2011 11 19 196

Robin, dearest, things are looking up for you. I can see in this piece your darkest desires, your deepest emotions, and how they all come together to make the beautiful, troubled person you are. You are making changes in your life, Robin, drastic changes. No longer are you freezing prostitutes in your walk in freezer, and raping babies in the dead of night. You are burned out, like a lightbulb. Winter has come Robin. Winter, peace, death, rest. You are putting these old habits to rest. The snowflakes say it all. You are taking up the noble art of religious snake handling. You have seen the light. How many boa constrictors have you vanquished in your conquests? You hold them gently, as you would hold a delicate baby lamb made of glass, you raise them above your head. The blood drips from your scalp, but you do not notice. You have asserted dominance over this majestic beast of the jungle, therefore you know it will not hurt you. It understands what a tortured person you are. You, Robin dearest, have found your calling. You are a religious snake handler. You speak to them, I suspect. They know you understand them. You bring them coffee, I hear snakes like that, to win them over. You help them through their break ups and hardships. You know what a snake thinks like, what they yearn for. You pretend you make music for yourself, but really you make it for the snakes. The snakes, Robin, are your only friends. You will abandon all your human connections and become one with them. It is your destiny. They can care for you much better than your parents can, much better than dead prostitutes ever could. You sleep in a pile of writhing snakes, waking up at odd points in the night so that you may observe the way their scales delicately overlap, the way they hiss and make love in the night. You, sadly, cannot make love to snakes. You wish you could. Robin, I believe your dilemma is clear. You are trans-special. This picture says at all. Look at this art you have just created. You are trans-special, you want to be a snake. I know you try to make your messages increasingly cryptic, so that I might not grasp them, but I always do. Embrace your inner snake, Robin dearest. It is the only way.