Suddenly, in the canopy of a great machine, suspended in space the instruments seem alive; they seem cut-off from any knowledge. I hear the rhythmic vibration and the constant roar of the engines but it is as if, at any moment, I will drop through a trap door if I do not press the right button.

And yet, the machine is so much a part of me it is unimaginable that I would part from it without some fight. It exerts great pressure on me and in a moment of wistfullness I simply hope that it takes me to a place of excellence and beautiful women. Perhaps it will take me to a newly formed country in the midst of joy and turmoil. We are not allowed to see the great machine that surrounds us but it informs us, always, that it is with us and knows us. Perhaps the rumors that the original inventors are in the bowels of the machines has distracted us enough to save a momentary lapse of concentration. The inventors are disagreeable people who explain nothing of what they do.