30 October 2007

Dragon Skin

I have become a dragon.

I picture you, O' Gentle Reader, sitting on your chair thinking, "Hate it when that happens."

The rough, dry, crusty, scaly skin drives me mad, but it protects me. It's not really me. Deep down inside the beast is a man. Like the grain of sand in an oyster, the deposits formed slowly year by year until the man was fully encapsulated in reptile skin.

The cave.

I am a nocturnal creature, one who lurks at night when all else sleeps. Living on my bed of gold, my hoard. making more money than I used to. . .but rarely sleeping. I don't consider it much money. . .but more than others.

Do others notice the dragon?

An aside: Do you ever get the feeling that you-the real you-is much bigger than your physical body? Lets say you're laying in bed and you get the feeling you're actually 2-3 feet beyond the confines of your flesh. . .as if you're bordering on an out-of-body experience, but not quite there. I have never had an out-of-body experience, nor do I want to.

The dragoning process started years ago. I think in my mid-20's.

Another aside: I have been thinking recently about why I write so much. Hopefully, it's entertaining. If somebody ever has opportunity, they can have a psychologist analyze me. I'm sure he would have a heyday. Not that I'd agree with his diagnosis. . .but it would be fun reading.

In college, I spent more and more time studying and less and less time with my friends. It was not unusual for me to get up at 5 AM and study 16 hours straight. Usually, I'd take a break and run a few miles to maintain fitness. I became obsessive compulsive about knowledge. I had to know everything about everything. I studied biology. . .Life. During this time, much as I hate to admit, I grew more arrogant. Knowledge breeds arrogance when God is not involved. The metamorphosis from man to beast had begun.

With each passing semester, I accumulated more and more dragonish thoughts. . .more knowledge. Soon, it took more than biology to satisfy my desire. I read like a mad man. Everything from philosophy, to Creationism/Darwinism, psychology, health, literature, apologetics, ancient history, to you-name-it. Well, not quite everything. I never (and never will) read or looked at pornography. That is something I would never do. (I might be somewhat crazy, but I'm not stupid.)

I refused to watch television and saw my friends only about once a week. My skin grew rough and a rudimentary tail started forming.

I grew increasingly condescending with D, C, J, and the others. When we did hang out, it was generally them chatting and me listening. When asked my opinion, I would start lecturing and purposely use long words they didn't understand. I grew impatient and increasingly irritated by their peevish inability to see the obvious. I spent more time in my cave and retreated in my mind to solitude. I embraced the quietness. I got lonely.

My good friends were excellent and warned me. I recall one particular incident when T came over and wanted to chat. Wanting to study (who knows what. . .microbiology), I answered his questions and basically shooed him away. Dragons are dangerous creatures who excel at wit and are keen for knowledge. They live in caves far from others and sleep on beds of gold. They're selfish, but rationalize it by saying things such as, "that's OK. We're not like others. Ours is a high and lonely destiny."

To make matters worse, I began to lose my ability to listen to people. More opportunity for solitude. Reptiles don't listen well, but their vision is keen. When one sense becomes dull, the others (sight, taste, touch) compensate and adapt. I'm much more intuitive now. My dragon wings sprouted. I soared. I flew to Asia and spent a month in the Land of Dragons. My wings were longer.

In time, the dragoning process became complete. The rough, dry scales, (what is another name for dragon skin?) . . .knowledge. Knowledge is power. Few dare approach a powerful dragon.

But something is happening to me right now. I won't always be a dragon. A man with pink fleshy skin who likes people and enjoys company. What is happening is that the dragon skin is coming off. It's not off yet, it's coming. I feel it moving, heaving. Already my human skin has detached from the reptile and now I am encased in this great mass of dragoness.


More people should read this book


3:54 AM

The very current time.

I am awake.

"Why?" I ask myself. "Because it is my job."

3:55 AM

Still awake. Typing. Looking at what I just typed. Want to sleep. Cannot stand to misspel words. Too impatient to use spellchecker at the end of post. Must delete entire word and spell it right. Can always see a mispelt word. Irritation. Tiredness. Thirstiness. I drank over 30 ounces of water in the past 5 hours and still dreadfully thirsty. Must be the salt from the spaghetti eaten earlier. Always must add chili powder to the can of spaghetti sauce. For who can eat it otherwise. Some do.

4:04 AM

Cold. It is cold in Virginia Beach now. In the 50s. Fahrenheit. Cold and dark. Cold and dark and dank. Wonder if the fellow at 7-11 got a new battery for his rusty van? I tried to help him. Honest. Tried to jump start his car. Nothing. Told him he needed a new battery. Did this knowledge move him? Who knows? He ran out of gas at 7-11 and told me so. Said it wasn't the first time it happened. The van had no tread on the tires. The guy wandered off to McDonalds and came back. Why did he go to McDonalds? Did he have a friend there? Do not know. Do know the guy wasn't the brightest light bulb.

