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Description
As the most recent millennia had passed, mankind was in a new type of turmoil never before felt with such veracity.  The spirit of the age, a three headed beast stuffed with the shadows of humanity, was eating the free will of all who stood in its path.  This monster had one head of Freud, one of Darwin, and one of Marx, the body was a shadow, compiling all sorts of beliefs into a cosmopolitan shade of gray without cognition or choice.

Although this beast fed upon the lives of mankind, there are some tastes unsuitable even for its palate.  Imagination, those who thought outside the media, those who still discussed things they thought about, were ostracized from the age and its wraithlike spirit.

Victory, within sight and grasp of this being who denied actions matter, that art, morality, and politics all consist of definitive lines.  The age’s spirit had a plan, and it worked for decades, to just keep these people away from one another.

Keep them from contact, they will feel alone.  Keep them from knowing that others are out there, and they will perish alone in this world.

Don’t let them know they echo the voice of others.
Don’t let them know they echo the voice of God.
Don’t let them know they echo the voice of truth.
Don’t let them know about … echo.

As 2007 approached, one of these damned do-gooders acknowledges that others, truth, and maybe even God, exist.  That there is more than one disease, more than one complex, and those with the disease are the only chance of saving the world.

Enter Echo Genesis, the physical embodiment of those who dared to be different.  Echo Carried a ball and chain, not to pull itself back, but to attack the spirit and the madness of the age.  An echo with words behind a veil, piercing words that contain equal and sometimes opposite truth.  Echo, this hairless being that is not a mammal, not a man, but something for more insidious. With eyes that see so different from normal. Echo became the embodiment of the madness that sought to save mankind.

If you are reading this, I hope it is in the history books, not in a fairy tale.

The spirit rejuvenated its efforts, attacking the personalities of those involved with Echo.  Attempting to create a palate for this being, for these fringe artists that were ostracized for so long.

But the echo remembered the age.  The artists were not fooled.  They were going to do the gutting, not about to be gutted, with shining armor guarding the heart, the beast had something to contend with.

The voice of Darwin screams across the battlefield, ‘Evolution is responsible for who you are.  You have no choices remaining, you have no freedom, come back to the hodge-podge of humanity.’

Echo answers back, calmly, forcefully, ‘Even if evolution created me, I made myself.’

Freud pleads, accent so thick it seems fake, ‘All these things you do are because you were repressed sexual, if you release yourself from the bonds you have placed upon yourself, you can be free like the rest of us.’

Again Echo answers, this time with a ball and chain as well, ‘You seek me to behave like you.  To get out this repressed sexuality, but I see what becomes of it.  I see that humanity is more than sex.  I see truth.  They do too.  So you can dangle your sexuality, or ours, in front of us, but there is more to us than that, there always has been, there always will be.  We create our lives, alone and together, not because of sex but because, we want to.’

Two heads of the beast fall to the ground, partially in shame, partially from the spiked ball that clearly crushed the skulls.

The third head, full of reason, sense, and big words, the head of Karl Marx utters, ‘I agree with you, we are full of our own decisions, we are ourselves, we are our own, but let’s bring everyone up to our level.  Humanity deserves better than these governments they have.  We can create a brave new world together.’

Echo laughs with glee and sarcasm, whirling the weapon around one more time. ‘You want me to bring humanity up to my level?  Have you met humanity?  Do you know the parasites you’ve swallowed?  Don’t talk to me about them deserving better, why do they?  Is breathing that important?  They swallowed the lies hook, line and sinker, they turned the TV up when they doubted, and yet these fair-weather friends, these shadows of what could have been, are about me, and you want me to pull them up?  Let their carcasses burn with yours.’

With that, the weapon of truth is let fly, and the final head falls crashing to the ground, shaking the world with a 5.4 on the Richter scale.

The wraiths leave the body, asking to be allowed to join Echo and the complex of disease, ‘we can help you’, they say.

And Echo smiles, a shining example of truth.  ‘Truth’, she says, ‘needs no help.  We are our own.  Until you understand, you will continue to be shadows.  All of us are powered by imagination.  Don’t let someone else power you.’

