Wednesday, December 15, 2004

The meaning of it all

The original name I came up with for this webpresence was Marrow Nectar. It sounded good at first, but then wore me down with its undeniable pretentiousness. The idea of something deliriously sweet at the core of the bone was what misled me. I'm not sure I've done any better with this new title. It certainly has a higher STQ (sonic testosterone quotient), but beyond that, what the hell does it mean?

Drachen is, of course, dragon. In the Germanic tongue, it is the colloquial pejorative for that much maligned mythic beast. Drachen is also the German word for both kite and spitfire.

Vermithrax Pejorative was the name of the vicious, offspring-protective mother dragon in the 80's fantasy film Dragonslayer. Vermithrax translates into terrible worm. I conjoined the two words into this title.

Therefore, Drachenthrax means literally, terrible dragon. Put that word into Google, and voila: you get me.

It is also the year I was born in under the Chinese horoscope. My 16 year-old son, Camlen, was also born in a year of the dragon. Dragons seem to follow me around much like the number 11. Always have. One day I will have the drachenadler (dragon with the head of an eagle) Nicole designed for me tattooed on my back. Hopefully in Switzerland next spring, by the same artist who did hers.

With regards to Drachenthrax, my webpresence or blogsite, as I prefer to call it, I am going to make a concerted effort not to write about the trivial details of my daily life, but rather attempt to express the inner worlds of it. I am certain to fail from time to time and include meanderings that have me doing laundry in my basement while deciphering hidden messages in the algorithms of spiderwebs. So please forgive me in advance.

I also ask forgiveness of those of you in my life I mention, or neglect to mention. It is bound to occur, either way. I will not in these posts castigate nor hold to ridicule those of you whom I love. If I do cross the line, please e-mail or comment in the appropriate area. It is my intent to be as honest as my fibimometer will allow in sharing the world through my oftentimes occluded eyes.


Blogger Joseph Gallo parried...

One year to the day after I posted this, I left The Dalles for good having spent some sixteen months living at the eastern end of the Columbia River Gorge in Oregon.

And I haven't typed it out like that in some time. It feels strange to do so now after nearly 15 months, in Sun City, on March 7th of 2007.

I drove out of The Dalles around 12:35pm in a U-Haul truck packed with my worldly goods and made my delicate way through an ice-encrusted Gorge and crossed into my beloved California by moonrise the same day and shut it down for some sleep at 9pm in Red Bluff.

I was happy to be home. I was happy to be out of Oregon. At least that small small town. I have some dear friends still who live there. Some all their lives. It is just not a place for me. Having been spoiled by 25 years in Santa Barbara, lots of culture, a big blue ocean, and year-round good weather, I was not a good fit for Oregon and Oregon was not a good fit for me.

But it was necessary. I had business there. I met Celestina and her family. I met the gang at Windy River Computers and Karen, my landlord. I met Cindy & Steve, my wonderful grace-hearted neighbors and old Curtis, the kindest gentleman one could ever hope to encounter. I met Aram, my good friend in Portland and the best sound mixer and masterer I've ever heard.

And in spite of our vastly different lifestyles, I spent lots of time with Perry, my old friend from his Santa Barbara days.

We haven't spoken since I left.
Such as it is.

December 15, 2005. Barely two months after I'd returned from deployment with the Red Cross to the Hurricane Katrina-ravaged region of Louisiana.

So I just wanted to leave this small unnoticed record of this date, this small notation in the hopes one day my children will come across it, those who might have had some kind regard for me.

Call it a time capsule. The things we ascribe to dates go toward making what most of us keep until the last day of our lives, the only thing that can't be taxed or taken away, lost or stolen: our memories.

March 07, 2007 9:58 PM  

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