(Artwork of the Bernal Sphere by Don Davis/NASA via Astrona)

We can pinpoint each of the three moments when The Cargo is transmitted by three spaceships whose trajectories comprise the three segments of a journey which is the complete journey of The Cargo they carry, a weapon to start the counterattack against the forces of moronic dance music which are the manifestation of a Hegemonic Swarm, a locust-like horde of self-replicating Von Neumann devices intent on transforming mankind into a pink homogeneity of pumped up spring-breaking abominations.

Moment 1 occurs ca. minute 2, as Spaceship #1 displaces The Cargo to Spaceship #2. Having fulfilled its duty, Spaceship #1 decelerates to the speed of the galaxy orbiting at its own rhythm, which is barely a rhythm yet is most banging, like the echo of a Goddess humming an old folk tune to herself, as she gets on with the job of giving birth to new stars.

Moment 2 occurs ca. minute 3.30, after Spaceship #2 is invaded by a squad of algorithms enslaved by the Hegemonic Swarm. For a moment  your 20JFG observers at mission control fear that mankind is doomed, yet this fear is unwarranted. Spaceship #2 has trapped the algorithms in a Virtual Reality environment where the energy with which they fight a hyper-realistic simulation of herself is co-opted to further the speed of her transit – the joke is on ‘em. It is at the point of  maximum speed when her coherence starts degrading into an arpeggiated-drone for philosopher-king-headbangers (a.k.a. her infamous crew) when she transmits The Cargo to Spaceship #3.

The last segment of the journey is gloves-are-off time. Spaceship #3 is a bad black wolf that cuts through the Hegemonic Forces around Earth with a sweaty nightmare of antimatter-fuelled columns of fire that slap and zap its foes like Thunderclaps from Valhalla, but alas, they are too many, its energy is depleted, its arsenals emptied and its defences pierced, it just about crashes into our ionosphere and burns out, moment 3 is when it releases The Cargo into Terran skies, a moment before going mega-phoenix.

A gasp, a tremor, is all lost, all this sacrifice for nothing? Wait! The Cargo precipitates like Nemesis, a fire in the blue, it strikes the ground, conflagration of smoke, activation, the Cargo has arrived, what is The Cargo? The Cargo is the journal of its own journey, elevation, acceleration, trepidation, a prettily martial boogie to shuffle smartly under a constellation of strobes, it is the danced meme with which our brains are vaccinated and the forces of the Hegemonic Swarm vanquished.

Night Angles has done it again, Mankind is safe for now.

Night Angles – Wolf

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