4:11 AM

Cold. Still cold. Vaguely. . .anticipated something. Close to time to leave. Elvis will leave the building soon. I see a black chair. A dirty old thing that fallen humans have spent much time in. It reaks of evilness. Reminds me of slime. Dark things. And toads. There is something about the black chair that reminds me of a toad. An unclean reptilian thing. Not inherently good. A fallen creature. It should be burned. And the ashes buried in the Earth.

4:16 AM

Nose is cold. Not as cold as it was earlier. Warmer than 5 minutes ago. Thirstier. I ate ice cream this afternoon. Reeses Pieces ice cream with chocalate fudge, and in an edible waffle bowl. Heated it up in the microwave to make it easier to eat. After the spaghetti. And the hamburger and rice and italian dressing. Got the Italian dressing yesterday at Farm Fresh. Like Italian dressing. Not fat-free Italian dressing. That's bad. Bad taste and bad as in unhealthy bad. Detest fat-free food. Sucralose. Bad. Kills puppies. And maybe old people. Seniors should not eat sucralose. Bad. Unhealthy. Typing that last word just reminded me of salty peanuts. Mysteriousness. Such a long word with a limited meaning. God is such a short word for the infinite. As is the word 'sea.'

4:21 AM

I posted on this blog today. Somehow I feel like an astronaut in 2001: A Space Oddyssey. Like Dave Bowman. INTJ. Like the Keirsey temperament sorter. Puddleglum is an INTJ. Jason is an INTJ. 1% of the population is an INTJ. C.S. Lewis was an INTJ. Katherine Hepburne was too.

25 October 2007

Hell, 48169

I found Hell, and it's a small town in Michigan.

No lie.

Click here to go to Hell.

23 October 2007


Suffering, I think, is one of the signs that an afterlife exists.

It it possible to be completely satisfied on Earth? I think not. This tells me we we're made for another place and time. We're like embryos, biding our time until we can become fully human.

It would be a strange world if humans got hunger pangs, but no food existed.

Tuesday morning. 330 AM. Current time. Have not slept-really slept-since Saturday night. Have taken some extended naps and worked nearly 30 hours so far this week. Amazingly-not very tired. Caffeine and chai tea, you know. Not really tired, more like a full body malaise. The mind is not tired. It's on auto-pilot. Cannot stop thinking-fast. Not eaten much either. Just want to stare out the window at the moon. Still at work. Always at work. Saturday. Something strange. Watched TV for 45 minutes.

Description of the table beside me: black ebony surface. @50 glass bottles of pulverized coal that can fit through a 60-mesh screen, a bottle of Benzoic Acid for calibrating bombs, compressed air can, one metal spatula, an ancient radio that Tertullian might have used, 2 pens, one pencil, half a book holder, dust, 3 notebooks explaining the intricacies of bomb calorimeters (interesting reading, btw), two more notebooks containing the scribblings of some co-workers (they might be alchemists), some biotech magazines, a calendar with train pictures. I should mention that inside the table, one can find a dozen or more packs of condiments and probably a plastic knife. . .and a pez dispenser (a silver kermit-like creature that boxes).

19 October 2007


It seemed the world was divided into good and bad people. The good ones slept better... while the bad ones seemed to enjoy the waking hours much more.
--Woody Allen

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.

A little later he created man in his image and placed him in what is now present-day Iraq.

The man fell asleep naming all the animals, so God made another person and gave it curves.

Now, men sleep a whole lot less and hardly talk at all.

16 October 2007


Do what you've been designed to do.

I met a man who, for the past 25 years, has been under the impression he is a horse.

But in the meantime, it's a good idea to work your day job with diligence until you can do what you been created to do full time.

Only he's not Mr. Ed, of course. He's not even a horse at all, though sometimes he gets hoarse.

For if you don't work your day job with diligence, and do just whatever is necessary, co-workers will despise your laziness.

He likes to talk alot-too much, in fact, and spends much of his work time on the phone-pretending he's a horse. . .or a yak.

His name is Woody Cedar-not his real name. We call him Cedar because he smells funny. I don't think he knows that.

Yep, 25 years, and still, he wonders why people don't recognize his horsey equine nature.

People who practice what they're designed to do, do not have to tell people what their gifts are. It will be self-evident over time.

I told him perhaps he's not really a horse, maybe just a jockey or even a horse trainer. Alas, he got mad and neighed at me.

Naysayers come and naysayers go. So, better hold on to your dream and not tell everybody what it is.

Woody Cedar wants a raise.

There is a good reason why the Master gave the lazy servant only one talent. He knew what the lazy creature was worth. . .knew his abilities and inclinations. Though the Master was called Cruel, he certainly wasn't stupid-and he was rich.

Do you think Woody Cedar is a horse? He is obsessed with Quaker Oats and sugar.

Apple trees produce apples, pear trees produce pears, and strawberry plants produce strawberries.


08 October 2007


Madness is most definitely the end result of an over analytical mind subject to extended periods of solitary. NASA, or some private space company, on a mission to Mars would be wise to keep the astronauts busy with extremely complex tasks to forestall this insanity. Like it or not, an atheist should never be sent to the red planet. A married couple would be best as two men or two women would kill one another.

