This is the age of machine.
Machines are everywhere, in the fields, in the factory, in the home, In the
street, in the city, in the country, everywhere. To fly, it is not necessary to
have wings; there are machines. To swim under the sea, it is not necessary to
have gills; there are machines. To kill our fellowmen in over-whelming numbers,
there are machines. Petrol machines alone provide ten times more power than all
human beings in the world. In the busiest countries, each individual has six
hundred human slaves in his machines.
What
are the consequences of this abnormal power? Before the war, it looked as
though it might be possible, for the first time in history to provide food and
clothing and shelter for the teaming population of the world-every man, woman
and child. This would have been the greatest triumphs of science. And yet, if
you remember, we saw the world crammed, full of food and people hungry. Today,
the leaders are bare and millions, starving. That’s more begin to hum, are we
going to see again more and more food, and people still hungry? For the goods,
it makes the goods, but avoids the consequences.
The
machine age produces:
The Baxter house is located at the
end of the street. This house sits farther back from the curb than the other
houses. It is almost difficult to see from the road without peering behind the
deformed oak tree that has obscured it for years. Even so, the Baxter house
stands out from the other houses on the street. It is tall and white. However,
this white is no longer pristinely white, but a dingy grayish cram color. Long
vines hang from the tattered roof. The Baxter house is two stories tall and has
a large yard in the back that has never been mowed. The other houses on the
street are a mere one story and have been painted a variety of colors. The
newer, single story properties all appear to have been built around the same time;
the yards mostly being of the same size, and the houses appearing to be clones
of one another. Aside from the Baxter house at the end, this street is a
perfect slice of middle America. The inhabitants of the other houses wonder who
lives in the ancient, dilapidated house at the end of the street.
If this paragraph appeared in a
story, it would help develop
