Machines

These nights spent is semi vigilance attending to machines droning seem lifetimes. The deep solitude of darkness is meant for only rest attending to dreams subconscious earnings suppressed in waking hours. Steadily attending to fuel, watching gauges, and the tightness of a spool of pipe vibrating along with a thousand horses changes the mental processes of the individual in attendance. In this eternal blackness the ambient phantoms of progress float on the mental landscape sculpting half truth cannons; highways paved with omissions. Modernity was an inevitability, industrialization was and is messianic in proportion...oh these half spun garments laced with illusion. But supposing this world has lost it's center would these concepts therefor hold the presence of the imago dei in the presence of such absurdity. For when lies become too tangled to unravel truth is but a knot undistinguishable. But would it be lending to much credit that these phantoms perform such immaculate conceptions in the thoughts of these men.

When touching a machine that has been operating constantly for nearly a week does it not leech into the physical being of humanity? It's resonance vibrating and altering our own? If thoughts have the power to alter the tangible tactual universe would not those objects have a similar effect on our own? These machines do as commanded operating without thought only with that tenuous precision of mechanization and while it may take a measure of thoughtfulness to command such precision it certainly does not take mindfulness. Drone for drone like begets like. Machines posses no compassion. While eating dinner someone mentioned the most recent earthquake in japan instead of a somber thought considering the pain and fear being experienced at that very present moment the general consensus with only one solitary disinter was "fuck 'em". It would seem that sympathy was not part of the gears, not intrinsic to it's own operation therefor unknown. Thoughts may as yet be unquantifiable in mass and density or measured in proportion to cause and effect but some measure of correlation does exist. These long hours lacking in quiet simplicity dealing exclusively with mechanical processes and toxic chemical compounds must hammer these monotone

notes into neuropathways molding thoughts and patterns of thought.

During those few precious months spent on the commune with little interaction outside the naturally evolved one could feel a depth and complexity transcending instrumental rational thought. As mentioned before in various conversations spending hours with fingers cultivating soil and bodies melding with snow melt infuses a natural rhythm into the our otherwise irrational movements.

It is little wonder some men become as mechanical as the machines they operate.