This Machine Belongs To
This Machine Belongs To details the journal entries of those that toil away at the machine. Be careful dear listener, or you may find yourself under it's same compulsion. (Produced by Halfwit Podcasts)
This Machine Belongs To
Vernon Wright - November... 12th, 2008
Will I ever be truly free from the mundane?
=== Credits ===
Produced by Halfwit Podcasts ( https://www.HalfwitPodcasts.com ).
Written by Matt Spaziani ( https://vocal.media/authors/matt-spaziani ).
Vernon Wright is voiced by Jonathan Swenson ( https://www.jgswenson.com ).
Based on the journal role-playing game "The Machine" by Adira & Fen Slattery ( https://adira.itch.io/the-machine ).
Music and sound effects used with Zapsplat Gold, and Ghosthack Music licenses.
November... 12th, 2008
Today I had to pause my purpose to service another kind of machine. One could think of their own body as a machine of its own, I suppose. A smattering of moving parts, a natural form of lubricant, a place for input and a few for output. It is a tool designed for a task, and that task is to work.
I crank the Machine and it moves. I tune it and the Music soars. I make adjustments infinitesimal, tweaking and pulling and sliding and twisting and working, goddammit, working, taking the small life I have to live and pouring it into something great, something magnificent. My fragile, insignificant body can bring forth this achievement, and the forces greater than myself should know that! They must hear the Music! They must! And yet, I am cursed with rain? The simplest of things, seemingly preventable, takes me away from the fucking Music???
It started in the early morning. I was already half-awake - I find I’m not sleeping much these days. My mind is filled with visions…sights of a white sun shining upon rainbow grass, beings moving about in a way where they never quite come into focus. Perhaps it is the personification of the Music, or perhaps it is from where the Music comes. I know not. I do know that a few drops of ice water spattering across my face was enough to tear me out of the blurring images of that world, and the crushing disappointment that follows.
The cold has not bothered me. It has been warm for winter, and most days my jacket hangs on a branch while I sweat from my effort. But I could only work for so long today before accepting the fact that my body needs shelter. The Music may sing, but so too do my cold, cold limbs. Even the rats hid beneath the roots of nearby trees instead gathering around their usual stump. I have grown used to their black eyes watching me, staring at me. I never see them eat. I never see them shit. All that they do is sleep and supervise.
So I ended my work and began another. I searched the ground, grasped all of the dead branches and limbs that I could, the dim memories of my father’s lessons in the forest drifting to the forefront of my mind. He would never be doing this. He would not understand. I lifted a limb, wood that is cracked and rotted, wood that has taken the toll of decades beneath the open sky, wood that does not sing. I leaned it against a tree and placed more branches on top of it. I pulled dead leaves from the ground and showered them upon the makeshift home. I heard the pattering of water upon the leaves.
And though it all, my hands yearned for the Machine.
The rats came out as I was finishing. It was nearly dark and I had begun to crawl inside, my body begging for rest and refuge from this relentless water. The rats looked at me as though confused. They are not the only ones. Even as I write this, I want to finesse the Machine between my fingers, to hear the Music ringing in my mind. I feel spent and exhausted and frustrated at the monotonous motions I have been doing all day, the effort necessary just to survive, as if that has any greater meaning. I must do the work, I want to do the work, and yet my body must rest if the work is to be completed.
The rats do not understand. They do not sleep near their stump as they have the last few nights. They sit nearby, at least thirty of them, staring at me under my temporary roof. For the first time, they look hungry.
I will double my efforts tomorrow.
"This Machine Belongs to" is a production of Halfwit Podcasts. This episode was written by Matt Spaziani. Vernon Wright is voiced by Jonathan Swenson. Based on the journaling game "The Machine" by Adira and Fen Slattery.
If you'd like to support our endless toil with the machine or listen to our other podcasts, visit HalfwitPodcasts.com, or find specific links in the show notes of each episode.
Lastly, the most efficient way to build The Machine is by telling friends of its importance in our once meaningless lives. Some day, This Machine could belong to you.