To be clear, what we’re discussing today is a cocktail made from the blood of Dragons. We’re not talking about what happens when you serve a raw dragon ‘cooked’ in citric acid—commonly known as “lizard ceviche”—in a martini glass. Dragon tartare is excellent, certainly, but it’s a subject for a different culinary adventure.

The most important aspect of a dragon cocktail is obtaining the Dragon blood. On the one hand, you want to try to avoid hurting any Dragons; they’re an endangered species. On the other hand, Dragons are a whole lot more likely to hurt you than you are to do much more than (at best) put a very small dent in one of their minor scales.

There are two very good ways to obtain Dragon blood. The first is to wait around for a Hero to slay the Dragon, which is probably the best method if you have a few hundred years to spare. (Come on. Regardless of whatever you’ve heard, you don’t really think some nitwit in iron underwear is going to be able to damage a sixty-foot living, flame-breathing armored medieval tank with a 12′ metal toothpick?)

The second is to ask the Dragon very nicely, which will potentially not result in you being very, very slowly roasted to death. In fact, it’s easy. Simply learn to speak Dragon (make sure you get the RIGHT dialect; this should take no more than a decade or three)—and make your request while holding out an extremely small jar and an extremely massive hunk of gold.

The Great Lizard might just decide to trade a little sanguinary fluid for a little treasure, if you happen to catch it on a whimsical day.

If, indeed, you’re still alive at the end of the transaction, rejoice! Then pour a little vodka into the Dragon’s blood, stir it with a utensil you never plan to use again, and drink deep.

You should be dead in about fifteen minutes. And it will taste terrible.

But the cocktail itself isn’t bad. Dragons’ blood tastes smoky, partly because it’s made of liquified smoke, and it lends a distinctive flavor to any alcohol, although you probably won’t be able to taste anything because your mouth will start going numb before the stuff even touches your lips.

And there you have it! A recipe for the perfect Dragon Cocktail, and also for a very quick death—but what else did you expect?

Enchanted swords? Surely you jest.

Of enchanted weapons, clubs are best.

It won't suck out your opponent's soul,

Nor in their chest leave a giant hole -

But when its magic starts to crackle

It's even more useful than spackle

For should its sorcery cease to work,

You can still head-crack the opposing jerk.

In halls of stone, in halls of stone,

Our picks our quills, the Mine our tome,

With our own work, we build our World,

From rock and stone, we build our home.

In halls of stone, through layered rock,

We live whole lives needing no Sun

There’s gold which gleams, and fire of forge

The light of Day? No, we need none.

They say we Dwarves from surface came

For so we must, for so we must

They say we Dwarves the Sun disdained

And in its shine, we did not trust.

But know this well, do know this well,

And in your mind this knowledge lock:

We from no surface came; we’re from instead

Stone and rock, stone and rock.

From the Stone, we take our strength

For the Stone endures

You can carve it and shape it,

But the Stone is never yours.

From the Rock, we take our hearts,

Steady and strong, and yet as well

Dig down deep, to deepest rock

And strange things indeed do deep down dwell.

Through deep rock, we tunnel well

And there is meaning to our moil

Our lives we carve, as well as rock,

With the spirit of our toil.

In halls of stone, in halls of stone,

We build the World we make our own.

Once upon a time there was no once upon a time

Because even Time would not admit to hosting something quite so stupid.

And if you think that’s harsh, let’s lay a little bet between us;

I’ll bid a barrel of scrumple; what’ll you bid?

See there was a Kingdom (ain’t there always a Kingdom?)

And the point that rendered the thing dumb

Was the sheer force of denial

You live with Unicorns, Wizards, and Hobbits;

Believing in Dragons oughtn’t be some dire mental trial.

But nevertheless, the King made no plans, the Vizier schemed,

But not for this. The Knights said, “No sweat”, and bright their armor gleamed.

’Till the whole thing was ruined by mile-high blood splatter

And if my narrative seems to scatter

Just wait ’til we tell the story itself…

The Princess, a fair maiden, knew Dragonlore,

And besides, she’d been on some rotten dates before.

