Once you have seen the face of the machine, you can no longer keep on with the meaningless conversations, you can’t even read the newspapers. All you want to do is kiss the earth and make love to somebody, in spirit. To breathe, in spirit. To hold on to the rope that leads you home, hold on to it with both hands, hold on to it like your life depends on it, and not let go. I suspect that those who are still excited about the newspapers, haven’t seen the face of the machine.

It is the ones who have become aware of their food status inside the soul-eating machine, that the society wants shut up. The pagans, the indigenous, the witches, the peasants, the refugees, the abused, the dissidents, the irrational ones. And if you just chocked on your coffee after you saw “dissidents” in the list, you have not seen the face of the machine, yet. I say it with the confidence of someone who used to take pride in my stellar, superior city education. It’s all bullshit. Pride falls apart when you see the face of the machine.

The violent, merciless machine wants you to believe for as long as possible that the wheels are turning smoothly, that nothing is broken, and that all you have to do is trust the conductor and feel good about yourself. That the feeling of love for the machine is going to keep you safe, and that it’s only the others that the machine is going to eat.

But innocence doesn’t last. Can you imagine the horror of somebody who sees the face of the machine for the first time on the dying day? I think it would be the most horrifying thing.

Isn’t it better to be aware, and to walk wisely?





Photo credit:By Godber, Albert Percy, 1875-1949 [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

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