The Machine?

[MJH]

Florence is fascinating. I see she will me in Miami opening for U2 and oddly enough on my birthday? I should become a crazed fan and believe its destiny calling me. I rather would like to see her perform in Dublin or Cork….then I could really mess with my own head about having to go see her.

[MJH]

I want to have Florence’s babies and that’s unusual because I am not usually sexually attracted to other people.

[MJH]

[Nuhaus]

So he's a bot with a name promoting a file sharing site?

[jape]

Yeah, a post was deleted for those of you that missed it! You can sometimes Google the member name and see that they have joined fifty other forums in a few days. The message usually has something to do with the thread name but comes from a dictionary, or else is a generic type of message such as 'great post, thank you'. I think they may have recruited traitorous humans to work with them ...

[jape]

I never ignore you MJH - but sometimes it takes a while for my subconscious to respond, to remember, to dig out from my own archives and then to share.

Part and property of the machine.

The politicians and the media would say that this far land had been at war for centuries as if to justify the armed incursion into the lives of the inhabitants. The military are trained or inured by practice to see just targets and not to consider their shared humanity with those beings so simply designated. The fact of the need for such detachment or removal from the simple reality of the destructive action of war illustrates a paradox, that most humans can accept the killing of others if it is a concept, or if the action is performed and justified by others but would be revolted instinctively by the reality if it were visited upon them.


Burst and gutted corpses of children become ‘body counts’.


The tearing of metal shrapnel through the soft torsos and satin skinned limbs of sleeping babies, accidentally within range of a mis-aimed missile, becomes just ‘collateral damage’.


The mindless ants of the far off lands that launch the long-range missiles and the ‘intelligent bomb’ systems slumber in their city hives as the flesh and minds and souls of the distant enemy are ripped and mutilated and destroyed. The ants dream of warm wet fantasies, illusions tailored by their unconscious desires to satisfy the covert lusts and desires they dare not act out in waking life. The machine they have accepted as their protection and as the salvation of their way of live does not sleep or dream. It is not conscious or caring. It produces chemicals and artifacts complex and manifold by plan and by design that will be assembled and transported far away from the awareness of the hive ants. Assembled, inventoried, coded with symbols and language that shroud the hidden destructive purpose, these devices accumulate.


One of hundreds from one particular lineage, a crated orange and white painted metal assemblage is merely a part and property of the machine, packaged and purposed and designated MSX-1349-AP/r300m. It is not shipped openly through the daylit streets of the happy hive marked honestly as what it is - “this device will travel in excess of 800 kms per hour guided by a combination of terrain following radar and internal map parameters to fall from the sky with an accuracy of plus or minus 15 meters and will then explode destructively with enough force to lay flat a city block. And kill or maim any soft skinned creatures within that area.” It is transported without fuss, with some security against accidental damage or theft, slung and cradled and packed away for its own voyage to that far distant land, called enemy, soon to be called ‘target’.