MACHINE NOT IN USE
There it stands draped in black canvas with the words in white printed bold.
MACHINE
NOT IN USE.
There is no bulk visible through the black veil, no juncture that may be recognised as a distinctive feature. The only evidence of the object is the object’s black veil façade. It’s monolithic, it reveals nothing in its symmetry. The printed declaration is the only indicator of what might be its front, but when viewed from the opposing angle the object
retains the same characteristics. The same words in white printed bold.
MACHINE
NOT IN USE.
The canvas is fastened close to the ground on both sides, strong metal latches mark the four corners and give the machine the appearance of a concealed rectangle. Wind rattles the latches and the sound rings out from the object’s singular position in an emptied landscape of airport lobbies, retail outlets and petrol station forecourts.
The machine can be observed from a number of vantage points; from an acute angle pitched behind the glass of the upper floor conference room, from the stairwell where each step seems to descend toward it, from the lobby where it disappears from sight only to reappear again between the motions of sliding doors.
In movement, a blur of recurring gestures, the object on-the-brink-of-disappearance becomes completely lost in the multiplication of detail and the sliding motion of the passenger side window.
Its spectre is momentarily found again in the convex of the rear view mirror, the tight knit dark plastic polymer of the cloak in stark contrast to the words in white printed bold; the font smaller now with a subtitle etched into the mirror super-imposed upon the concealed rectangle.
OBJECTS MAY BE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR.
From the well-lit stairwell there formed the reflection of a man approaching the object in a blur of recurring gestures between the sliding motion of the windscreen wipers. In pictorial space the curve of the wall revealed the sleek perpendicular lines of the feature window, framing the object and exciting in the man a sort of morbid inanimate curiosity. He moved back barely an inch to allow for a wide-angled view of the object from a shot panning out. He then descended toward it; stepping in time with the rattling of the latches, echoing forward momentum through an intersecting three dimensional plane.
In a sliding motion the man approaches the machine becoming divided between mediations and temporary anonymous identities. In a sliding motion a woman approaches the machine, becoming a passenger in the process of departing. In a sliding motion a process approaches the machine, becoming a self de-territorised, mobile, and always emerging. The machine was not in use, becoming a shared reference point from which everything felt equally isolated. In a sliding motion the deferred sense of being reaches the machine-from-which-everything-feels-equally-isolated and it manifests itself. It’s granted for a moment the euphoria of restored unity, but then it reads the words in white printed bold and dissolves into the emptied landscape of airport lobbies, retail outlets and petrol station forecourts.
by Daniel Harlow
Daniel Harlow is not the author's real name. He is a writer based in the UK and is the founder and contributing editor of Fugitives & Futurists.