The Ballista

A man I respect very much once told me that the great secret to getting things done was to keep your word. “Think about what you are going to say.   Say what you are going to do.  And do what you said”,  he told me.   While the latter is a well known axiom for honorable behavior, I am finding it useful to make a habit of saying what I am going to do before I do it.  It seems to have the straightforward effect of revitalizing my  motivation and keeping me on track.

Much of this blog is used exactly in that manner:  a psychological whipping post to get me off the couch.  What was it Macbeth said?,  “… I have no spur to prick the sides of my intent, save vaulting ambition that or’leaps itself and falls on the other…..” .   Ploys to manufacture will power seem pathetic I know,  but this is just a blog and I figure self-honesty is best served raw.  If I announce here that I am going to get something done, I’m going to feel pretty rotten if I don’t follow through.  It’s all about the whips and chains at this stage.

Accordingly, we start season four of the Orsova ballista reconstruction project, by announcing my firm intent to build Firefly a proper stand.

There …….. That last sentence worked a treat…..I’m already feeling more directional merely by uttering it in public.  Chips and shavings to follow.

There seems to be a connection between certain forms of generosity and a compulsive need to dominate.  I find myself marveling at the number of layers involved in these complex and compromised relationships.  A near impregnable shield is erected when the bearer of a gift takes the initiative to put another in a position of gratitude or implied debt.  Hiding behind this wall of good intentions he rarely has reason to fear being discovered.  More often than not he is probably not even aware of his own inner need to monopolize his chosen recipient.

Donate and bind. Bind and control. Control and extend. Extend and dominate.  It is becoming a familiar observation for me these days.  One that I may have been guilty of myself at times.  Special precautions are being installed in my operating system to guard against this insidious phenomenon in the future.

This weekend brought further evidence of the grave dangers involved when allowing an enthusiast with pruning shears anywhere near the shrubbery.  By the time it was over several prized roses and a Nellie Moser clematis were amputated from their long standing  in the soft, soft earth.  A deserving contingent of blackberry vines also met the same fate, but in their case the worth of the omelet was overshadowed by all the broken eggs it took to make it.  Such is the life of the landlord.   In the end it is all about managing relationships.  And eggs.

The interpersonal dynamics of a multiple tenancy can be complex and not for the fainthearted property owner.  It seems people only really get along if there are clear boundaries and a sufficiently strong respect for them that tender egos are shielded from harm.   It is clear that enthusiasm and glass jaws are not a good combination.  The former promotes unwanted incursions, while the latter makes retreat a messy and difficult business.

Apart from these distractions that draw us away from more serious endeavors like building torsion engines, things proceed apace with Firefly.  I have received a couple of requests to detonate some more bad art and ornamental frippery.  Perhaps our little catapult project has found a whole new talent:  ridding the world of inelegance.  One wonders if it could ever become developed enough to tell the difference between the Nellie Mosers and the blackberry vines.

The Lurgy persists, but I am slowly getting better.  This is the summer slow season for catapult work.  Things always pick up around the vernal equinox when the CG’s start getting hungry for a little progress.  I have promised them all sorts of delights for next season, including:  lighter limbs, a two way hand winch, a fancy stand that knocks apart for transport, barrels of bolts, tubs of glandes, and possibly even a new, rapidly adjusted sighting system.

Firefly has started to enter her prime as a full power working reconstruction based on the Orsova artifacts.  Ever since the kamirion and field frames have been reworked with spring grade steel to resist the powerful forces at work when she is operated,  our little machine has performed very reliably.  Even the evil chaffing trolls  seem to have gone into remission.   Rope based torsion springs are always vulnerable to their rapacious antics.  Fortunatley,  our stout Sherlock wrappings seem to  have solved that problem.

In the coming season I intend to present more comprehensive and better organized ballistic data.  Up until now it has been hard to  make much  sense of any numbers because the parameters that generate them were always changing as something bent or broke or had to be fixed or improved.  That is not so much the case anymore. Take, for example, this string of velocites I recorded the day before the Lurgy struck.  All these shots were done with lead glandes weighing 6,100 grains  +/- 10 grains.

Shot #                   Velocity in feet per second (measured two feet from muzzle)

1                              288.8

2                              288.3

3                              286.5

5                              287.0

6                              283.6

7                              285.0

Even by firearms standards these are remarkably low levels of velocity deviation.  What might happen if I were to do this same testing on a different day is still an unknown, but having seven consecutive shots be this consistent for speed is very encouraging.  Not quite so thrilling was the group they produced, about two feet at fifty yards.  I suspect the pouch needs to be rigged a little differently, and that might be quite an undertaking.  In any event things progress.

Back to my cold medicine now.

The dreaded lurgy has struck.   Coughing and spluttering up big ….. well you don’t want to know……..and a nice smattering of hot and cold sweats,  with a major case of conjunctivitis thrown in for good measure.  Having too much fun rocking back and forth, watching you all through a bleary yellow film.  Yuck!

