|—||R.D. Laing, Politics of Experience (via madness-narrative)|
Allyson Gutchell, 2013-14
I secured myself within the colossal machine. It’s design, as well as it’s mere existence, was something worthy of reverence. The inner workings and it’s construct were all quite complex. Hell if I knew how it really worked at it’s core. I did, however, know how to control it, when it was low on fuel, and when it required the necessary upkeep crucial to keeping it functioning effectively. It was a tool, a servant; and I, it’s master.
I commanded the great beast to rise from it’s dormant state. The surrounding territory, now dwarfed by the titan I operated, lay in it’s shadow. By my instruction the behemoth propelled itself forward. It was then that a strange sensation befell upon me; a sensation that caused my visual perception to wane. I felt no longer disassociated with the device, but rather, consciously entangled with this once seemingly inanimate.
My sight had been restored and I looked down through newly governed eyes. It’s exterior hull was now my skin; it’s pistons now my heart. The very way I referred to myself had now shifted. From that point on I bestowed upon myself the title of “man”; I had become the machine.
|—||Hugo Mercier (via nickoras)|
Amazing charisma design