Looking for evidence?

Who do you argue with the most growing up? Most likely your siblings, as they're the ones you spend the most time with. I know from personal experience that what is a slight irritation with a co-worker can, and does, eventually lead to thoughts that best not be published online as. . .certain things can be taken the wrong way by those looking for. . .perhaps I should stop here.

The spaceship must must contain an area where one can go and be alone for as long as necessary. . .for peace, and quiet, and solitude. A place to be alone with one's thoughts and. . .let's see. . .a soundproof room would be fantastic. (A soundproof room would be great right now). The ship also mustn't contain weapons as it is almost inevitable one will be tempted to use them to, say. . .to smack the co-Mars-traveler over the head to stop his. . .singing?. . .hand-clapping?. . .(great! now he's pointing at the wall and heckling!). . .and , um, dancing. Did I mention I'm writing this (wrote this) blog entry late at night at work in the same room. . .with others. Yeah, stress. Now..I'm feeling it. Yep. Apparently, Jason does have a breaking point. . .and has emotions, and can under extreme duress be. . .forced to. . .I think now I should make myself busy. . .Thank God I can clock out soon. I would hate to post my next blog entry from prison.

07 October 2007

Life at 33

Another thing I have found in Life @ 33,is the more analytical one's mind, the harder it is to make decisions based on what your spirit says. If one is a Christian, one should endeavor to make all important decisions based on your spirit, which is really using your intuition as it (should be) in sync with the Holy Spirit.

I suppose if one is not a Christian, one must rely on the mind, to a certain extent, but even then, all Life decisions would be a hit-or-miss affair at best, or lead to madness at worst. For when a predominately analytical person goes through Life, inevitably they go mad. It's the logical endpoint of the sum of all their decisions.


Because leading an existence with your spirit out of phase (to use a physics term) with the Holy Spirit can only be meaningless, as only Order can come from God.

Order is part of the intrinsic nature of God. To act out on one's own. . .to not be on the Spirit's wavelength. . .leads to inevitable chaos.

Once a writer wrote an epic novel, such a good novel the characters seemed real, though Reality was much more than the created people fathomed. . .or could fathom. The characters even had something called Free-Will, a two-edged sword. They could go through the story doing what the writer intended, or go off on their own way based on their perception of reality using all the facts of life they knew. Though some of the more noble characters knew all the known facts, they didn't know all the facts for not all the facts were known and remained hidden-for it amused the writer to do so.

Once, one of their seers, a son of a king and well-learned in all the known facts, forsook all and lived in the desert for 40 years. Then, the author wrote himself into the story and told the seer to return to the city. Though he did not want to do so, he complied. The seer happened to be the most humble man on the Earth. . .but perhaps the reader already knows this story.

The more analytical, or logical, one becomes without the Holy Spirit, the more Creativity declines. This is the nature of the universe. The ancient Egyptians could tell you that the bigger, the better, does not necessarily lead to the good life. Hieroglyphics and the Chinese system of writing (the one used before the Pinyan system that was based on characters) are examples of the bigger, and the better, and comprehensive systems leading FROM creativity.

At a future time, decisions will be made on intuition. . .on one's spirit. Humanity will function as one organism, like a colony of bees, or cardiac muscle, or. . .what else? A body.

I have had enough apocalyptic dreams over the past few years to know a little more than most. Time forbids me now, but I think that in the future, we will have the ability to convert our bodies (mass) into energy (E), and move at ridiculously fast velocities through the universe.

We already know Energy and mass are incontrovertible. . .E = mC2 with c being the speed of light. Does this not make sense? I think it makes more sense than the inside of what a certain candy bar wrapper reads. . .substantialicious. . .the weight of something when you weigh it with your tongue. . .

If one has a body of pure energy, one can do some remarkable feats.

Travel through walls
Walk on water
Move from one planet to another without the constraints of flesh and populate new planets

Sounds like weird science fiction. . .or perhaps Jason's been spending far too much time alone.

I've not really watched TV in 7 years. . .scary.

05 October 2007


Moving, moving, moving. That's what I'm doing.

Something interesting. I advertised a combination washer/dryer on Craigslist two days ago. Out of the 400,000 people who live here (in Virginia Beach alone), the woman I'm selling it to is my sister's boyfriend's roommate's mom. She knows the guy quite well.

02 October 2007

600 yards

As of yesterday, at 11:00 AM, we now live exactly 600 yards from the Atlantic Ocean.

I think God likes me. The place is a whole lot cheaper as I will be saving $300/month than the current place. I find it remarkable that for the past year, I had planned (in great detail mind you) on moving to Washington State, close to the Pacific. Perhaps one day, I will move there. . .I really want to. I miss mountains.

Unfortunately, I am blogging here at my former place, my sister is still at work, still has all the new house keys, and apparently does not remember where she put them.

And that is OK. Because the Chinese food was good and I found a buyer for this ridiculously heavy washer/dryer/noisemaker I've been trying to get rid of.