Now in my dial of glass appears...
...the soldier who is going to die.
He smiles, and moves about in ways
his mother knows, habits of his.
The wires touch his face: I cry
NOW. Death, like a familiar, hears
and look, has made a man of dust
of a man of flesh...
- Keith Douglas
Can a weapon be beautiful? Can a device crafted for killing somehow titillate the aesthetic senses and garner a ready appreciation for itself despite its morbid purpose?
A fine sword is a work of art in and of itself. Blades and scabbards have been made that are ornate to the point of gratuity, perhaps serving better as household decoration or a symbol of status rather than the elegant device it was orginally made to be. Blades have also been made look the part of killing machine, but even in these brutish instruments there lies attention to form as well as function. Everything from the intricate hilt to the polished edge of the blade was handcrafted by master swordsmen who spent their entire lives forging these weapons. But somehow something as deadly as a sword serves as an accent to the home of someone who would not appreciate its significance, nor give it a second thought.
A firearm, on the other hand, places function above form in all respects. It can only be used for killing someone. With no inherent ornamental value, the only people who own rifles are those that truly appreciate their significance. A rifle was not made to be pretty, it was only made to be effective. Every spring, every cam, every screw, every pin, every rail, every component of the rifle was built with one purpose in mind: to put a bullet through someone or something at range. Every little piece was specifically engineered by its designer to kill. It is there that its true beauty lies. I know of no other device of this nature; few, if any at all, could claim this sort of exclusivity of purpose.
In spite of its ultimate purpose, the rifle is still a technological and engineering masterpiece, pure in form, strangely beautiful, second to none in its dedication to its intent of design...
He smiles, and moves about in ways
his mother knows, habits of his.
The wires touch his face: I cry
NOW. Death, like a familiar, hears
and look, has made a man of dust
of a man of flesh...
- Keith Douglas
Can a weapon be beautiful? Can a device crafted for killing somehow titillate the aesthetic senses and garner a ready appreciation for itself despite its morbid purpose?
A fine sword is a work of art in and of itself. Blades and scabbards have been made that are ornate to the point of gratuity, perhaps serving better as household decoration or a symbol of status rather than the elegant device it was orginally made to be. Blades have also been made look the part of killing machine, but even in these brutish instruments there lies attention to form as well as function. Everything from the intricate hilt to the polished edge of the blade was handcrafted by master swordsmen who spent their entire lives forging these weapons. But somehow something as deadly as a sword serves as an accent to the home of someone who would not appreciate its significance, nor give it a second thought.
A firearm, on the other hand, places function above form in all respects. It can only be used for killing someone. With no inherent ornamental value, the only people who own rifles are those that truly appreciate their significance. A rifle was not made to be pretty, it was only made to be effective. Every spring, every cam, every screw, every pin, every rail, every component of the rifle was built with one purpose in mind: to put a bullet through someone or something at range. Every little piece was specifically engineered by its designer to kill. It is there that its true beauty lies. I know of no other device of this nature; few, if any at all, could claim this sort of exclusivity of purpose.
In spite of its ultimate purpose, the rifle is still a technological and engineering masterpiece, pure in form, strangely beautiful, second to none in its dedication to its intent of design...