The year is 1943 when the Allies bomb the Dalmatian coastal city of Zadar beyond recognition. For years, the cratered coastline goes unfixed. ⁣
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Then, one day, in an attempt to restore the fractured boundary between land and sea, an architect constructs a sea organ. The sea organ’s hollow edifice inhales the ocean’s waves, translates them through its concrete pipes, and exhales the melodic drones of the Adriatic Sea. ⁣

The sea organ gives voice to the ocean, quite literally, and for centuries the townspeople, mistaking the moans for music, are delighted by what the tides have to say.⁣
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The year is 3450 when the last fish boils to death in the Adriatic Sea. The sea organ is still standing, swallowing up waves and belching out hymns, but the tune is unmistakeable now. ⁣
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The last inhabitants of the ruined city, now living deep beneath the earth’s irradiated crust, emerge from their burrows to give audience to the sea’s new score. They are not pleased by what they hear. And so with scythes and spears and clubs and catapults, they smash the sea organ to pieces, muting the Adriatic forever after. The townspeople return to their lairs, lay down their weapons, and revel in their victory over the sea.

“The soul of the world is changing,” the great goblin Khan says to his meager goblin squire, “the spirit of the world is dying.”⁣
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The great Khan crunches a skull beneath his foot as he climbs the great skull pyramid before him. ⁣
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“There is no art left in this world,” says the Khan, ascending the skull pile, “this world no longer cares for beauty, or talent, or integrity, or grace.”⁣
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Scrambling up the mountain of charred skulls, whose headless owners once comprised the entire population of 13th century Baghdad, the Khan continues.⁣
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“Culture has become nothing more than a race to the bottom!” the Khan cries out, “we are all scrambling to be heard, desperately so, foregoing nuance for reach, depth for likeability, meaning for virality, intentionality for acceptance!”⁣

“But at what cost!” the Khan shouts, “we are drowning in a sea of banality!”⁣
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The Khan reaches the apex of the pyramid, balancing precariously on its top-most skull. ⁣
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Above the Khan, a cloud of vultures swarm. Above the vultures, a beam of sun emerges, piercing through the heavens and spotlighting the pyramid just so.⁣
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Here, in the smoldering crater where Baghdad once stood, eight hundred thousand skulls stand, orderly, illuminated, stacked like marbles in the desert, framed by a melancholy winter sun. ⁣
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The Khan smiles. Finally a piece worth remembering, he thinks.