The Earth has been taken over by hordes of Emo-poets. ย Under their dark rule the populace suffers a rain of soul-mashing mind-feces. ย Waves of anti-life energy emanate from their mouths, turning steaks from medium-rare to well-done, and dogs into cats. ย I’m fleeing their forces in a motorized skiff across the moonlit ocean, traveling parallel to the coast. ย I cut the motors so I can quietly paddle the rest of the way in. ย An hour later I’m docking at a safehouseโone of the last remaining stashes of comics and barbellsโand unloading my gear. ย A second passes and then I’m attacked; I don’t just hear itโI FEEL the strains of emo assaulting my ears. ย I drop onto my back, my whole body clenching in an agonized spasm. ย My arms and legs curl inward, my fingers turn into claws, and the orifices on my face begin leaking blood. ย A metal-faced, pasty-skinned emo-poet walks into the safe house,ย crushing my psyche with melodramatic pauses and janky, fancied-up ways to state the obvious. ย I grit my teeth and mutter, “Now how did I know it wasn’t going to rhyme?” just as I open my eReader to Echo. ย Magic flash. ย A 5th dimensional Enochian voice fills the air, concatenating TS Eliot, Immortal Technique, and The Green Lantern oath into perfect stacks of resonant harmony. ย Each stanza is visible as a multicolored weave of prismatic shimmer that snakes through the air. ย This is REAL poetry, and it burns the emo-poet like flaming gasoline. ย The sallow half-man runs screaming from the safehouse, its skin shriveling and warping. ย I settle myself down and close my eyes. ย Ahhh…every second without emo is an undeniable gift.
When the emo-poets destroy our way of life and testosterone has become the equivalent of a long-forgotten magic elixir, tell them to get the hell out of your post-apocalyptic safe house. ย Getย Echo Vol. 1 on Kindleย here: ย Vol. 1 on Kindle. ย Vol. 2 on Kindle here: ย Vol.2 on Kindleย Vol. 3 on Kindle here: ย Vol. 3 on Kindle


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