2010-07-04: Mary Jane

Starring:

Blossom_V5icon.pngMoon_V5icon.png

Date: July 4, 2010

Summary:

It's code for pot.


"Mary Jane"

An Apartment

The small New York apartment in the seedy part of town is a little out of place. The floor is adorned with colourful hemp carpets, the walls draped with multicoloured fabric, and where a couch would be there are large oversized cushions and beanbag chairs on which to sit. WHat does belong though is the smell, the distinct smell of home grown grass; not grown here, but certainly smoked here.

Draped in a lavender kaftan that looks more like a sorceress' outfit and dripping in gold jewelry, Moon Unit's hair is pulled up into a kind of french roll. A pair of Yoko Ono round sunglasses perch on her nose as she floats about the room and puffs on a joint. She's feeling particularly eccentric today and as such, she knows the necessity of her grass. Quietly she shuffles to the door of her roommate which she raps on, "Hey~ I just lit up if you want down on this, babe~"

Suspended by the ceiling with a harness and an old surf board, Blossom spits the paintbrush out of her mouth and into her hand before turning her head carefully and eyeing the tiny blonde on the floor. "Yeah man," she breathes softly, a silly smile crossing her features as she rolls from the board to land with a soft plop on her feet. "A toke or two sounds just about perfect to get my creative juices flowing again. I think I hit a dry patch with my art."

Unlike the blonde, the frizzy redhead is wearing a pair of over-sized cotton overalls that are spattered with fingerpaints and other strange things. Underneath those? Nothing. She's au naturale baby, and quite proud of it. "So what do you think? I'm going to call it 'An Homage to Suffering'." The young woman points upward to the ceiling… on it is a giant stick man with a smiling face.

Taking a hit on her joint she nods a little. "Belongs in MoMA," she says with raised eyebrows that fall on her roommate's hairy armpits. With a fain flush of her cheeks she puffs on the joint again only to pass it back to Blossom. "Girl, that picture is whack!" she mimics thugness only to giggle a little and shake her head. "I think it's like symbolic of how empty we all are. What do you think?" Pressing her lips together she steps lightly to the kitchen and spins around— if only to make her sorceress dress to twirl. She watches it as it spins behind her. "They call me mellow yellow~"

"And don't worry, Mary Jane is 100% natural, homegrown and of the earth. It's exactly what it should be. Puuuuure." Her lips curl slowly into a serene smile before she lowers herself onto one of the large oversized cushions— a red one with gold trim.

Flopping into one of the other large pillows, more like a giant beanbag, Blossom reaches over to grab a pipe and stuff some of the green into it before sparking up and taking a few long puffs. She holds her breath for a few moments, a couple of snorting breaths shoot out of her before she coughs a huge cloud of smoke into the stale apartment air. "Maaaaan this stuff is perfect, like time freezingly perfect~"

She tilts her round face up to the ceiling and stares at the horribly massive stickman decorating the ceiling above them. "It's like… the emptiness inside all of us and how we're starving. Like… our souls are literally starving!"

"Man, that's so like… deep. And perfect… like this weed," Moon Unit replies rather thoughtfully. "And depriving ourselves of anything we want in life would be empty. Useless. So we should eat, drink, and be merry because tomorrow? Well, tomorrow we die."

The blonde is all-too-satisfied with herself as she adjusts her lavender dress, shifting on her cushion. "Do you remember that time we took those mushrooms? That was a wiiiild night. But also natural. Good to clear the thoughts, I think."

Moon Unit reaches up to her hair and pulls the pin out of it, allowing her blonde locks to cascade down to her shoulders. "Sometimes, I think if the whole world smoked more weed we'd live in greater harmony, y'know?"

"It's all a conspiracy by the industry, man. The maaaaaaan." Blossom iterates as she takes another puff from the bowl in her hand. "They're trying to keep our creativity down, keep us down. Like, doing this is like…" Long pause.

Very long pause.

"…and after we do that? We really need to find out who really shot Kennedy, because that grassy knoll stuff, no way. And Marilyn Monroe? Totally done in by the same people." It's all a logical train of thought, even though large chunks of it are missing. It sounded really good in her head though. "They're trying to kill love."

"Like John Lennon. Kill John Lennon and you like… kill love…" Moon Unit nods at this before taking another hit on her joint. "Yoko Ono had awesome sunglasses. I wish I could make beautiful music like her. She reminds me of a bird. A big crane like bird with black feet. And a long beak."

She passes the pipe back to her friend. "That's why I don't pay taxes. Except for what they take from me. Like automatically. Like it's owed them. No one should pay taxes." No one. Not even rich people that can afford it. "Have I ever told you I think we should start a kibbutz? We could like live off the land and use spoons to dig in the earth. That's a funny word, isn't it? Spoon. Like moist. Moist is almost pornographic. It gives me goosebumps."

"No man, Yoko Ono killed the Beatles, like… there was even a song about it, man. You know who is love? George Harrison. He was even a Hare Krishna. Did you know that?" Blossom fixes Moon Unit with a long bleary eyed stare before dropping the bowl into an over-sized handmade ceramic ashtray. It was supposed to be a salad bowl, but it came out all wrong. Eventually, Blossom had to switch majors.

"Taxes, psh, the government wastes them all on like… diamond toilets for the military that they steal from Pygmies." There's a slow nod as the lanky woman pieces all of the puzzle together in her head. "Yeah, diamond toilets, and gold man… it's so like… dirty. Do you know how many miners die in Alaska to make one bracelet?"

"Pygmy miners… with peg legs," Moon nods a little before sighing heavily. "Moist makes me hot and bothered. Like the word. Not the person." She giggles a little before offering a hmmm. "You know what I should do? I should make pot brownies. That's what I should do. With the oil. And the chocolate. Mmmm." She stifles a small giggle at the notion of the awesome pot brownies.

"You know what I hate about the government? They keep trying to convince us people landed on the moon when we all know it was … like someone who could jump high and slow… or like that we don't have a pyramid full of treasure. Or that cats don't talk. Like of course they talk in their secret cat language. You know what else sucks? That they expect me to be at work on time— like it's possible to be somewhere at a time you don't intend. Like. I'm on time if I'm there when I mean to be, they just get cranky when I'm not there when they think I should be…"

Blossom slips her hands into the pockets of her overalls and just stares at the stick man that is smiling and staring back at her. Mesmerized by its black eyes. Then her own widen considerably as she quickly averts them, ending the staring contest with the painting. "Moon, I think it's undressing me with its eyes… It's violating me! I can't sleep in here. Not with that, it's like… cartoon assault or something. We need to have a save the night rally, right here."

She shivers and holds one hand up to block her view of the ceiling art. "I can't sleep in here, think I can bunk in your room until I paint again?"

"Gosh Blossom, I guess, just don't make it like a repeat of the little girl dolls. We live in a collective," Moon Unit shrugs as she pads over to the kitchen table and thumbs through a pile of letters. Bills. All addressed to one girl: Moon Unit— her legal name. Wrinkling her nose she clucks her tongue before slicing into one, "Remember though… like last time I totally sleep in the nude." She shrugs nonchalantly at this fact as if it's information Blossom should already know and something that everyone does.

She whistles lazily as she reads the letter, "Don't these people know I can't do jury duty. My ADD keeps me from doing housework… there's not way I could sit through court… I can barely sit through my clients' problems without wiggin' out and needing to light up— "

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License