The Cargo

Behold the Ship of Fools. Floating play of dark absurdity. They carried a dread burden. They carried the liquid dreams of Sleepers. The first mate lost his mind first. Everything else tumbled like dominoes. Shall we point out all the individual terrors, sweetling? The ragged nails — gurgling laughter -the eyeless captain singing — the gnawing — the red writing — the waking dreams, the skinless strip dance. No. Let us sum up: And much of Madness, and more of Sin, and Horror the soul of the plot.

A cargo ship bobs in Kaidan’s harbour. There are no more screams, but the silence is scarred. What was its cargo? What incited the theatre of fools? Ask us, sweetling. Ask!

The curtain, a funeral pall, comes down with the rush of a storm, while we, all pallid and wan, uprising, unveiling, affirm — that the play is the tragedy, “You,” and its hero, the Jism of the Blackworm.

You’ve seen the crawling dreams before, but not like this. It has a nuance. Layered subtext. Familiarity with your monkey brains. It has been engaged with your dreams for much, much longer. Exposed to your thoughts. Desires. Eon upon eon, and the sun cult’s dance.

There is a dark bend in the Congo. There is a well there. The well runs deep. There is a voice in the well. The voice runs from deep time. A man once heard that voice, and it changed his life. Now, he changes the world.