part of it. Human life ended just as it begun a lucky genetic
anomaly meeting another lucky genetic anomaly…or perhaps she just flattered herself

Wake up, exist. Again, and again ‘till the end of time, and when time ends keep waiting for it to begin again.
In the middle of the wasteland of a civilization stood a lonely skeleton of the beast that originally populated
Manhattan, that skeleton Maria called home. The Slomon K'Hara were brutally efficient, they didn’t kill
exterminate mankind, they made it exterminate itself. Human immortality depends on their ability to
reproduce as fast and as efficiently as possible, humans endured with mindless recreating while the Slomon
K'Har did by simply being. Martinez did too with her curse, her blessing, her being…The perfect human from
a statistical point of view…statistics can be such a liar. She lacked the main quality that determines a “good”
human being – the ability to recreate. Her eternity was undermined by the fact it cannot be passed, and that
her mind cannot fit in the norms people set…the same people that are now nothing more than a carbon in
the soil feeding other organisms and plants.


Wake up, exist, hunt. Again, and again ‘till the end of time, and when time ends keep waiting for it to begin
again. They say the mind retains its integrity simply by forgetting. She did not forget, not a single day of
her 2630 years of existence, and her brain even working at higher capacity due the venomous Cardamine
strands in her DNA could not handle it. Evolution within a control volume, adaptation to the environment all
exhibited in a single body. What 2000 years ago was known as Maria Martinez now was nothing more than a
primeval predator, set for one thing only – survival. Her speech replaced by mindless grunts and screams,
her nails turned to claws, her hands now used for walking but most importantly her humanity nothing more
than a code stored in her cells. Only somewhere deep in the shackles of her subconscious the 10 year old
Marry was still crying.

Wake up, exist, hunt, sleep. Again, and again ‘till the end of time, and when time ends keep waiting for it to
begin again. What if time didn’t kill the humans race, what if it only killed her humanity? What if the
buildings were still there, the people still there all obscured by the predatorial turn of Martinez’ evolution?
The difference between sleep and reality is a thin line existing on the edge of self conception. What makes
sense in a dream does not in reality, however the reverse statement is false. Perhaps humanity was still
there, still mindlessly reproducing defeating immortality.


Wake up, exist, hunt, sleep and die. So you won’t endure time and time again, until time ends and begins
again. Who would mourn the last human in the Galaxy? Who would kiss Maria to wake her from the 2000
year slumber? Life will mourn and death will do the kissing. Living a life with no purpose is no different than
dreaming forever and if stopping your heart is the price to pay to wake up it is a small price to pay really.
Martinez looked at the sky, she once traversed and took a step forward, and she was in space again the
feeling of weightlessness and suddenly what appeared to be a smile appeared on her face. That was the
ideal, that was the dream a human would have described…What was the reality? Beasts do not smile. The
feeling of weightlessness was nothing more than a pre-determined confrontation with gravity. The smile on
her face being the her muscles unable to resist the acceleration of the freefall…The ground came as roar of
an alarm clock…something ends something begins

“Wake up…Wake up…Wake up…” And she did, the world slid into focus, taking away all reason behind what
was just real. Maria looked around her and comfortably recognized her own “castle” with the victorious
statement of last night laying next to her. She turned around and could once again hear the thousands
whispers that made her be…

Future perfect? Perhaps, but it’s just one verb away from past…

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[r3vange]

Dream,
reality,
colliding worlds,
all you see,
is a pretty sane lie,
open your eyes and fall asleep forever again,
a body in the flames,
twitching and curving.
flowing again,
never,
maybe
some day
a whole again,
in a world of light,
the dark one is the one true king.
All the dead letters can't build a safe home for a lost soul,
feeding on another's flesh again to fulfil desires.
A filthy creatures lives on,
the purity dies.

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