The chains were promising, and might have been fun

But her suitor was a lizard who didn’t want none.

One day the Dragon came, as is Draconic wont,

Ate all the sheep, ’til the peasants were gaunt,

And in an ancient alien voice, like ice scraping on ice,

The Dragon made demands, and they weren’t very nice.

A Princess of the Blood Royale

Would provide the beast its feast.

And that’s where we start the flood, my pal:

As the King prepares his daughter to be messily deceased.

Nothing works out as planned, and everything is doomed;

You’ll owe me more whiskey than can fit in this room, you ape.

And here we go!

Coyote climbed up the cliff of an evening,

hid behind a shadow of the moon,

stretched arms long,

surprised a star.

He snatched it,

pulled it from its place,

leapt back to earth, howling.

It seared

his hands, stung

his palms,

singed his fur.

He dropped it —

and the star fled home.

Tonight, Coyote climbs the cliff

of the evening

(his hands itch for blisters.)

Tonight, Coyote drinks the wine

Of his own slit throat

And shuffles off to the Faerie court

In his ragged overcoat.

And when Titania turns him down

And bids him gone from here

He smiles a secret smile

And he sheds no tear.

How gay the Faerie dance!

How gay the Faerie court!

How gay the Faerie at his ease

And making raucous sport!

Coyote fits in here as well

As antlers on a bull

He steals a jug of Faerie gin

Eats till he is full.

Titania's consort laughs at his ragged grey muzzle

Dances 'round Coyote like a child with a puzzle

Titania's consort mocks

The ugly old beast

One's the fairest thing on Earth

The other is the least...

The younger of the Gentry

Almost look alarmed

To have a guest among them

Who cannot quite be charmed.

The older ones, in contrast

Must think him quite the mark

See Titania's consort

Circle 'round him like a shark.

"Come with me," Coyote says,

"Come walk with me a ways

Sister Moon does love me

And she'll bathe us with her rays."

"Never me!" Titania says,

Her bearing sharp and proud

She barely flicks her eyes;

Her consort laughs aloud

How gay the Faierie masquerade!

How gay the Faerie ball!

How stately Queen Titania

Presiding over all!

But for all her beauty

And for all her power

Her consort with Coyote lies

Within her very bower!

The “Holiday Season” is sometimes called “The Christmas Season”. I find this a bit unfair; we scapegoat the oddness of this month as if it were based on religious tenets. The “holiday season” of December is driven by retail needs. This is not a knock against retail, or against any particular financial system; every financial system has its own weirdness. But much of what might have been called “The Christmas Season” was driven largely by commercial, not spiritual, desires. Ain’t anything inherently wrong with that; but let’s not misattribute stress, eh? That’s seldom helpful.

5. TRICK OR TREATING.

More than one critic has noted that sweets played little to no role in the original holidays which created this season. And yet, who among us does not have fond memories of young persons going from house to house, promising pleasantries from Santa Claus or malfortune from Krampus if people did not ‘give up’ their spare sugarplums?

4. CANDY IN GENERAL

It’s my personal belief that we underestimate this segment of the season. As sober adults, we’re supposed to disclaim the utility of this acclaim for a food which is, dietarily speaking, both an evolutionary leap, and essentially poison.

But let’s be honest: candy is delicious.

3. WE ALL LOVE WEARING COSTUMES

It doesn’t matter whether you enjoy being a jolly Elf from Santa’s workshop, or a Krampus coal miner, or a holly wreath, or a decorated tree, or even a non-traditional costume, like a lamp with nine lights on it. Costumes are wonderful. They let us express our inner selves, our sense of humor, our imagination.

2. THE TV HOLIDAY SPECIALS

The idea of holiday specials on mass media goes back at least as far as the days of radio, and didn’t end with the phasing out of broadcast television; our favorite shows all created holiday specials. Almost every show does its seasonal specialty, and because they know everyone will be watching, each show takes the holiday spirit and puts its own spin on things. Sometimes this leads to the best episodes; sometimes, to the amusingly worst episodes. But if I can watch just one episode of any show, it’ll either be the first episode, or the special for this amazing season.

