Post 01

This week I am engulfed in machinery. I got a job temping at a factory which makes switchgear units (the fenced off bit at the end of the street which says 'Danger of Death' contains switchgear units). I am on a compression moulding machine making part 'GF185 Inserted Barrier'. To work these well the human worker must become machine-like. As you make rhythm simultaneous to the machine every muscle is automatic to the job at hand - the mind free to wander. My mind stays with the machines, what they present to me/us. How people change in their working way. Do these machines present a weird psyco-sexual performance - the pushing and ramming of pistons; the machines fellating themselves? Or even impregnating themselves? the injection-moulder machine forces it's seed of molten plastic into the ovarian tool-mould, an endless cycle of conception and birth. All the machines are never turned off. Perhaps far-fetched but the hydraulic veins twitch and pulse in a startling human-sexual way. Who am I in this? A component. A submissive. My heals ache.

I asked to take photos, David said it was fine. I suppose it is a kind of voyeurism - I can't think of any other reason I am fascinated by machines. I dont know that much how they work or what a lot of them do, but the power and movement of them is arresting. 1500lbs psi.

On monday I made 175 components. Tuesday 207. Wednesday 215. Thursday 225. Friday 94 (half day and machine cleaning). I don't notice my speed increasing. I would like to slow down (I do not get paid on commission). I try to file off the plastic 'flash' of the freshly moulded component as quickly as possible - between 1 and 6 seconds rest can be obtained waiting for the machine to reveal another identical transformation.

Whoops and shouts from the workers on the shop floor sound like monkies calling. The tropical heat and layers of sound and whitenoise combined with the tall machines actually makes this feel like a jungle. Im sure the crowded visual and audio spectrum would be similar.

Near the end of the week some of the workers talk to me and it begins to feel more human - just another job and a definate community here. These are hardworking men (few women here) paying the rent/mortgage and feeding kids. But some of these guys have been here 'for years' and I really really wonder how on earth they don't want a different job.