Dragonology ego deathology
Before toothless, dungeons, and a dubious NRL team, there were dragons.
Image Credit: Helen Ward, Wayne Anderson, Nghiem Ta, Chris Forsey, A. J. Wood, and Douglas Carrel
Before toothless, dungeons, and a dubious NRL team, there were dragons. Real ones. How do I know? Well, Dragonology of course. For the ignoramus, Dragonology was the first of the “-ology” series, published in 2003 by Dugald Steer. Steer followed an unconventional format. Dragon trainers alike were tasked to piece together lost journal articles and disoriented scripture.
I spent my formative years teaching “dragon school” to my cousins because, well, what else did one do in Campbelltown during the GFC? The “-ology” multimedia universe grew as rapidly as I did, fanning the fiery flames of video games, board games, feature film developments, and four more novels. I began to associate “Drake’s Comprehensive Compendium of Dragonology” with Toronto legacy Aubrey Drake Graham. I feared my frontal lobe was developing too fast — I knew I had to stop. So, as the recession retired, so did my Campbelltown classroom. That was until my long-service leave came to a close — some 15 years later — with my first acid experience.
In the words of FKA twigs and Queen Latifah in Ty Dolla $ign’s eccentric ‘Egodeath’, I suppose you could say “I let my ego down.”
A group of five assembled in an Inner West sharehouse, cutting papers into halves and preparing our drawing books for hallucinatory interpolation. The kettle hissed for Mi Goreng, Gatorade bottles exhaled in excitement and our vapes blinked at us as if to bid farewell. At once we were prepared for the quest ahead. I felt it coming on slowly, and then all at once. One began a descent into denial, another accumulated in anger, the third bargained for self-actualization, and the fourth cried. And me? I accepted my true fate, I shed my skin, and let my scales shine in the scorching sun. The room melted as my vision cleared. Mi Goreng sheets shifted into mythical scripture and vapes unveiled themselves into venomous vixens. The Gatorade gargoyle watched along from above. The group of five gathered, cut their papers, and prepared their pens for class. A fire formed in my throat as I exclaimed, “Welcome to Dragonology 101.”
Suddenly, lost journal articles were recovered, and disoriented scripture was oriented. I felt like Celine Dion — it was so hard to believe, but it was all coming back to me, as if it never left. Dragon tongues and Dragonology tongue are similar in spirit; abrasive, enticing, and elusive all at once. The classroom clamoured as my knowledge cascaded out in the form of fireballs. My five pupils were dilating into a dragon abyss. Surely this wasn’t happening. My scales clenched. Was this my final form? A single tear cooled my temper. I let my ego down. Ten hours felt like ten minutes. I gathered our papers and announced, “Class dismissed.”
