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created with our informal study of the past fifty years of music all came to a head.
    In the basement. Saturday. Four men and their biggest fan. It was everything.
    John and I began practice on guitar and drums with what we knew. We ran through the five songs that I presented to them a week earlier. The songs sizzled. John performed modifications that he added to his drums, and I presented my pedalwork that I hadn't added until this first run-through. We screamed the songs, and going through them twice we gave Steve and Kurt a solid concept of what the base skeleton sounded like.
    Steve came in on bass. We began with "Killing Time," and ran through it a few times as he gained some footing on some preliminary decisions. The lick he was playing with was tasty and dynamic - a safe bet, but not overpowering.
    Then, we asked Kurt to add his solos. It was as if he had been strategizing his moment all week. The scream of his guitar broke through everything we had been doing so far, fuzzing up and out of the depths of his being. The sound became an appendage that made itself known to the existence of all of us, an immediate and clear laser shining through the purple cloud of song. It was solid. We all felt the light and the cloud and the song in our teeth.
    It was completely new and beautiful.
    We ran through it one more time.
    "What do you think?" Jenny got up and left up the stairs - presumably for the break to get a drink.
    "That was...That was new. It was fresh," John's drumsticks were crossed on his lap as he delivered his critique. "Everything came together, like... Unreal."
    "Kurt?"
    "We rode that," he said, nodding. "It was nice. I think we have something."
    "Yeah." Steve nodded as well, his eyes squinting with introspective delight.
    Kurt uncharacteristically chimed in again, "that shit is like sex, man."
    There it was. The approval of the men who would be the backbone of this outfit. We were making something happen, and the thing we were making happen was a simple and strategic team art project that would bring us fame, fortune, and no concern for making anything happen but our own successes in future endeavors. We were everything in this moment. The future expanded in front of us, perpetually cascading exponentially forward. This was all we had hoped for.
    "What do we call ourselves?" Kurt asked.
    "I made us a group online," I saw John nodding, so it was clear he had already found his way to the online group. "I did this whole research thing, and found some incredible images and information about starting anew, and origins, and... Anyway, the thing that struck me was the image of the Ouroboros. It is that snake that’s eating its own tail. The thing has to do with the cyclical nature of life, and rebirth, and how we all are part of this immortal cycle. Some psychologists talk about it being part of the awakening self. I threw all that together to make something simple, though, since I figured no one will probably say Ouroboros correctly.
    "We are 'The Dawn Ego.' Simple. Straight. It can be interpreted in many unique and thoughtful ways, and we can still use the Ouroboros as our symbol - the logo could be a circle and would perfectly fit on your bass drum."
    Everyone nodded, and communicated their love for the idea. John didn't entirely enjoy the idea of defacing his drum head, but beside that it was a brilliant and clear admission that my army had joined me for the battle for our fates and survival. This was the future of our society, and my men were rallying behind me for the victory over what our otherwise poor futures may have held.
    This was it.

Chapter 6

     
    And so the journey of four men and the beautiful maiden began with a simple song. Every Saturday, they explored the musical world of their creation as a vanguard of sound.
    I found myself working at the copy store three nights a week. I found myself sleeping with Jenny as many nights as I could get away with it - mother didn't say anything about the situation