Be vigilant, for the slumbering swine amongst the midst lie resentful and malign with green-eyed caustic loathing.
They wish to keep you in the filth and slop of their somnambulism.
Beware of their treachery, beware of the quicksands of their virulent and petty distractions.
The more you associate with them, the deeper you will sink.
East of No Ideologies
My words ride strapped on the bare backs of galloping Mongol warhorses ready to find their mark–projected by the bows of cold-blooded and benumbed barbarians.
From across the East Cerebral Valley the revelation whizzes through the air,
marauding the village people in your unconscious where your beliefs about the unknown are conceived under the dubious glow of comprehension.
Having been impaled by the message, the only thing about you that will slowly die is your ignorance and malnourished perception, for you will begin to drowsily awaken to an alternative set of eyes, and seeing will become anew.
I come to awaken the snoring swine within your boudoir, and I will boot it out and lead it to its deserving slop pen so that it may roll around in its filth!
I will rid you of your vile and foul doctrines–impotent ideologies that offend the hairs in the nostril and inhibit the mind.
Thus spoke, The DragnMastr.
A Foreboding Prelude to the Amplitude of Pain
There was a shadow amoeba in my hospital room the size of an adult hand, and I watched it make its rounds as it crawled up and down the wall for 17 minutes straight. Blinking sparingly, I followed its foreboding gestures so that I wouldn't miss its intentions.
I was transfixed with its disciplined oscillations and wavering habits. It would flicker assertively at times, grow faint, disappear for split seconds, then abruptly emerge as its blacker denser shadow reincarnate–all while adhering to its committed three foot linear path on the wall facing me.
It was unsettling, yet poetic in its deliberateness. I could've watched it perform its routine all night, but my nurse interrupted my curious voyeurism so that she could replace my chemo bag, marking the commencement of the new day at 1:46 am.
Shadow friend gone, my attention was redirected toward the fresh toxicity inserted into my central line, serving as a sadistic reminder of the perdition that awaited my diminishing body. As I laid there, tormenting for any kind of sleep spurt, I could hear the sinister laughter of the abdominal and bone pains, nausea, and vomiting in the prelude of the approaching day.
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.
Choreography Vitae
Verily, I say unto you: As effortlessly as Purgatory's prima ballerina twirls, I pirouette your malignancy off of Me.
For I am the Mastr Choreographer of My life, and your cancer is immobilized by My greatness.
The only foe that is worthy of My sweat is the inner critic, and He testifies to My sublimity. It is so.
Unknown Mediastinal Mass
I'm going to break my DragnMastr13 kayfabe right now to address something serious that's been happening in my life lately.
Some of you know me in real life, and you also know that I've been having strange health issues for the past few months.
Initially, I thought these were related to some kind of mysterious allergic reaction I've been exposed to, but a few hours ago I got a step closer to understanding my medical condition.
After coughing up bloody phlegm in the shower yesterday afternoon, I decided to seek emergency intervention. I was given an X-ray, and CT scan, and the ER doctors confirmed that I have a large mediastinal mass in my chest–basically, it's a tumor.
At this point the doctors don't know whether it's benign or cancerous, but I have an appointment with cancer specialists this Friday.
At the appointment, they'll perform a biopsy to confirm what I'm dealing with. And then I'll know what my medical plan of action will be. If it's cancerous, I'll need to start chemotherapy immediately.
Needless to say, I'm in a state of complete shock. I feel emotionally numb at the moment, as the full weight of everything hasn't really set in. I don't know what else to say. I'll keep you guys updated as I get more information from doctors.
It's 6:06 am, the sun's come up, and I need to get some sleep.
Lauren
L.
Little Man
She owned a little man.
Not a little person little man, (although, he was little in physical stature) but one of little status and worth.
Her emasculating affections didn't seem to deprive him of his dignity though–he actually quite cherished her attention, and she cherished her little SIMP in return.
His little penile endowment was relished by her all-consuming cunt, and she endowed him with condomless sex, a justification of her intrauterine devices.
They were an odd couple, to say the least. However, they knew their roles in the pecking order, and perhaps this awareness is what made their romance most gratifying.
Expansions of a Suppressed Lung
There will be sepulchral spasms in life that will deprive you of breath–do not surrender, fight!
Endow yourself the time and space to reflect, and reincarnate!
Do not allow the apnea in these interstices strangle your lifeblood. Breathe!
Expand your lungs.
Expand your nerve.
Expand your potency.
You will inspire power, and you will use this power to force your fears into gaunt submission.
THAT
And when confronted to explain to them the meaning of the thing, The DragnMastr spoke thus:
"Do not concern yourselves with WHAT the meaning is of the thing, what matters is THAT it has meaning!"
The small crowd stewed uncomfortably in their stupefaction as He walked away from them in disdain.
Lesson: Personal meaning is most always understood in retrospect, and rarely in the present moment. Immerse yourself instead, with what makes you feel alive, while meaning ferments underfoot–you will know such things by their sticky residue.
Treasure Troves of Self Discovery
It has been reasoned that the search for truth will lead you to beauty and understanding, but I say this: seek not truth and beauty, but absurdity and dissonance. For in its cacophony, you will cultivate attention–this is what is needed to see.
And through the sweat of salt you will excavate perception, action, and will. Buried treasures that will serve to decipher Self–revealing limitless possibilities, the depths of which will set you free.
Thus spoke, The DragnMastr.
Grope and Grip
The final diagnoses? Otitis media (middle ear infection), and contact dermatitis (skin rash).
This is the second time I've had otitis media in the past year, but the contact dermatitis? I mean, sure, I've had rashes here and there as a result of my sensitive skin, but one from a severe allergic reaction??
Before ultimately submitting to medical intervention, my initial investigation led me to the possibility of toxic black mold. I had discovered a small black patch growing discreetly in a corner of my fuck lair, and at once eradicated the insidious invasion. However, the fear had already entrenched itself as the poltergeist that would persecute my thoughts for the next couple of weeks.
After eradicating the toxic threat, and subsequent rounds of disinfection with the proper bleach solutions, I was still experiencing the pillaging and raping of my immune system: wheezing, severe itch attacks, rash outbreaks, itchy crawling eyes, and finally–middle ear infection, oh, and MORE hell itch!
In an attempt to self-diagnose myself, and eliminate the possibility of other causes, I licked the patch of wall that had incubated the black mold growth. My reasoning: upon licking, if my health rapidly deteriorated, I knew that the black intruder was to blame. Ensuing the licking, no real change had transpired, but I was on high alert. I was ready. But nothing happened.
The next day, after ruling out toxic black mold, I began a systematic analysis of possible allergen culprits: darkroom chemistry fumes, bed bugs, dust mites, pollen, aggressive masturbation, coffee, alcohol, abnormal sleep pattern. But my findings were inconclusive.
Eventually, after exacerbating middle ear pressure and pain, I decided to visit an urgent care clinic. The PA diagnosed me. The causes? Unknown.
Let this be a lingering lesson for all you haughty cockroaches, even The DragnMastr’s puppeteer submits to the indiscriminate grope and grip of Mother Nature.