a place in riverside
about a place in riverside, california.
Sixteen giants.
The machines sit silently below the evening clouds. Only the outlines of the machines can be seen, and some details of the huge arms and pistons. The air is cool, the ground still somewhat warm from the days heat. Deep inside the machines the parts are probably still warm as well. Deep inside the heart of these machines, parts are waiting to become alive, to spin and churn. The machines are gigantic, monoliths that seem so large they could never move. I continue to explore the giants. Dark and oily, the rigid shape and geometric functions boldly contort gigantic parts; arms and scoops strangely bound into a contortion. Yet together the parts create a machine, borne of imagination and sweat to do one thing exceedingly well.
One tire is more than seven feet high, yet I peer into the belly of the large dirt scraper. Only a tinge of fear keeps me from exploring further. My vision only shows outlines and I think about something falling on me, a mass of cold steel painfully crushing my small body with ease. I move to the next giant, stepping up to the cockpit and driver station. I for a moment am duly impressed by these knights of the earth. The machines aligned in two rows, arranged like a chessboard ready to begin the game again tomorrow.
I try to imagine what lands these machines have changed. Some are several years old, having a legacy of terra-forming. The sixteen giants are not family, they have little relation to one another. They are more like soldiers, and they have served well for the commanders of our future. They have served man transforming jagged rocks into smooth curves. They have filled canyons, smoothed the dangerously sharp crevices, and created untold miles of silky smooth roads.
Yet I am sad they are here. Why should I look at these machines as the enemy? They are not. They are tools. A civilization of people let them be used upon the land, land that is supposedly owned by someone, and the tools are used to change the land. All done according to the law of the people, in accordance with the laws of the land. The giants are not the enemy.
Yet I’m sad. It was not a hugely real interesting place. . but it was a place. A place in my memory, a place that will never be written about because it was ordinary outback. A few hills, piles of rocks, trees littering the bottom of the ravine, where grass and cat tails grew in the minute water that flowed there. It was a place home to many creatures. And the ones easily seen? I recall a few that stand out. The black widows, lizards, squirrels and skunks. Yet there where many more who called this home. Thousands of insects, the bees the feed on the orange tree blossoms, ants galore. Maybe a few bird nests. Now that place I knew, well it is now gone. The small ravine, with its steep edges, the trees, the weeds, the rocks. It’s all gone.
Why do I care? Maybe it’s because I walked here as a young person, boldly exploring the limitless potential of the earth and the young mind. Like most victims, this place has a few mourners, and I am one of them.
This place, it’s been moved, power-sorted, and re-aligned like molecules inside a black hole. Torn apart by forces that even nature rarely shows, the small rocky field and ravine is a now a flat parcel, ready for the suburbs, mini malls and gas stations we all understand as our civilized reality.
I feel a bit of sadness that I am not more upset. Have I become numb, ambivalent to the constant mechanizations that change our world? I remember a time when I was more radical, a time when the sight of the sixteen giants would truly make me sick. I think about that time, when my youth would look at the giants with a loathing, a completely negative view that these mammoth devices are destroying the world. My thoughts would be that these machines need to be destroyed. My mind would recall and go out to the endangered species, the extinct animals, the shrinking ecosystems, the shattered forests, and think it must be stopped. Stopped at any price, and I mean any price.
I am afraid that I have become numb like everyone else. What has happened to me? Is it ok that I feel this way?
I leave with mixed feelings, and think of the surrounding developments that are not even finished. Why build here? They never started on the park over the hill, like the city and developers promised. And now what, they go here? I feel positive that maybe I can make a difference before this is done, maybe I can make sure there is a trail, or a small park, a grove of trees. Something.. .? As I write this I try to keep positive, yet I keep thinking about the bureaucracy that we live in. That saddens me. Can I really change what is happening here? I can only try.
Rod Deluhery
Sixteen giants.
The machines sit silently below the evening clouds. Only the outlines of the machines can be seen, and some details of the huge arms and pistons. The air is cool, the ground still somewhat warm from the days heat. Deep inside the machines the parts are probably still warm as well. Deep inside the heart of these machines, parts are waiting to become alive, to spin and churn. The machines are gigantic, monoliths that seem so large they could never move. I continue to explore the giants. Dark and oily, the rigid shape and geometric functions boldly contort gigantic parts; arms and scoops strangely bound into a contortion. Yet together the parts create a machine, borne of imagination and sweat to do one thing exceedingly well.
One tire is more than seven feet high, yet I peer into the belly of the large dirt scraper. Only a tinge of fear keeps me from exploring further. My vision only shows outlines and I think about something falling on me, a mass of cold steel painfully crushing my small body with ease. I move to the next giant, stepping up to the cockpit and driver station. I for a moment am duly impressed by these knights of the earth. The machines aligned in two rows, arranged like a chessboard ready to begin the game again tomorrow.
I try to imagine what lands these machines have changed. Some are several years old, having a legacy of terra-forming. The sixteen giants are not family, they have little relation to one another. They are more like soldiers, and they have served well for the commanders of our future. They have served man transforming jagged rocks into smooth curves. They have filled canyons, smoothed the dangerously sharp crevices, and created untold miles of silky smooth roads.
Yet I am sad they are here. Why should I look at these machines as the enemy? They are not. They are tools. A civilization of people let them be used upon the land, land that is supposedly owned by someone, and the tools are used to change the land. All done according to the law of the people, in accordance with the laws of the land. The giants are not the enemy.
Yet I’m sad. It was not a hugely real interesting place. . but it was a place. A place in my memory, a place that will never be written about because it was ordinary outback. A few hills, piles of rocks, trees littering the bottom of the ravine, where grass and cat tails grew in the minute water that flowed there. It was a place home to many creatures. And the ones easily seen? I recall a few that stand out. The black widows, lizards, squirrels and skunks. Yet there where many more who called this home. Thousands of insects, the bees the feed on the orange tree blossoms, ants galore. Maybe a few bird nests. Now that place I knew, well it is now gone. The small ravine, with its steep edges, the trees, the weeds, the rocks. It’s all gone.
Why do I care? Maybe it’s because I walked here as a young person, boldly exploring the limitless potential of the earth and the young mind. Like most victims, this place has a few mourners, and I am one of them.
This place, it’s been moved, power-sorted, and re-aligned like molecules inside a black hole. Torn apart by forces that even nature rarely shows, the small rocky field and ravine is a now a flat parcel, ready for the suburbs, mini malls and gas stations we all understand as our civilized reality.
I feel a bit of sadness that I am not more upset. Have I become numb, ambivalent to the constant mechanizations that change our world? I remember a time when I was more radical, a time when the sight of the sixteen giants would truly make me sick. I think about that time, when my youth would look at the giants with a loathing, a completely negative view that these mammoth devices are destroying the world. My thoughts would be that these machines need to be destroyed. My mind would recall and go out to the endangered species, the extinct animals, the shrinking ecosystems, the shattered forests, and think it must be stopped. Stopped at any price, and I mean any price.
I am afraid that I have become numb like everyone else. What has happened to me? Is it ok that I feel this way?
I leave with mixed feelings, and think of the surrounding developments that are not even finished. Why build here? They never started on the park over the hill, like the city and developers promised. And now what, they go here? I feel positive that maybe I can make a difference before this is done, maybe I can make sure there is a trail, or a small park, a grove of trees. Something.. .? As I write this I try to keep positive, yet I keep thinking about the bureaucracy that we live in. That saddens me. Can I really change what is happening here? I can only try.
Rod Deluhery