The Return

I hearken unto you. For I am Lord of The Shadowlands, and I reign supreme under the cool breeze of My mastery, as I sit gazing defiantly the scorching fires of your distant sexuality!


I scoff at the dancing embers attempting to char broil My feet! Do they not know I take pleasure in extinguishing them under the full brunt of My heel? Nay. They do not know. But let it be known.

And let it also be known that the trumpets will sound, and the herald will announce with great jubilation My glorious return.

Galloping on horseback will I be, striding past the gates of your psychology.

Thus spoke The Dragon Master.


Wrong Number, Right Victim

Last night I received a wrong-numbered phone call.

Not allowing this opportunity go to waste, I engaged in an impromptu phone sex seduction.

Four hours later, I realized that I had been the victim of orgasm vampirism.

After the 11th ejaculation, I turned my nightstand light on, looked down, and noticed how raw and inflamed my turtle neck flesh was.

I hurriedly ended the marathonian call, something that was a lot easier said than done, as she denied my attempts to disengage from her psychological clutch.

Let this be a lesson to you who are weak of will: there are those among us who feed from our vices.

Thus spoke The Dragon Master. 


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 bitch boy 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.



As the impudence sweats away the sentimentality from my nostalgia, I roll my neck around its base and stretch.

The muscles, memory, and mood loosen.

The beads fall to the ground and the salt lingers, but there are worse tasting things than salt. 



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 to 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.



I emerge out of the miasma of your nostalgia. Do not be afraid.

I come to replenish your ardent ocelot with the sweet milk it craves. My spermal benefactions delight, almost as much as it deprives in its absence. 



Masculum Plumbum

Verily, I say unto you: As effortlessly as the purgatory prima ballerina twirls, I pirouette your vile insults off of me.

For I am the Master Choreographer of My life, and your criticisms are immobilized by my greatness.

The only critic that is of relevance is the inner critic, and He testifies to my sublimity.  



And when confronted to explain to them the meaning of the thing, The Dragon Master spoke thus: Do not concern yourselves with WHAT the meaning is of the thing, what matters is THAT it has meaning!

The small crowd was left stewing uncomfortably in their stupefaction as He walked away from them in disdain.  



It has been reasoned that the pursuit of 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 this practice you will find clarity. The clarity to decipher Self–revealing limitless possibilities, the depths of which will set you free. 

Thus spoke The Dragon Master. 


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 Dragon Master submits to the indiscriminate grope and grip of Mother Nature.  


black and white

Tessamorous Libidine (3/3)

Closed are the pink fleshed gates to Her womb

Locked are Its vigor

She enchants who enchants

This Sea Witch enchants all who encroach

Ye mortals

She is not of the land

She is of the sea

She enchants like a turquoise siren

She spirals toward Her seabed

She spirals toward Her seabed

Against the current

Against the current




Do not place them on a holy pedestal most high.

You do not own them.

You share a memory together.

That is all.

That is enough.

Focus your attention, rather, inwardly.

Fertilize and plow the soil of your soul with knowledge, experience, dedication to craft. In 10 years they will be a flickering memory, but your mastery will have become brilliant.

People will worship your greatness, with all of its sacrifices, and you will smile among the gods, alone, in great company.


The Verdict

When you see me in the incandescence of the marketplace, amongst the buzzing flies and loudmouth charlatans, a simple acknowledging nod is suffice. Do not attempt to stop me, for I will defiantly stride right past you.

You will know me by the black squishy grime under my fingernails, brooding brown eyes, and disconnected disposition.

I do not care about your petty praises, save them for the needy of spirit–the ones who count their counterfeit likes and fabricated followings.

Do they not understand that those metrics do not measure the greatness of a man?

Do they not understand that those numbers are irrelevant and subject to the capriciousness of their pseudo admirers, who care more about a followback than a true friendship?

Do they not understand that their time on earth is limited, and there is work to be done, legacy to be cultivated, self-mastery to be reaped?

Do not burden yourselves with such pathetic sycophants, for their existence will be null and void by the discerning verdict of time. 

black and white

The Frontiersman.

It has been reasoned that in the transportraiture of portraiture, you will come across the path of those who recognize the futility of truth. And you will affirm Him by the axe that He wields. 

The Dragon Master is one of such frontiersman. 


Black Masterpiece

It's 3:37 am, and the spore swarms from the black mold are insidiously clutching onto my bronchioles, mindlessly feeding on the plump grapes in my air sacs with piggish gluttony. In their selfish apathy, they have succeeded in contaminating the oxygen in my bloodstream with their greasy little toxic secretions.

Respiratory distress, unusual rash formations, abnormal skin sensations, abdominal pain, bloating, diarrhea, chronic cough–and I haven't even brewed my morning coffee yet. 

Every breath I take is a piecemeal necrosis–a symphonic masterpiece of mycotoxin discord.

I need medical attention, but my doctor is an incompetent, and I have shitty insurance. I will surely die, but I'm ready. The only thing that brings me sharp grief are my precious darkroom prints–what will happen to my well-preserved archives when I die? I hope whoever finds them conserves them for posterity.




Terra Incognita

And when asked by his photography disciples which locations are most deserving of their film, The Dragon Master spoke thus: 

The only landscapes worth shooting are the psychological–the terra incognita of the mind, of which, horizons stretch the imagination at the crossroads of infinity.

Upon saying these words, The Dragon Master left his pupils to bask in the afterglow of His wisdom.  


You Are Not Alone.

Verily, I say unto you, that you are not alone. I am by your side.

And when you sleep, I watch over you.

And when you bathe, I watch over you.

And when you dress, I watch over you.

For it has been prophesied by the Oracle at Larapim, that I will lead the exodus of your existential dread off the treacherous cliffs of consciousness, into the crashing tides of oblivion.

You are surely not alone, for The Dragon Master's gaze is fixed upon you–lustfully–full of grace. It is so.      

black and white

The Judgment

I summoned the Gorgon Tessiamus-Matu, and testified before her.

Upon hearing the abominations made against my DM13 namesake, she swiftly declared her ruling: Guilty as charged. The sentencing: Bukkake by Satan's Legion to be carried out in the Second Circle jurisdiction every Wednesday morning for the next 337 years.

Before ordering her bounty hunter to repossess their cheap, snorting, swine souls, we reconfirmed our Friday fornication dinner date, kissed, and embraced in a salacious and genital manner.

Although Alan, Andrew, and Marion were strangers, tonight they would become inextricable fellow bond servants, fastened at the hip by my VENGEANCE.

Let it be known, desecrating the DragnMastr13 name is punishable by WRATH, for I am The Impeccable One!