Crane

Beautiful, isn’t it not?

What you see is one of my earliest attempts at art. An atrocity of copper and white space, this little abomination was originally an experiment with magnetic forces and solenoids. But, times change. Now, this small and dangerously pointy sculpture stands as a symbol of humanity, and the futility that fuels our existence. What you see here is the result of accidental processes, being formed by means of unwinding a particularly poor coil of wire and attempting to extract it from the remains of a particularly resilient second wire, which was considered the better wound of the two potential choices. Truly magical.

Now, as for what it’s supposed to be:

I have no idea. As mentioned in an earlier entry, I am not an artist, and this piece was just a fluke that I happened to notice before I gave up in frustration and melted both wires into a pretty copper slag. Thankfully, I have a knack for seeing meaning where no such thing is due, and I immediately noticed the potential that this ‘artwork’ could demonstrate.

If there’s anything I’ve learned from examining people and their psychology over the years, it’s that there is meaning in everything, and everything created by a human, both directly and indirectly, must have some meaning. The same goes for this orange oversight. In my interpretation, the sculpture reminds me of the essence of human nature to forever attempt to advance, to proceed further in their evolution of sciences and technologies. The sculpture also represents the futility of such a need.

Firstly, let us examine the shape. A simple wire, held on a wire, to make two wires. the first wire is the stand, and was special in that the weight balance upon it’s accidental creation was perfect for the purpose it now serves. the wire attached, however, is not so perfect. Actually, it is. The wire is being held on to the other wire by nothing more than sheer force of will and determination. It sits strong against the first wire, unmoving and resistant to most basic outside forces. This has some meaning, I’m sure of it.

The first wire represents time, and the further up one goes, the further up one goes. Time continues, and is both linear and finite in this case. Philosophers and physicists, I shun thee. the second wire represents humanity, and it’s progress. Note that the wire is both ugly and non-linear. Next consider the random formation of shapes and overall design that it has taken to reach the point of perfect balance. Finally, continue to read as if you know something that others don’t around you, wielding your skilful mastery of the English language with smug, pompous portentousness. This random formation is an indication of several key ideas: first and foremost is the idea that human development has only truly started at a later time in the timeline, suggesting inexperience on our part. This leads to the idea that humanity has enforced it’s goals on the natural, linear progress of things and therefore had a negative effect on the overall basis of nature.

The second wire’s shape also shows a definite beginning and end, showing a level of linear design and resultants. This is to symbolise that the struggle for perfection, the final hope of reaching the goal that humans forever strive for, will end just as fast as it has begun, and will be nothing more than a blemish on the great and powerful left cheek of time. that the second wire ends after going backwards suggests that the decline and eventual downfall of humanity’s exploits will be the result of their own ambition, and can therefore be seen as the subconscious factor of self-destruction that all humans are capable of. Take that, Pacifism As A Whole.

Note the colouring: a simple, continuous coppery sheen. Simply simplistic, if a tad overrated. But wait, is that a defining characteristic I peruse? Oh, my, what are the odds? The colouring is not constant, though the material remains the same throughout. The truth of the matter is that the wire wrapping around the main length appears to be a few shades darker, giving a strangely sinister and diseased feel to it. This darkness  adds to the dark intentions of the original themes of human development, and can be used to express both the dark methods in which perversions of humanity are performed under the righteous cloak of progress.

This is the nature of this sculpture: to tell the dark tale of humanity, from beginning all the way into the foreseeable future. Isn’t that just dandy?

Still, I like it. Even if it is an abortion of artistic creativity. I should do this more often. But, I must give credit where credit is due, and so I thank Embed Design for the photographic work, located at the following location:

http://www.embed-design.com/

Now, I must leave, but I leave a small challenge to keep you cold at night:

If anyone can interpret this sculpture better, I would love to love to care about it. Take your best shot, and may the scrutiny commence.

Yours Daringly,

Crane.

You would have to have found it to have lost it.

But, unfortunately, I have no such discovery under my belt. Instead, I am forced to live in a hellish civilization that does not suit me in the least. In fact, if one were to look at my life, and everything that I stand for and believe in, they would understand that this place is in fact the exact polar opposite of the ideal location for me. I am in proverbial, and in some cases literal, hell.

And only 28 days to go.

Actually, as I write this, I feel it prudent to point out that this is one of the few points in this trip that I am freed of the basics that compose my hell quite accurately. Computers are a rare and dangerous commodity in this country, like plutonium and fish. In fact, this situation is so rare that I intend to completely ignore Helga on this post and give the readers an unedited copy of my work, both out of the freedom and giddy enjoyment of the moment, and also the timer that ticks beside me as a reminder of the life I am now forced to live.

So, let’s make this quick.

As I arrived from my 36 hour trip in this country, the most prominent thing that hit me, besides the loose chair from the passenger in front of me, was the large amount of people of my age group on the same plane as myself. The entire plane was, as I gazed about me, filled with Italian tourists, students who had come here with the purpose of both learning better English and ‘hooking up’, to coin a phrase.