Apologies for not responding to emails.  Will get to it when lurgy recedes.

Crawling off to die now.

Art lovers and people of good taste everywhere, breathed a sigh of relief today as Katie Rose’s beast monster was put to death by unanimous consent.  Even the author of this long lived plaster terror seemed relieved that the deed had finally been done.  Family members were not present for the execution, however squeals of delight and support have been pouring in from all quarters.  The thought that  innocent bystanders will no longer have to witness the ugliness of Kate’s dark side,  brought tears of relief to many eyes.

Warning:  The following video contains graphic  scenes of plaster violence and may not be suitable for sensitive people still in mourning over broken crockery.

With out further ado:  the  execution of the Squirrel Fish.   Click here for video, 20100720102955(1)

Although Firefly performed well in her new role as the final arbiter of bad art,  application of the coup de grace with an axe handle is  customary in cases like this.  Now that Kate’s beastie  has been returned to the formless void from whence it came,  the rest of the world rolls on unmoved by the drama of this moment.

Change is.

After a hard week back in the big smoke (NZ for big city) I find myself richer by one bathroom.  Some old friends have hopefully been made happier by this adventure into the wonderful world of bathroom fixtures.  One in particular has made a special request of Firefly.

It appears that this aspiring young artist, by the name of  Ms. Katie Rose Powell, has been at a loss as to how to dispose of a truly hideous piece of sculpture she created while presumably ingesting some type of psychedelic.  (Actually, now that I think about it,  I doubt drugs were involved.   Anything this ugly obviously stems from impulses much darker than anything mere chemistry can spawn. )  In any event,  the young lady is honest enough to know bad art when she sees it, and so it’s the firing squad for her plaster reject of doom;  aptly titled,  “The Squirrel Fish”.

Beauty:

And her beast:

Execution will commence next Tuesday at 10.37 am.  No clemency hearings will be entertained and the  Governor is not expected to comment on the matter.  Some things just need to die.

A  brief pause ensues while I tackle the honey-do list from Hell.  The Catapult Gods are  not particularly amused by this development, but there again, even they are not immune to Newton’s third law of motion.

Their reaction is typical of all forgotten Gods.  It’s not like they have to make the trains run on time, or nurture the sick and homeless.  Do something useful?  No fear, not them.  Sitting in their lofty perch, high above the clouds,  rabbiting on all day about how,  ever since man invented gunpowder,  they don’t get any respect any more.  Well I’m not surprised.  If you don’t get up till 2.00 in the afternoon, and then just schlep around in your bunny slippers waiting for someone to bring you your torsion engine, well you’re not going to get any respect are you?  Worse than the Royal Family they are.

It’s just about time for a workers revolt.  The proletariat that wind their springs and forge their metal parts are getting restless.  If they want respect, the CG’s are going to have to earn it by doing something spectacular.  Mortals are such suckers for a bit of magic.  Go ahead ye mighty Gods of  yore, impress me!

Shoot the moon and I’ll never waver.

Raze the topless towers of Ilium with hurtling rock and spear,

you’ll never see me look away again.

Take the clotted cream and curdle me a king,

When he wavers too far from good,  set the world straight upon your point,

And cast him far,

Far into the deep dark night.

Richard and I give our newly made Adirondack chairs their first test drive on July the Fourth.

It is not all work at the little catapult factory.  Occasionally the elves kick back for a cold one after a hard week wrestling with the mysteries of the universe.  In particular, this duo spent the afternoon discussing the nature of self deception and its relative impact on the eternal white light that runs the show when we are not around.   Not that we would know mind you.  It is the nature of beer consumed in chairs this comfortable to blur the edges of all those windmills we would usually be tilting at.  Gotta love the Fourth.

According to the FBI,  in terms of resisting penetration, a piece of 1/4″ plywood is  roughly equivalent to a human chest wall.  In the following video we see one of Firefly’s 6100 grain lead glans (basically an egg shaped bullet weighing almost one pound)  blowing a 3″ hole through four sheets of half inch exterior plywood at fifty yards.   When the plywood  leans up against a more solid support, these projectiles regularly go through five sheets  and leave a healthy dent in the sixth.  Velocity on all shots is a very regular  270 feet per second,  (+/-  2 fps).      Click here for video, 20100701182936(3)

In the next video we see the first rough shot prior to sighting in.  It ploughed through the hay bales and smacked a two foot splinter out of the two by eight douglas fir backstop.      Click here for video,20100701161210(3)

After readjusting the aim, the next shot strikes a little closer to the bulls eye.    At this point I have run out of ammo and need to cast up some more glandes so we can shoot a group to see what kind of accuracy this set up is capable of.    Click here for video, 20100701161210(1)

Although it does not look like the double string and pouch firing glandes will ever generate as much power as the single string shooting bolts (approx. 1100 foot pounds vs. 1600 foot pounds),  all these shots would clearly have inflicted grievous wounds on the ancient battlefields.