FAUST’S MACHINE

faustsmachine

We didn’t really know how it was created – the enormous machine that with it’s massive cogs, as large as skyscrapers towered above everything else. Everything it turned into it’s image – men, women and children – and gave them everything they needed to survive. The Indian girl upon the American steppes became in The Machine, a creature with a chain of iron around it’s throat. For as long as it was kept alive – if you could call such a fate a life – it spread The Great Cogs’ propaganda of happiness and freedom, with a look of ice cold death in her crystal clear eyes. The ancient and venerable elders of China were also ‘blessed‘ by It with the chain of iron, and they built enormous mechanical things where there were farmers and massive fields full of grain before. The Imam of Mecca became where he had once spread his light a great slaver. In Arabia where there once lived free and independent people – without mechanical blessings – there were other machines created and were slowly built into The Machine. In East and West The Great Maker of Chains with it’s bishops and priests ruled those who were once human and made them create even bigger cogs, as to incorporate lesser machines into It. Mechanical men, robots of flesh and blood who were all servants of It.

How would you avoid The Machine when everyone willingly had put it’s chains upon their necks? How would you go against the teachings of it’s bishops and priests without getting excommunicated for life? Technically they are right, aren’t they? With plastic tubes The Machine pumps blood into our veins, everywhere we tread. Now we no longer required food, for the blood nourishes us all. How would we even survive without it? All of us are the seed of The Machine, now we’re brothers and sisters with everyone, everywhere. Now none is a stranger to us for our blood is not our own and our brethren’s blood is the very blood that our decaying hearts pump trough our body.

Under the watchful eye of The Machine there were no longer wars, violence or famine. Under the watchful eye of The Machine we could all go home after eight hours of worship and rest in ease and security. Under the watchful eye of The Machine we too would be educated by It’s priests in the teachings of the cog. Thank you, dear Machine. Under your rule we have finally accomplished equality and wealth. How could any reactionaries or machinophobic forces go against our Utopia? We thank you, dear Machine, as we lay down in our dark, empty room with a smile on our face.

The Machine had everything we could ever wish for. It had Arabic food and European medicine, it had Chinese products and American movies. With It’s cogs of love and tolerance it had grinded every imperfection to a holy elixir which was administered right into the plastic tubes with the holy blood. Now the air we breathed too was supplied by It, through white masks that covered half of our faces. It was so wonderful, so many vivid scents. Swedish summer and Indian lotus flowers, African incense and things not even I could name. Why would we ever remove our masks – to breathe in the blackened air? Folly, yet some did. They pointed on how the fields have been drenched with oil, how the lotus flowers have been eradicated and how little incense there were in the African huts.

By this stage the archbishops had finally finished yet another implant to bring us closer to It. Glasses, Occularium they called it. When placed upon our heads it drilled trough our skull and in our mind’s eye showed pornography of all the races of man. Some loved it while others had faint echoes of doubt, only to give in to their desire in the end. It showed the happy lives of everyone else that had been assimilated into It. Those who were given this gift worshiped The Machine even more than before, until eventually everyone wore them. Now we could all worship The Teachings of the Cog and The Machine all day, may one be priest or drone.

One day The Curia – the court of the Priests – gave us all implants upon our forehead with the mark of It. Oh the lust, the pleasure! It was like a thousand times stronger than the most pure heroine. An incomprehensible rush of flowers and honey throughout our body. No need for sleep or rest anymore, we needed only to remain still and mutter our prayers to It. Another day we got yet another implant that was said to give us eternal life. We would have eternal bliss as long as It’s cogs were spinning.

The years went and turned to decades. Some have committed the folly to remove their implants, their masks, the Occularium and the tubes with the holy blood. These few – these madmen – discovered a world where everything had been defiled and rotten. Upon the altar of The Machine the priests had sacrificed everything with meaning. With weapons they marched from the North to the South, from the East to the West to destroy the foul monstrosity their fathers had created. A war raged that plunged the world into chaos for two centuries where the machinophobes won and raised their flag over every destroyed tentacle and every disabled cog of It. It’s seed, the millions of children, were as a large collection of candles that were extinguished one after another, too weak to fight back. Bishops and priests – deacons and inquisitors. All those who had given It the world were hunted down and sacrificed upon the altar of Saturn. Every chain of iron was thrown into a pile that grew higher than the highest mountain.

In the abyss that was the current world the oil was slowly drained from the fields of grain. Out from the ashes, that was the time before the cog was invented, the bird Phoenix rose. A creature who’s wings of fire gave light to the world after the collapse of The Machine. Under it’s wingspan, wider than anything a mere man could create, we discovered the head of a demon due to it’s light. Mephistopheles.

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