This is proving to be the only thing keeping me withing the bleary confines of sanity. I’ve never had the chance to analyse an individual with a poor grasp of English, let alone a good grasp of something else. This will surely prove to be a wonderful experience for me. Unfortunately, I have a little difficulty with the interactive requirements of a conversational social environ. In other words, I have no idea how to talk to someone, be they of a fluent or fractured English variant.

This is where you people come in. I ask for something, something important, something that would never have happened under any other circumstance other than being trapped in an isolated hell: I need help socialising, be it on a basic conversational level with a group of my peers or perhaps to strike up a chat with a friendly female for the purpose of study during more intimate moments.

I truly hope that you readers out there can help, what with Helga asleep in another timezone and all. I hope to return to the comforts of technology within the next few days, so I hope you can provide the necessary (organised) data within that time.

Yours Needily,

Crane.

Packing for a trip just isn’t my thing.

I was gong through some of my belongings the other day, preparing for my trip in 2 weeks, when I chanced upon an interesting little cache of junk. While I was looking through my lower drawer, I discovered a box, which had a rusty padlock on it.

The rust around the padlock was clearly in an advanced state, as the lock, a flimsy 2 dollar one, as the thing snapped away with little effort from myself. It was around this point that I looked at the box in it’s entirety.

The box was like a biscuit tin, only on hinges, and was made of a metal similar to the padlock. the parts where paint had worn away there were large splotches of rust, though they showed no signs of breaking. The box also had an interesting design feature, possibly added post production, in the form of a piece of paper taped onto the lid with the words “DO NOT TOUCH” written in dark permanent marker.

As I began to pry open the rusty lid, I began to wonder behind my intentions for sealing a tin such as this. Perhaps there was a point to storing it away in the most seldom used drawer in the house. But then the lid became unstuck, and my thoughts were shifted.

I have to say, I was a little surprised at this one.

Firstly, it is interesting to note the smell: death and decay, old socks, and perhaps a hint of my last attempt at Indian cuisine emanated from the inside, momentarily forcing me to choke on my breath. A rag over my face quickly cleared things up, and so I had the chance to look inside.

All that was in the container was a shirt, a small one from at least a decade previously. The shirt was uninteresting in itself, though an ominous stain on the front seemed to draw me closer to the box. However, a brief inspection of the stain told me little, and so I was forced to take drastic measures.

Grabbing a pair of barbecue tongs, I began prodding the shirt. Nothing at first came up, but a small lump under the chest area told me that something was in there. And, since I had little else to do that day, I had to know what.

I picked up the shirt from the stain, and the lump came with it. The whole thing came to rest on a bench in the room, under a halo of light usually used to blind small animals in my spare time. But this was just as good, if not more unusual.

I began to feel around the shirt with the tongs again, and found a way into the shirt. With none of the regret I feel now, I removed the lump from the center. And then I dropped the tongs, remembering exactly why I had hidden the box all those years ago.

I had pulled out the rotted carcass of a rat, which had not complete decayed, trapped in the dry tin as it was. Nothing of the head remained, though small chunks of dry flesh still clung to the chest cavity. The smell was overpowering, and so I made sure to drop the body into my bin, with little success.

As it turns out, years ago I had been doing the same thing as I was now: hunting through my clothes in preparation for a trip. I remember that I had found that shirt, and decided to try it on. Disliking it, I had taken it off only to discover a rat scampering across the floor. I remember that I threw down the shirt, catching the rat under it, and then grabbing the bundle and trapping the rat inside. From there, I found one of my old collecting tins and shoved the bundle inside, taking care to avoid looking at it. I had a horrid fear of rats for a while as a child, thinking them too cunning to be a rodent and too numerous to not have already taken over.

My deed done, I placed a note on the tin, shifting slightly from the struggles of the rat within, in hopes that I would never discover the thing again. I told my parents that I had thrown the shirt out due to sentimental reasons, and life resumed as normal.

And so there I was again, staring down at a creature that had disturbed me years before. Even know, I feel that rats, much like cuttlefish and seagulls, are too many and powerful to not fear, and so I had no choice but to, as usual, hide the body. Pretty standard, I know, but I still don’t enjoy the unhygienic feel of carting around a breeding ground for all sorts of disturbing and potentially fatal beings.

Once the body was gone, dumped in an outside bin after several failed attempts to use a home-made catapult to fire the corpse out the door, I returned inside and disposed of the tin also. At last, I was free of that menacing burden, so horrific that I almost forgot about it for a time.

And so, I continue to pack, constantly on the prowl for any new dangers that may loom in the shadows. I hope that the rat served as an example to the other less than ideal members of the house, that I have no issue with removing any ‘undesirable’ elements. Creatures of the world, you have been warned, or so I assume, at least by following the idea that all animals can understand each other, much like in animal movies such as Open Season. We can only hope.

Yours Heartlessly,

Crane.