Dear God:

I'm tired of being kicked around like your little patsy bitch. I'm also not thrilled with that fucking whore, Life, right now either. Both of you need to get off my back, post motherfucking haste.

I've started my workout program again and neither of you cocksockets better have a damn thing to say about it. I've also successfully managed to cut out all soda but diet Cherry Coke from my life. Currently, I'm sitting here and enjoying a bottle of cold water.

however, at the moment i am also enjoying a cigarette. screw you if you think i'm giving that up right now. i am cutting back, though. bite me.

Also.

I'm still waiting for that raise I asked you for two weeks ago. And the pony I asked for when I was five.

Snootch to the nootch,
tara

[lwa dreams] secret names and snakes

I'm sitting on the green, green banks of the Mississippi river again, with one foot dangling languid in the water. It's been weeks since the strange one last spoke to me. And it's been forever since I walked the uneven, jagged tooth rows of the graveyard. Is something wrong with me?

I fret and worry and twist bits of my hair around my fingers until it arcs angrily away from my ears. Overhead, the blue and brilliant sky is painful to look at. Slitting my eyes against the heat hazy glare, I lean back. Wriggling myself comfortable into the niche I dug by hand a few months back.

This is my spot, my warming rock, my incubator. Here is where I can pluck fruit from my brain and examine it for imperfections. All around me, the world twitches and rages and seethes. But this is my calm.

I bring that calm into my lungs, breath by simple breath. Exhale stillness.

Around one wrist, a slender and smooth body circles against my skin. I can feel his tongue, a minute flickering, tasting the air. Tasting my mood. He slides against the bones of my hand, a long sinuous slide of scale to flesh. I raise my snake bound arm to my face and open one eye, peer my storm blue into his stone black.

Smiling, I allow him to brush his questing head against the lines of my jaw in a tiny exploration. Then as suddenly as he showed himself, his slithers back down my arm to the ground and disappears into a patch of scrub grass.

"Oh, my dove." A voice says behind me. "You seem to be making friends at every turn."

"I gave him space on my altar," I reply tartly. "I'd do the same for you, if you'd only tell me your name." I lean back on my palms to look at him, upside down. Today he's wearing a wide brimmed hat, a preacher man's hat, and it blocks his eyes from my sight.

Rich laughter fills my head, warm velvet to brush against the pulse and quiet places under my ear.

Conspirator soft, he bends down to whisper.