I am my foot, I am the sun.

DAMN, I took a long-ass time to blog back after a tremendously long transitional period in my life.

Honey, I have gone through one spectrum of the industry to the other in a matter of weeks...lemme tell ya!

And as I carve faux Satanic symbols into the barsoap of life while I rest my tired bum upon the golden throne of the future, it  never ceases to amaze me as to how I manage to manifest so many memorable moments in this phenomenal existence.... due to the many perceptions that I have stashed away amongst the abundant variety of skeletons in my closet.

Hey, fuck you if you don't like to play in left field once in a while!

                                                            
FOR, my name is Smokey Jane!

No disrespect if you feel as if I have offended you.

No disrespect if you feel as if I have yet to impress you to the point of mentally masterbation to my image.

That comes naturally.

In the meantime, I sit here in this lawn chair shivering outside in the cold afternoon sun.

These fleece pants may be fraying all over the carpets, but they are making my legs so comfortable in this winter air.

Time to masterbate a little bit, in a desperate attempt to warm myself up...or at least thwart my mind from thinking about those poor skiers that get stranded up in the mountains and their noses turn black from frostbite.

It's pretty late in the afternoon anyways.

The sun is leaving a shadow-casting upon everything now.

Nobody can see me smoke this joint on this lawnchair with my hand shoved elbow-deep within the comfort of these awesome fucking pants. 

 Everyone should be inside already, taking their home-from-work shits or making din-din for the kiddies by now.

Nobody in their right mind would be out here at this kind of temperature besides me anyways.

And, it's for the best that I sit outside regardless, for in my possession is a facsinating sort of sticky-icky that I managed to acquire from a traveling Central American metal band. 

This particular sticky-icky, when released from it's confines, it' manages to stinks up the house with such a thick and heavy aroma of the rainforest that only an outdoor consuming would be understandably tolerated.

Smokey Jane consumes.

 I'm listening to Alan Watts and I pray to the gods of Illusion for his milky British accent to send me to another place inside of my mind.

A place that will take me far, far away in this magical lawn chair and occupy my mind with wonderful things to see and do so I won't have to think about those precious hash browns I placed in the oven a while ago to combat my munchies within it's shapely, starchy potatoey goodness baked to an ever-so-golden brown in the oven.

About six minutes left.

I got my handful of stolen McDonald's ketchup packets gripped tight in my fleece pants pocket as I utilize them externally against my hyper clitoris through the soft fabric.

 Shaking with anticipation and carnal delight, I feel like an old priest watching the schoolboys rough-house in the guzzling water of an open fire hydrant on a hot summer day when it comes to waiting for my munchies.

Especially when your stoned out of your mind.

Your in the moment and time ceases to exist for a little while.

Isn't that right?

Feel it as that little drop of happiness touches your spinal cord sending waves of satisfaction and assurance that everything that exists is so fucking wonderful.

So, I snatch my hands out of my pants and fetch a few emergency candles from underneath the kitchen sink and attempt to light them outside to pay homage to existence before the sun went down.

The fucking candles wouldn't stay lit, so I happened to come across some fireworks that supposedly must have been saved for some special occasion that I decided that THIS would become.

You only live once in THIS lifetime!

RIGHT?

I lit those sons-of-bitches right there in that basement and carried them up the stairs and  out the door into the backyard of our beloved suburbian home.

BOOM!

SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BOOM!

That was the last thing that I heard before I opened my eyes in front of a lot of strange and unfamilar faces...

Oh, wait...

Wait a sec...I recognize one of them now...

What the....!

I believe that one is.....Jesus?

Yep!!

 That one's Jesus, alright!

Oh, there's two of them!

A black one and a white one!

Who'dda thought!

And theres another one who looks like Oprah in schoolteacher drag...

Damn, she sure is showing some major hard-nipple through her fluffy pink sweater.

My masculine side begins to habitually stroke what looks like an erect 16 inch Carolina-blue penis coming out of my body.

Smurf-tastic!.

Immediately, I stroke to ejaculation while surrounded by an entourage of people whom I know aren't real according to the fact that at least two of them are Jesus.

I fall asleep to the sound of police sirens in a mist of fog and skin-numbing icy-hotness that  only excites the pure bliss inside of my soul that I must express through shouts of pleasure and showtunes of the Disco Era.

Hands all over my body.

A prickly blanket of warmth covers me as a record plays backwards in my subconcious.

The words seem to say...

MAKE LOVE to EVERYONE
EVERYONE loves EVERYONE.

Let's LOVE EVERYONE FOREVER

...a mouthful of compressed oxygen to the lungs, 

....an adrenaline shot to the heart...

 ...and a five thousand dollar ambulance trip later...

I am here to tell the tale of happiness.

Is there such a thing as too much happiness?

If it is...we sure do try to stop it with our negative thinking don't we?

Yes, sir.

That is why we create conflict for ourselves.

It's only natural.

That's why there exists such a phrase as..

"too much"

Trust me, it's a true statement.

For some people...

But, for me....

It doesn't matter that we had to put the house up on a $150,000 bail so I can enjoy these few weeks of fresh air and whatever freedom that I have left.

 It doesn't matter about the counts of public nudity, arson and rape charges I'll be facing next month and the fact that I'll be giving birth to twins next summer due to something I must of gotten myself into that day, which is still an experience that I still can't quite remember.

It doesn't matter about the fact that the home I burned down had a lapse in the insurance premium and now we live in a tent on the grounds of the charred remains of our precious memories while recovering from a missing ring and middle finger that happened to be blown off mysteriously.... perhaps due to a explosive device of some sort. 

No, Ma'am!

What matters is that life is great!

And I intend to look UP from now on!

Love,

 Smokey Jane.

(P.S. Just kidding about the pregnancy.)