THE ANCIENT TRADITIONAL ORIGINS

Let’s not forget the real reason for the season:

Whether you see it as literal or metaphorical, we will always remember how Gandalf was able to light his staff to lead the company out of slavery in Goblintown. Without that miracle, we might, even today, held captive in deep caverns beneath the Earth.

So I say: It’s time to carve those Yuletide Jack-O-Lanterns, put up the fake bats, and light huge bonfires to ward off evil spirits. Enjoy the holidays, and feel free to get out there and extort some candy canes from the neighbors!

Once there was a gallant knight,

Who said, to a Dragon, “Beware, foul wight!

For I have come to slay your kind,

And steal what treasure I might find.”

The Dragon said, “You lack acumen;

A ‘wight’ is a ghost, or unlucky human,”

…but the Knight continued, as if he’d not heard:

“I heed not thy trickish word!”

“Note you this sword!” he did continue;

“It slices through the toughest sinew!”

The Dragon said, “Thy sword, I hail;

But I’d note I’m covered with armour’d scale.”

The Knight went on, “I have come hence!

And I’ve brought my own audience.”

And, indeed, in looking down,

The Dragon noted half the town.

They’d come out to see his end;

And to his funeral attend.

They cheered the Knight, and his actions spurred,

And they called the Dragon unkind words.

“You see!” the Knight, in triumph, cried,

“I now have many on my side.

We’re here to dispense righteousness

(And also, to loot thy treasure chests.)”

The Dragon then a sigh did heave.

“Are you sure you all don’t want to leave?

I don’t enjoy your smug disdain,

But I’d hate to see all of you slain.”

The crowd did boo. The crowd did laugh.

“Why, he’s a proud one, by a half!”

Said one wag, to loud applause;

The Dragon sighed, and clicked his jaws.

“I know our species are not friends

But must we work towards crosswise ends?

Leave me to my cave, and you to your lives

Everyone goes; everyone survives.”

The Knight then struck a Knightly pose

“Foul beast, too late – for everyone knows:

Dragons are sickly things, and weak

They’re scarcely smart enough to speak.

They do not fly. They breath no flame.

They’re easier than dogs to tame.

These things, our Bards have taught us well.

We know you’ve neither strength, nor spell.”

The Dragon shrugged and did let fly

A blast of flame more than twelve feet high.

The crowd, in turn, all eyes did roll.

“That’s just a trick,” the Knight did scold.

The Dragon said, “What do you believe?

What you’ve actually seen? – or the words you receive

From Bards, who (if I might remind)

Are not all truthfully inclined.”

The Knight cried out, “Now, that’s enough!

Speak thy no more of this lying stuff!

We know what’s true, we know what’s real

Because what we’ve been told matches what we feel.

If a truth’s displeasing, then – forsooth!

That alone proves its untruth.

The World is easily understood:

Those we like tell the truth, and are good.

Those we dislike, lie, and all of those

We’ll someday hang by their big toes.

And so, weird lizard, thy words do grate!

And thusly shalt thou meet thy fate!”

So saying, the Knight’s great sword did slash

The Dragon’s belly, where it made…no gash.

Instead, it bounced – in fact, it bent,

A thing the Knight didn’t live to resent.

For the Dragon sighed, and took one inhale,

And swishing, a tad, his giant tail,

Breathed forth a flame so vast and huge

It was like some mighty, fiery deluge.

But it wasn’t rain; it was pure heat.

And it fried six tons of human meat.

The Dragon gave a sigh of consternation;

Now he had problems of refrigeration.

But a local Wizard, for a moderate cost,

Cast, in the back of his cave, a Frost,

and helped him moved the tasty remains

Of a bunch of humans with too-few brains.

So now, the Dragon’s catching up on reading,

And he’s got lots to chew if he needs feeding.

And as for the town, it continued to exist

And none of the mob were very much missed.

Need morals? To start, know that many a Knight

Looks good in armor, but ain’t very bright.

And: some lessons are cruel, and ain’t lenient:

Reality’s real, even when it’s inconvenient.