Description
As the most recent millennia had passed, mankind was in a new type of turmoil never before felt with such veracity.  The spirit of the age, a three headed beast stuffed with the shadows of humanity, was eating the free will of all who stood in its path.  This monster had one head of Freud, one of Darwin, and one of Marx, the body was a shadow, compiling all sorts of beliefs into a cosmopolitan shade of gray without cognition or choice.

Although this beast fed upon the lives of mankind, there are some tastes unsuitable even for its palate.  Imagination, those who thought outside the media, those who still discussed things they thought about, were ostracized from the age and its wraithlike spirit.

Victory, within sight and grasp of this being who denied actions matter, that art, morality, and politics all consist of definitive lines.  The age’s spirit had a plan, and it worked for decades, to just keep these people away from one another.

Keep them from contact, they will feel alone.  Keep them from knowing that others are out there, and they will perish alone in this world.

Don’t let them know they echo the voice of others.
Don’t let them know they echo the voice of God.
Don’t let them know they echo the voice of truth.
Don’t let them know about … echo.

As 2007 approached, one of these damned do-gooders acknowledges that others, truth, and maybe even God, exist.  That there is more than one disease, more than one complex, and those with the disease are the only chance of saving the world.

Enter Echo Genesis, the physical embodiment of those who dared to be different.  Echo Carried a ball and chain, not to pull itself back, but to attack the spirit and the madness of the age.  An echo with words behind a veil, piercing words that contain equal and sometimes opposite truth.  Echo, this hairless being that is not a mammal, not a man, but something for more insidious. With eyes that see so different from normal. Echo became the embodiment of the madness that sought to save mankind.

If you are reading this, I hope it is in the history books, not in a fairy tale.

The spirit rejuvenated its efforts, attacking the personalities of those involved with Echo.  Attempting to create a palate for this being, for these fringe artists that were ostracized for so long.

But the echo remembered the age.  The artists were not fooled.  They were going to do the gutting, not about to be gutted, with shining armor guarding the heart, the beast had something to contend with.

The voice of Darwin screams across the battlefield, ‘Evolution is responsible for who you are.  You have no choices remaining, you have no freedom, come back to the hodge-podge of humanity.’

Echo answers back, calmly, forcefully, ‘Even if evolution created me, I made myself.’

Freud pleads, accent so thick it seems fake, ‘All these things you do are because you were repressed sexual, if you release yourself from the bonds you have placed upon yourself, you can be free like the rest of us.’

Again Echo answers, this time with a ball and chain as well, ‘You seek me to behave like you.  To get out this repressed sexuality, but I see what becomes of it.  I see that humanity is more than sex.  I see truth.  They do too.  So you can dangle your sexuality, or ours, in front of us, but there is more to us than that, there always has been, there always will be.  We create our lives, alone and together, not because of sex but because, we want to.’

Two heads of the beast fall to the ground, partially in shame, partially from the spiked ball that clearly crushed the skulls.

The third head, full of reason, sense, and big words, the head of Karl Marx utters, ‘I agree with you, we are full of our own decisions, we are ourselves, we are our own, but let’s bring everyone up to our level.  Humanity deserves better than these governments they have.  We can create a brave new world together.’

Echo laughs with glee and sarcasm, whirling the weapon around one more time. ‘You want me to bring humanity up to my level?  Have you met humanity?  Do you know the parasites you’ve swallowed?  Don’t talk to me about them deserving better, why do they?  Is breathing that important?  They swallowed the lies hook, line and sinker, they turned the TV up when they doubted, and yet these fair-weather friends, these shadows of what could have been, are about me, and you want me to pull them up?  Let their carcasses burn with yours.’

With that, the weapon of truth is let fly, and the final head falls crashing to the ground, shaking the world with a 5.4 on the Richter scale.

The wraiths leave the body, asking to be allowed to join Echo and the complex of disease, ‘we can help you’, they say.

And Echo smiles, a shining example of truth.  ‘Truth’, she says, ‘needs no help.  We are our own.  Until you understand, you will continue to be shadows.  All of us are powered by imagination.  Don’t let someone else power you.’