Halo_n_horns
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jan 24, 2005
- Posts
- 3,535
To say the least my work area is chaotic ... in appearances. I know where everything is and what everything does. And for my daily what everything is does carries a bit of importance past the initial appearances.
People hunt ... well, sort of. These days manly men go out to the middle of nowhere, sometimes spending tens of thousands of dollars in travel expenses, tag fees, hunting permits, carcass field care, shipment of the raw trophy, importation and quaranteen fees, and ultimately the cost of the trophy mount itself, the finishing work of the mount and the artificial habitat if there's to be one. But is it really "hunting" the way this all comes to be?
The hunters will disguise their natural scents with everything from artificial odors in a bottle to the piss or other pheromones from the breed of animal they're stalking. Then they'll hide in the bushes, wait, pick their target and BLAM!!! the animal drops having never known that there was a preditor near by. I don't see how its called "hunting" so much as its actually just an ambush and sniper hit.
"Hunting" is a quadriped predator who must be ever vigilant, slow, calculated, cunning and smart enough to know that it must reveal itself to its quarry if its to keep from starving. Then it pounces and puts in massive amounts of effort tailing and hopefully bringing down its next meal, or goes until the next day with an empty belly. That's hunting.
But, alas, man kills. Almost needlessly many of the world's most awesome, and many times helpless animals, fall to an invisible bullet or arrow fired from some invisible location. For what? To be mounted and to gather dust in a trophy room? Couldn't these people have spent those tens of thousands of dollars to build a habitat suitable for the animal, and then earned its health and life in all its natural glory? No. That would require work and effort far beyond what these people are capable of. They're lazy and they need their egos gratified by not only claiming to have hunted great beasts, but also by having their carcasses dressed over a polyfoam form as proof of their cunning, stealth and greatness as men.
The animals eventually come to me. They're stitched with custom made glass eyes, plastic forms giving their ears their natural shape back, form artists have added musculature to the polyfoam forms to give semblence of of the animal's once great power and form, and then there I am.
I hide the scars, the stitch lines, fill in bald areas caused by poor field care or injuries the animal took while alive. I sculpt, paint, give gloss to eyes, mouths and noses all on a skin that will never again know the warmth of the sun, the expansion of their own lungs after a great run or a playful afternoon, they'll never even know the warmth and power of their own heartbeat and the rushes of adreneline from being prey or predator. I do what I can to give back a very little something that has been permanantly taken from them to stroke the ego of a "higher intellegence." I try to give them back at least a touch of diginity in their morbid and grotesque deaths.
My desk:
http://i38.photobucket.com/albums/e105/halo_n_horns/MyDesk.jpg
My In/Out Basket:
http://i38.photobucket.com/albums/e105/halo_n_horns/MyIn-OutTray.jpg
What's your daily life like?
People hunt ... well, sort of. These days manly men go out to the middle of nowhere, sometimes spending tens of thousands of dollars in travel expenses, tag fees, hunting permits, carcass field care, shipment of the raw trophy, importation and quaranteen fees, and ultimately the cost of the trophy mount itself, the finishing work of the mount and the artificial habitat if there's to be one. But is it really "hunting" the way this all comes to be?
The hunters will disguise their natural scents with everything from artificial odors in a bottle to the piss or other pheromones from the breed of animal they're stalking. Then they'll hide in the bushes, wait, pick their target and BLAM!!! the animal drops having never known that there was a preditor near by. I don't see how its called "hunting" so much as its actually just an ambush and sniper hit.
"Hunting" is a quadriped predator who must be ever vigilant, slow, calculated, cunning and smart enough to know that it must reveal itself to its quarry if its to keep from starving. Then it pounces and puts in massive amounts of effort tailing and hopefully bringing down its next meal, or goes until the next day with an empty belly. That's hunting.
But, alas, man kills. Almost needlessly many of the world's most awesome, and many times helpless animals, fall to an invisible bullet or arrow fired from some invisible location. For what? To be mounted and to gather dust in a trophy room? Couldn't these people have spent those tens of thousands of dollars to build a habitat suitable for the animal, and then earned its health and life in all its natural glory? No. That would require work and effort far beyond what these people are capable of. They're lazy and they need their egos gratified by not only claiming to have hunted great beasts, but also by having their carcasses dressed over a polyfoam form as proof of their cunning, stealth and greatness as men.
The animals eventually come to me. They're stitched with custom made glass eyes, plastic forms giving their ears their natural shape back, form artists have added musculature to the polyfoam forms to give semblence of of the animal's once great power and form, and then there I am.
I hide the scars, the stitch lines, fill in bald areas caused by poor field care or injuries the animal took while alive. I sculpt, paint, give gloss to eyes, mouths and noses all on a skin that will never again know the warmth of the sun, the expansion of their own lungs after a great run or a playful afternoon, they'll never even know the warmth and power of their own heartbeat and the rushes of adreneline from being prey or predator. I do what I can to give back a very little something that has been permanantly taken from them to stroke the ego of a "higher intellegence." I try to give them back at least a touch of diginity in their morbid and grotesque deaths.
My desk:
http://i38.photobucket.com/albums/e105/halo_n_horns/MyDesk.jpg
My In/Out Basket:
http://i38.photobucket.com/albums/e105/halo_n_horns/MyIn-OutTray.jpg
What's your daily life like?