All posts by Boris

Welcome to the Machine

A young man, in the full flower of his youth, comes across extremely lengthy, complicated and abstruse instructions on how to construct an apparatus of some kind. He becomes intrigued and then obsessed by these instructions and devotes all of his hours to the building of this contraption, the function and purpose of which he is completely ignorant and wants desperately to discover. 

Years go by as he struggles to comprehend and to painstakingly follow each step of the seemingly endless instructions. So engrossed is he in his task, he is not at all concerned with the passing of time.

He is convinced that once the machine is completed, all of the work and the time he had put into it will be retrospectively justified and his life will gain the meaning it presently lacks.

Sometimes, as a reward for a day’s hard labor, the man allows his imagination to run free and in his mind’s eye all sorts of wondrous scenarios begin to materialize: the apparatus turns out to be a vehicle capable of travelling faster than light, or it can be used to visit the Afterworld, or access parallel Universes, or a device that will enable him to change the past, or grant him immortality, or even a genie lamp that will fulfil his every wish. Perhaps it might even turn out to be a machine that will allow him to access physically and logically impossible worlds, such as a world in which black is white, 1= 0, lies are truth, and life is death.

Occasionally, the man’s resolve wavers momentarily and he is overcome by fundamental doubts as to what he is doing. Was he always destined to discover the instructions for the apparatus, or was it merely by chance that he came across them? Was it a blessing or a curse for him to have found them? Are others constructing their own machines too or is he the only one? What if, so as not to confront the senselessness and emptiness of his own existence, he is merely preoccupying himself with meaningless work that will never eventuate in anything, or that will result in the construction of some mundane, insignificant thing?

Other times he wonders if perhaps the machine is just a metaphorical entity, and he is merely a character in an allegorical parable that endeavors to convey, through his actions, some essential deep truth about existence—a truth he himself is, alas, blind to and can not comprehend.

Over the years his hands grow less dexterous, his vision loses its acuity, his back becomes less supple, his mind declines. Tasks that previously required almost no physical and mental effort now demand his full attention and strength, leaving him  exhausted.

And so, after the long and arduous period of construction, the final component is ready to be put into its place. The only thing left to do is to fasten it with the last nut and bolt and the apparatus will be complete. As he is doing so, the man is captivated by the overpowering allure that seems to radiate from the finished structure. He envisages himself never leaving its side, so that he can gaze forever upon its breathtaking beauty.

It is then he realizes that he is now living out the final moments of his mortal existence. As his vision grows dim, he sees that the machine he had spent all of his life building looks like the ideal resting place and that nothing else remains for him to do but to place himself in it for all eternity.

Opal Writers Magazine Cover

Opal Writers Magazine

November 2021

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Remembrance of Things Imperfect JUPITER

It is the middle
of a perfect August day.

I am running down the stairs,
quickly and excitedly,

We all want to see Jupiter.
It just landed in the centre
of the town square.

There it is,
lying on the smoothly polished
concrete surface,
looking like a shiny marble
I played with earlier today.

It exudes a natural confidence
and displays total control
that only the most powerful possess,
no matter where
life throws them.

A haughtiness of presidents
prime ministers, kings and queens
are strutting round it,
bestowing homage
upon the King of Kings.

Overcome with curiosity,
I try to take a closer look
but am pushed back
by a cordon of security men,
bodyguards and policemen
who have surrounded the planet
and are preventing anyone
from approaching it.

Obviously one needed
a special invitation
to gaze at Jupiter
and my name was not
on the guest list.

As my view
is blocked,
I turn around
in frustration and disgust
and leave,
feeling denigrated
by this turn of events.

Opal Writers Magazine Cover

Opal Writers Magazine