Suspiria (luca guadagnino, 2018)
"The hands. I want to be this company's hands."
Thank you for taking the time to talk to me about this. I know you're busy. We're all busy.
Sometimes I like to walk around this shared house we all live in and look at all of the machines keeping everything going, keeping the wheels turning. There's the dishwasher and the washing machine, of course. Those are the stalwarts. With either or both of them running at least once a day. I can even set timers on them so that they can run while I'm out of the house. So that I return home and find them as (or shortly after) they have completed their cycle, so that I can step in and fulfill the final role - redistributing the washed items. Then there are the phones - both my handheld smart device, and the landline. These are the two initiators of a great deal of my busyness - the guardians of incoming new assignments, new responsibilities, They ring and buzz and ping new incoming tasks at me, whether I want them or not, and require me to take action to resolve a task, or to accept one. Alongside these, very much the left arm of these two, are my laptop, desktop, and tablet devices - upon which I execute many of the tasks required of me by the phones. Sometimes I like to stand in the room where the router lives, in the dark, and simply observe the lights on it - the buzz of activity, the clicking and whirring, and dimming and brightening lights of a whole world of internet maintaining activity out there, outside the house, even in the face of my stillness. Then there are other household machines - the water heater, the microwave, the oven, the kettle - I even have all of these centralised onto my smart device now so that I can use and monitor the usage of all of these devices - I can control them, manage them, even in my absence. And then there are the extraneous tasks of activity - there is the deliveries of food - both already cooked and ready for eating, and those that are more easily classified as 'groceries' - those which require preparation, and cooking, prior to eating.
But here's the thing.
I'm finding myself more and more enslaved by these machines.
Originally, the idea was for these machines to perform tasks that would provide me with more free time. And perhaps that is happening, but it certainly doesn't feel like it. Instead it feels like these machines are performing their tasks in spite of me, and that I am required to run around, after them, to perform the final human action of organising what they do. It feels like my whole life is organising and consuming. That all is required of me now is to empty machines, to redistribute what they have actioned, or to consume. Organise, and consume. Organise and consume. That's all I'm asked to do.
Perhaps this unceasing feeling of busyness I'm experiencing comes from me trying to compete with machines, or from me standing in the centre of the endless cycle of machinistic activity and finding myself falling short, or feeling compelled to match it? A competition that I can only fail.
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I whisked my own eggs, washed my own dishes, bought my own food. It feels like the human aspect of choice that related to these tasks has been mechanised. Or perhaps it's closer to the idea that the tasks these machines perform is something that I shouldn't be doing, duties which it was decided would be a waste of my time to perform, but which now I find myself missing.
Whatever it is, there's a sense of completion to my life that is currently absent. I no longer know what it is like to begin a task, see it through to the end, and then stand back and marvel at something which I have performed to the best of my ability. These hands of mine grow soft, this mind of mine grows flabby, I miss the stinging sensation of anxiety, doubting my ability, rising to a challenge, pushing myself. These are memories. Nothing more. It is as thought my flesh were bruised and I can no longer remember where the bruises came from.
And then I ask myself why I am using these machines, and what time I am saving, what energy I am saving. I am perpetually tired. I watch more television than I ever have before. Where in all of this am I saving time? And why, exactly, am I saving this time? What am I saving it for? And that's why I've asked you here today.
I have decided to dismantle the machines. To instead manually perform all the duties that the machines currently perform. Remember that time you and I wanted to have ice cream, and so we bought an ice cream maker, but then we realised that making the ice cream this way took time and so we simply went to the store and bought some really good ice cream? Well I'm here to tell you that I will no longer live this way. I destroyed all the ice cream in the freezer, and I took a hammer to the ice cream maker. I will now only make ice cream by hand - whisking and freezing, until crystals appear - whisk then freeze - whisk then freeze - whisk then freeze. Until the process is complete. I will not complain when my muscles begin to hurt. I will not remain sitting when I need to get back to my feet, walk to the freezer, and check to see if crystals have grown. I will get up. I will walk to the freezer. I will check for crystals. And while I'm there I will clean. And I will create. I will have a hand in the generation of that which was not there before. I will not be carried when I can walk. And I will make of my life something beautiful and terrible that does not revolve around the indifferent inhuman function of these machines. I am here to tell you that your machines are dead to me. And I will not go back. And I know that none of this makes sense to you, I can see the glimmer of confusion in your eyes, because the only thing that makes sense to you anymore is convenience, and comfort. That is the language that you speak. You and I speak different languages now, distinct dialects. I speak effort, and intention, and desire, and pain in a way that you simply don't anymore. And I wish you well. And farewell.
