Proof of Dragons

Anytime people express doubts about the existance of dragons, point them my way.
The proof is within me. I house the pivotal DNA strands of dragonware or, dragonwere. There are wererabbits and werewolves so why not weredragons.

All the signs are here. I am capable of breathing fire, I sleep in the shadow and most telling of all, I hoard. Today whilst looking for the USB connector for my camera I found a Haida necklet my sister gave me at 12 years of age, sitting in the drawer besides the Sunday School attendance chart made by my Grampa for my mother. It is a symbol of the ties that bound the two families, so diverse in circumstance together. Grampa T. was the Sunday School superintendant of the Church mom's family were attending. Brethren, no doubt.

My father is definitly not the author of these genes. He is Mr. Clear and Clean. He is only happy when every surface is gleaming, bereft of anything resembling clutter. My mother, on the other hand, put the obsessive in OCD. She had closets of clothes in all sizes, hundreds of shoes all catalogued and sorted, every jewel ever given her in her Elisabeth Taylor mode, and money. Lots and lots of money cloistered away in shoeboxes and drawers and pockets. God only knows how much we gave to the Salvation Army before we caught on to the pockets.

It would be easy to blame a mental illness for the hoarding trait- except that Grama B, mom's mother, also hoarded. In her case it was good leather gloves. There were dozens of pairs in her drawers, all wrapped in scented tissue. She also had stashes of toiletries that never saw the bathroom shelf. They lived under the cupboards. As I was born when my Grama was 61, I saw only the residual hoards.

Now to me. Today being a snow day and me being stir crazy I decided to go through my bedroom drawers and declutter. It is almost 8pm and there is nothing in my donation box. When I find the connector cord for the camera I will take a picture of one of my drawers. The younger generation has inherited my dragon gene. If I am bad, she is worse. I console myself by reminding myself that I have always trained her to pay her own bills and live her own life. We who choose to be slightly a-typical must never rely on the kindness of strangers. Or husbands.

Like Smaug, a ray falls from my eye on the items removed. I know when my stash has been lessened. It is a strange thing this gene. Perhaps it explains more that just the shiny thing attraction.

Daughter of dragons? Daughter of daughter of.... hmm, more than just those Sinclair genes are perculating here. I wonder what ever happened to dragon spawn. Besides being burned at the stake that is.

Demons and angels-- what lies beneath

My belly houses a demon, a dragon in miniature. It may not yet be matured but the fire it spews has touched me. Three times we have met and fought and twice it was conquered. I thought it dead but it was just dormant, waiting for another chance.

Here we are round 3. The damned wyrm is growing as I type this. This parasite is fooling my corporeal self into believing it belongs as it slowly devours me. This is a battle I must give over to a champion to fight on my behalf. We meet on the fields soon. This weekend is all I have to get through and then my colours fly over the fields.

This time I want no mercy shown. I want everything the dragon has touched out of me. I want it sliced, diced and disposed of. I want to wake up with nothing but a scar and some drug induced dreams to show for it.

What happened to St. George after he slew the dragon?
Ah history cannot even confirm his existence yet his legend lives on.
Perhaps I should wear my Gold Sovereign. That might tip the scales in my favour.

Radiation frightens me. By now, I should have 3 heads. All those whacks to the head and susequent surgeries necessitated many X-Rays. Not as many as the fella in **repo-man but close.
Very close.

Why this should be any different I do not know.
But the beast within must die.
Hopefully the host will live on.

btw; you want to read another weird site--- check out the one the wyrm graphic is from.
Now this is some strange universe these minds--- click here and be one with the trionics
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** (from Repo Man)
J. Frank Parnell: Ever been to Utah? Ra-di-a-tion. Yes, indeed. You hear the most outrageous lies about it. Half-baked goggle-box do-gooders telling everybody it's bad for you. Pernicious nonsense. Everybody could stand a hundred chest X-rays a year. They ought to have them, too. When they canceled the project it almost did me in. One day my mind was full to bursting. The next day - nothing. Swept away. But I'll show them. I had a lobotomy in the end.
Otto: Lobotomy? Isn't that for loonies?
Parnell: Not at all. Friend of mine had one. Designer of the neutron bomb. You ever hear of the neutron bomb? Destroys people - leaves buildings standing. Fits in a suitcase. It's so small, no one knows it's there until - BLAMMO. Eyes melt, skin explodes, everybody dead. So immoral, working on the thing can drive you mad. That's what happened to this friend of mine. So he had a lobotomy. Now he's well again.
**