Requiem of Our Cotton-Mouth Specters

Many sat around Him at the mouth of a dried-out lake bed one summer afternoon. Having their splintering attention, The Dragon Master spoke thus:

The swelter of introspection distills us into multiples. Impurities of which are cast into vapor. Take heed of the remaining condensation, for it is the requiem of our cotton-mouth specters.

Without warning, He spit onto the cracked dirt, and stayed there until it had evaporated in the broil of the afternoon heat.

Don't Eat It, Send It Back

She was someone I could see Myself with. Undeniable beauty, impeccable style, sharp wit, sassafras in abundance–a real live one.

The flirtatious banter crescendoed over the weeks, until, at last I decided to dig a little.

I asked her about her most recent act of vengeance. She hesitated as I prodded with curiosity, but disclosed a full account of the event in question.

What a masterful chef she was, for her dish was certainly served cold.

I felt a sense of dejected disorientation, as I mourned the possibility of any romantic future with her. 

The thing with chefs, is that they have the tendency to delight in the dishes they serve, but the years of heartache have taught Me to watch what I eat.

Needless to say, I won't be pursuing her anymore.

I'm sad. Very sad.

Yes, I am The DragnMastr, but I am of tender disposition, and I have an affinity for seductive delicacies that afford a sweet aftertaste.


And at once the crowd assailed the young girl, hurling insults and spewing hatred.

Seeing this injustice, The DragnMastr intervened and spoke thus:

"ENOUGH! Do NOT condemn this young girl, for she is My pupil! And the teachings are sound!

You who fetishize the concordance and nobility of the forest believe the roots beneath our feet bind each of its members together, but your vision is muddled and myopic! We are NOT all one. We are INDIVIDUALS.

Do NOT be like the stagnant tree who is rooted with rigidity! Be like an early morning mist who descends unto the bramble and brings relief from the overbearing sun. It is free to go where it pleases and disperses when the time is right. It is nebulous, and in motion. This weightlessness begets freedom, and freedom begets choice.


Upon hearing this, the over-zealous crowd dispersed into the awakening daylight of reality.