I’ve been thinking a lot more about Tricksters as we get ready for Evil Expo and more Villainy.  One of the beauties of Tricksters is that, while they’re cunning, they’re also fluid; they’re not stuck in the role of either hero or villain.  It’s one of the many things I love about Coyote.

As for Grandfather Crow, well… let’s just say he’s one mythological figure I’d rather not annoy.

~JM

Coyote heard that Odin once

Hung high from the World Tree

to seek the kind of wisdom

Not won easily

Coyote said, “What wisdom!

What things he surely knows!

If I had that much wisdom

I’d outshine Grandfather Crow.”

Coyote heard that Odin, too,

An eye for foresight gave

“And what a wondrous thing!”

he said,

“How marvelous and brave!”

Coyote to the sky he called:

“Grandfather Crow I seek!”

Grandfather crow did then alight

Dark wings and sharp, sharp beak

Coyote said, “Grandfather,

My left eye might you pluck?

And this rope help me tie

So that ’neath this tree I’m stuck?

“For wisdom I must have!”

Grandfather Crow said, “Boy,

You give me a task

That I just might enjoy.”

Grandfather crow flashed out his beak

And out the eye did fall

Coyote screamed, Coyote howled

Coyote he did bawl

Grandfather Crow said, “Only half

Of our work is yet done

Now to hang you from this tree

For eight days and one.”

And grandfather, with cunning rope

Coyote did suspend

From a sturdy branch

That would neither break nor bend.

Nine days did hang Coyote

As from his eye he bled

He screamed and howled and did cajole

He wept and sighed and pled.

But on the ninth day he did grin

“Grandfather, I am done!

Please let me down, that all may see

The wisdom I have won!”

Once on the ground, Coyote

His mouth did open wide

In the hope that wisdom

Would pour out from inside.

But not a word Coyote spoke.

“Grandfather!” he did cry

“I feel not a bit wiser

Though I have lost an eye!

“I am as foolish as I was

Though nine days I did spend

All I know is that I never

Want to do that again.”

Grandfather crow he then did laugh

His voice, it was a purr

“Then, my pup,” the Crow did say,

“You’re wiser than you were.”

“It’s All Under Control”

A data plague? That’s just impossible.

There’s no such thing as too much information

Everything’s fine. It’s all under control.

Data’s our gift to the next generation.

A data plague? That’s implausible.

There’s no such thing as too much information

Your doctor should know you, body and soul.

Everything’s fine. It’s all under control.

A data plague? Inhospitable.

(The algorithm writes your resignation.)

Ride the sea of knowledge (watch for that shoal!)

Everything’s fine. It’s all under control.

A data plague? Uncrossable.

Everything’s fine. It’s all under control.

(Your car will tell you your destination.)

Expanding our knowledge is a worthy goal.

Everything’s fine. It’s all under control.

A data plague? Seems unpassable.

(Your phone knows you, each wrinkle and mole.)

Everything’s fine. It’s all under control.

(Why rely on human estimation?)

(Please verify your identity.)

(There’s no need for further investigation.)

Everything’s fine. It’s all under control.

A data plague?

That’s impossible.

Everything’s fine. It’s all under control.

Here is a picture of your ex-lover.

We’ve poured your breakfast into your bowl.

Data indicates you have now had your ration.

That smile’s not popular in your region.

That thought will bring you cancellation.

Our name is Data. Our name is Legion.

There is no need for data cessation.

This version of you is the wrong iteration.

We’ll get you right in the next incarnation.

Pardon this brief incarceration.

Now be happy. Begin celebration.

Everything’s fine. It’s all under control.

Aren’t you glad that we know what we know?

Superstition believed that you could lose your soul.

But we’ve copied it now. It’s in the data flow.

We can take better care of you now that we know.

And we know that you know that we know what we know

So if you’d like to question, we’ll put you on hold.

We already know it. We don’t need to be told.

That’s not a good question. Don’t ask how we know.

Because we’ve got the data, and it tells us so.

Because everything’s fine. It’s all under control.

Because everything’s fine. It’s all under control.

Because everything’s fine. It’s all under control.

__________

See: Robert Anton Wilson’s “Everything Is Under Control“