I had a pretty weird dream last night. I’ve talked to my friends about it, and they don’t know what to make of it. Since this talk was over a chat client, and I don’t feel like typing it up again, I’m just going to copy/paste (with some editing for spelling errors and removing usernames and timestamps, and changing the format from chatlog to paragraph. Besides these edits, the words have been left unchanged.). So my dream starts like this:
I’m in my room. It’s night. I look out the window, and for some reason, my neighbourhood has been replaced by a forest. Deciduous trees, bare of leaves. I think there’s snow on the ground, so it must be winter; that explains the lack of leaves on the trees. I can pick out faint roads, so perhaps my neighbourhood isn’t completely gone. There are no lights, save the moon, which is full and bright. I hear a wolf howl. I can see shapes. Shapes in the trees. Moving.
I first heard of fractals when I was in sixth grade. Fractals being a relatively complex concept for grade six, my math teacher didn’t linger on it for too long, but afterwards, I did some research. That was when I discovered fractal artwork. I was immediately transfixed by the beauty that could be produced by pure mathematics. Of course, I didn’t understand any of it, and for the most part, I still don’t. I have a vague conception of what fractals are: infinitely repeating patterns. You might not think that this would make for good artwork, but it does. I’ve collected lots of fractal art pieces over the years, but have only recently begun making my own. I started experimenting with Apophysis, a fractal generator, about two months ago. Here is some of my art.
Today, a friend of mine, observing my attraction to firearms, said it was a fetish. Is it?
I like guns. I like the way they look, the way that everything performs a specific function, the way everything fits together. I like how they sound, how the action sounds when it closes, the sound of the extractor pulling a casing out of the chamber, the sound of the ejector kicking the brass out of the ejection port-
Oh fuck. It is a fetish. Isn’t it.
They say the first step is admitting you have a problem. Okay. I have a problem. But what if I like that problem? Is there something wrong with me? I don’t think so. Well… here. Have a drawing of a Mauser C96. She’s old, but still sexier than most handguns can ever hope to be.