I Love The Machine

First the machine replaced the human slave, then humans were turned into slaves of the machine.

-David Bosch


Hand crashes into the electric sound in the half light between day and night. Body regains control and perceives it’s surroundings. Needs energy. Must be strong for the day.

Neat shirt with inoffensive necktie. People think it looks nice. Boost output.

Wave card in front of black box. Door opens. The machine welcomes only those she has chosen. Today, Necktie was chosen. Must have something to do with the shirt.

David Bosch’s seminal text Transforming Mission has been shaking my presuppositions. He highlights the existential implications of the developments of the modern era for the people all over the globe. He observes that all our best efforts to liberate the human race have, in some cruel irony, served to shackle more people. Only now people are chained to companies and ideologies and programmes and goals which they are assured will set them free.

From the young person who works in a factory in a far off land to the Suit eating lunch and negotiating an agreement with a Government representative, all are obedient servants to the great mechanisms, the ghosts of long dead thinkers and conquerers whose cold haunting grasp has not loosened from around the necks of the people.

And with their departure, so too the secrets of the Machine are lost. What does she want? How do we stop her from slowing down? Why should we give ourselves to her? Why did you make her? Vague promises of prosperity and freedom lure us to her bed.

Sleep in her warm embrace is perfectly regulated for maximum comfort. They’ve done studies, you see, which tell the Machine how to hold us, how to make us feel safe and secure. We crawl into her waiting arms and we rest peacefully.

Until the beep-beep-beep-beep of our heart stops.

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