Thank you for taking the time to talk to me about this. I know you're busy. We're all busy.
Sometimes I like to walk around this shared house we all live in and look at all of the machines keeping everything going, keeping the wheels turning. There's the dishwasher and the washing machine, of course. Those are the stalwarts. With either or both of them running at least once a day. I can even set timers on them so that they can run while I'm out of the house. So that I return home and find them as (or shortly after) they have completed their cycle, so that I can step in and fulfill the final role - redistributing the washed items. Then there are the phones - both my handheld smart device, and the landline. These are the two initiators of a great deal of my busyness - the guardians of incoming new assignments, new responsibilities, They ring and buzz and ping new incoming tasks at me, whether I want them or not, and require me to take action to resolve a task, or to accept one. Alongside these, very much the left arm of these two, are my laptop, desktop, and tablet devices - upon which I execute many of the tasks required of me by the phones. Sometimes I like to stand in the room where the router lives, in the dark, and simply observe the lights on it - the buzz of activity, the clicking and whirring, and dimming and brightening lights of a whole world of internet maintaining activity out there, outside the house, even in the face of my stillness. Then there are other household machines - the water heater, the microwave, the oven, the kettle - I even have all of these centralised onto my smart device now so that I can use and monitor the usage of all of these devices - I can control them, manage them, even in my absence. And then there are the extraneous tasks of activity - there is the deliveries of food - both already cooked and ready for eating, and those that are more easily classified as 'groceries' - those which require preparation, and cooking, prior to eating.
But here's the thing.
I'm finding myself more and more enslaved by these machines.
Originally, the idea was for these machines to perform tasks that would provide me with more free time. And perhaps that is happening, but it certainly doesn't feel like it. Instead it feels like these machines are performing their tasks in spite of me, and that I am required to run around, after them, to perform the final human action of organising what they do. It feels like my whole life is organising and consuming. That all is required of me now is to empty machines, to redistribute what they have actioned, or to consume. Organise, and consume. Organise and consume. That's all I'm asked to do.
Perhaps this unceasing feeling of busyness I'm experiencing comes from me trying to compete with machines, or from me standing in the centre of the endless cycle of machinistic activity and finding myself falling short, or feeling compelled to match it? A competition that I can only fail.
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I whisked my own eggs, washed my own dishes, bought my own food. It feels like the human aspect of choice that related to these tasks has been mechanised. Or perhaps it's closer to the idea that the tasks these machines perform is something that I shouldn't be doing, duties which it was decided would be a waste of my time to perform, but which now I find myself missing.
Whatever it is, there's a sense of completion to my life that is currently absent. I no longer know what it is like to begin a task, see it through to the end, and then stand back and marvel at something which I have performed to the best of my ability. These hands of mine grow soft, this mind of mine grows flabby, I miss the stinging sensation of anxiety, doubting my ability, rising to a challenge, pushing myself. These are memories. Nothing more. It is as thought my flesh were bruised and I can no longer remember where the bruises came from.
And then I ask myself why I am using these machines, and what time I am saving, what energy I am saving. I am perpetually tired. I watch more television than I ever have before. Where in all of this am I saving time? And why, exactly, am I saving this time? What am I saving it for? And that's why I've asked you here today.
I have decided to dismantle the machines. To instead manually perform all the duties that the machines currently perform. Remember that time you and I wanted to have ice cream, and so we bought an ice cream maker, but then we realised that making the ice cream this way took time and so we simply went to the store and bought some really good ice cream? Well I'm here to tell you that I will no longer live this way. I destroyed all the ice cream in the freezer, and I took a hammer to the ice cream maker. I will now only make ice cream by hand - whisking and freezing, until crystals appear - whisk then freeze - whisk then freeze - whisk then freeze. Until the process is complete. I will not complain when my muscles begin to hurt. I will not remain sitting when I need to get back to my feet, walk to the freezer, and check to see if crystals have grown. I will get up. I will walk to the freezer. I will check for crystals. And while I'm there I will clean. And I will create. I will have a hand in the generation of that which was not there before. I will not be carried when I can walk. And I will make of my life something beautiful and terrible that does not revolve around the indifferent inhuman function of these machines. I am here to tell you that your machines are dead to me. And I will not go back. And I know that none of this makes sense to you, I can see the glimmer of confusion in your eyes, because the only thing that makes sense to you anymore is convenience, and comfort. That is the language that you speak. You and I speak different languages now, distinct dialects. I speak effort, and intention, and desire, and pain in a way that you simply don't anymore. And I wish you well. And farewell.