Chapter 6 - The Old Man & the Corporation

I must be dead I thought, and therefore, I must also be dubious.

This was not my time, but it certainly was the excited man`s time. This temporal factor did not totally alienate me from him since he also seemed to be from somewhere else than where he found himself to be. My old workspace was now his, and he defended it well in order to protect & share his vision of things in this seemingly accelerated technological age which could be dangerously prone to folly and mishaps of the like we have never seen before.

All summer this old work place was filling up with pinball machines and a variety of people. Yes, a wide variety of people, and more machines with more and more people coming in and out of this complex like the trains that would cross St.Patrick street decades ago filled to their brims with raw materials. People and pinball machines would trickle in and out of this old workspace every weekend. Sometimes they would arrive in groups, especially on Friday evenings for some reason and they would stay past the midnight hour. Unlike in my time, when I first worked 6 days a week for the Crane, the daytime hours at this space were now strangely quiet and still. And for the first time in my experience as this newer version of a sentient being, I was alone during the daylight weekday hours. So I did what I knew how to do, I worked on the mold which would become the throttle which was commissioned and required when I first found myself here again.

However, I could not help but take notice that nothing of great significance was being produced in the here & now of this old foundry. What was being worked on here was mostly having to do with the recycling of objects that were made decades ago. There was no more steam in the towers and no fuel in the engines of this building, these new workers were now seemingly playing with the past.  I saw nothing of great significance being produced here to help people live better lives. Was this what America had come down to - playing with its own waste ? Empires come and go, and very few of us can really imagine how and when a downfall will happen during their lifetime, I certainly didn`t. Yet, why was I brought back here to see this happen now? It was not something I would wish on anyone to live through unless they had lost their knowledge of history, because without knowing history I imagine that a decline would not be as devastating. So I was still not quite clear as to why I was chosen to witness the excited man`s endeavor to protest this decline. I could see that he was fighting something, something intangible.

After understanding that I was not physically here and still somewhat disbelieving my present state of existence,  I still derived a certain interest in watching the excited man`s actions and reactions until the winter of 2011 when he began to change. It then occured to me that maybe I was here to see a new microcosm of what men had become in the 21st century. And as in the old 15th century English written work called Everyman, I would be exposed to each and everyone of them that made up this new world. They were all different, yet still managed to resemble all the men that came before them. Foolish, brave, smart, dumb, mean, kind, jealous, generous, manipulative, inconsiderate, selfish, happy, sad, doom struck, light hearted, fearful, mad, simple minded, brilliant, loving and hateful.

I think that I was beginning to understand why I was here in this place at this time. I would meet Everyman again and encounter their reactions to the decline in and through their celebrations. Yes, and maybe I was here to save the excited man from himself and also identify those who were possessed and try to save them as well. I also knew that I had a throttle to create during this time I was given, a very important tool that could possibly help many of them which had lost their way and who had now begun to run ignorantly towards foolish doom. A precise doom which seemed prompted by others who were more conniving than the common man and who planned to profit greatly from the demise of the working class while attempting to stay clear of its pain filled path towards quiet desperation.