One thing I know about Narcisa is her deadly fear of doctors, hospitals and a long-standing fervent hatred for anything in any way reminiscent of the dirty, noisy, violent state-run ‘clinics’ and fanatical, prison-like young Christian concentration camps that had traumatized her. Terrible administered hell holes that her ignorant old Born-Again failure of a mother had callously booted her into from an early age.
A convenient alternative to giving her children the kind of love and attention and protection and support all kids deserve but very few actually get from so-called parents.
There are few people on this earth or Hell below who I have more contempt for than Narcisa’s arrogant, hypocritical, insane old Bible-spewing cow of a mother. If it was up to me, violent, negligent, abusive parents like her would all be lined up and shot, which would also neatly take care of at least three quarters of the world’s overflowing population…
Narcisa has told me again and again over the years how she’d rather die than ever go to the hospital. And I must admit it really made for an impressive sort of gutter-punk bravado to hear her say it so valiantly. I even find it admirable, given her background. I could certainly sympathize and get where she’s coming from, despite the infuriatingly twisted rationale she seems to just automatically throw at every problem that comes her way. Let’s just hope she doesn’t plan on becoming deathly ill any time soon.

Copyright Jonathan Shaw 2008.

NOTIFICAÇÃO: Os eventos relatados neste site são contos de ficção registrados na Biblioteca Nacional com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor Jonathan Shaw. Os personagens mencionados são inteiramente fictícios. Certos eventos, personagens, lugares e relatos, foram baseados em fatos reais, porém qualquer semelhança a qualquer pessoa viva ou morta se trata de pura coincidência. As várias fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.

Today I asked Narcisa how it was possible that a being of such genius and supernatural vision and intellegence could’ve been born to live among such ignorant peasants. She looked at me and said, ‘Joni Shaw is not the ignorant peasant!”
I was flattered. But I told her I was actually referring to her family of origin, her ignorant, bible-spouting ass of a mother. That’s when she told me, “she used to be very e’smart, Cigano. When I was the little girl she wasn’t always these ways like now. Before the stabbing
attack, she was the intellectual, always read and seeking truth and the knowlege. She e’smoke the herb with poetry peoples an’ read all bout everything. She know all the grand mind peoples too, like Paulo Coelho an, Chico Xavier, an’ always travel to look for more the knowledges. Was only after she stab she changes, Cigano. Was then the clones doctors make her to take it all the crazy medicines for make it she same like thems. E’stupid robot peoples. Then she go with the clones peoples to e’stupid jesus church, an’ then she finish. She thinking an’ talking same like them. She terrify for these devil they tell her about it, so now she fucked up an’ crazy from take it all the crazy medicine and go the brainwashing in Jesus church.”
I shook my head. I will never fully decipher the crazy jigsaw puzzle of Narcisa. And still still still, I try as best I can to keep up with her alien intellegence, simply because it is there before me, beckoning me deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole…

Copyright Jonathan Shaw 2008. All Rights Reserved.

NOTIFICAÇÃO: Os eventos relatados neste site são contos de ficção registrados na Biblioteca Nacional com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor Jonathan Shaw. Os personagens mencionados são inteiramente fictícios. Certos eventos, personagens, lugares e relatos, foram baseados em fatos reais, porém qualquer semelhança a qualquer pessoa viva ou morta se trata de pura coincidência. As várias fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.

“You got a cigarette for me?” Narcisa asked.
“Sure.” I handed her the pack and a lighter.
Jonathan popped his head out of the art supply store. “Everything cool?”
“Yep. Just hangin,” I said. As I listened to Narcisa finish her story about her days in Israeli rave existential gangbangs, I began to relax a little.
A soothing figure caught my eye, and I eased my way over to one of the canvases on display about 5 meters from where we were standing.
“Check this out,” I said to Narcisa. No answer. “Hey Narci–”
That’s when I heard it. A cat, shrieking like it was being dismembered by hyenas, a deafening squeal that echoed through the courtyard.
What. The fuck.
I turned around slowly and saw Narcisa standing guiltily over the water fountain as the cat continued to flounder and wail, hoisting itself out of the water and taking off to run through the halls like a banshee.
“WHAT!?! WHY!!!!!?” I said, first confused, then laughing.
Jonathan came out of the little store.
“What happened?”
I didn’t have to answer.
“She pushed that poor cat into the fountain! That’s what she did! Terrible!” declared an angry older woman who’d been enjoying her lunch prior to the incident, french fry in hand.
“It’s just a cat, man!” Narcisa yelled, not understanding the big deal.
“No, Narcisa. No. That was bad. You don’t do things like that,” Jonathan reminded her.
Narcisa became overwhelmed, and, pacing back and forth, began to apologize profusely for her existence.
The security guard walked over.
“That cat got water all over the hallways!” He said, pointing at the art school.
“I’M SORRRRY MANNNNN!” Narcisa blared with her arms out like Christ waiting for redemption.
“Focking sheet!” She huffed and puffed and paced.
“That cat has been severely abused and traumatized,” the old lady chimed in.
JS took over. “You know what lady? So has my girlfriend.”
The lady got quiet, as did the security guard, as did Narcisa and I, if not for my inaudible giggles.
“Well. Gosh, I’m so sorry,” said the woman.
“Yeah I’m sorry too,” said the security guard.
“No I’m sorry…” said Narcisa, hanging your head, flaunting her abuse and trauma for our captivated audience. “I’m just the very bad person”.
I laughed harder.
So we said goodbye to our new friends in the courtyard and walked back into the park, through the snail trail the wet cat had left, Narcisa laughing the whole way. “That stupid cat man. Now he never gonna leave his ass e’sposed again!”

NOTIFICAÇÃO: Os eventos relatados neste site são contos de ficção registrados na Biblioteca Nacional com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor Jonathan Shaw e Alessandra DeBenedetti. Os personagens mencionados são inteiramente fictícios. Certos eventos, personagens, lugares e relatos, foram baseados em fatos reais, porém qualquer semelhança a qualquer pessoa viva ou morta se trata de pura coincidência. As várias fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.

Narcisa: “There is peoples who are the real human bings who eat when they hungry an’ e’sleep when tired – most the human being no so e’smart like that. That is the clones peoples. They all go the lunch at mid day cuz that’s the custom, is the time to eat. They brush the teeth not cuz they wan’ it the clean teeths, only cuz it is something the clone peoples all do it, is for they training, Cigano. Brainwashing. But the worst of all it is the cripple peoples. They no good for nothing. How can somebody who loosed the arm or the leg be same mental capacity as one full body person? I believe it like the Bob Marley philosophy. I rather to dead than losed my foot, cuz without it, then I no more the whole person, like it the radio with out it the antennea. No serve for no thing, got it? An’ the Narcisa, I don’t have sentiment or morality, Cigano, so I cannot participate in the society of the clone peoples. But I wan’ to participate in the something. I just don’ to know what it is… “ 

I looked at her in awe as she sat there talking for hours of the secret sciences and mystical ancient codes, quantum mechanics. Greek philosophy and sacred mathematical formulas, extra terrestrial vibrational geometric linguistics and higher dimentional magick and alchemy. It was like she was reading the Ten Commandments to a geranium. It all went far far over my head, yet at the same time I intuitively strained to understand some little part of all that was being said, for the mere raw eloquence and esoteric power of her words, however incomprehensible…

Copyright Jonathan Shaw 2008. All Rights Reserved.

NOTIFICAÇÃO: Os eventos relatados neste site são contos de ficção registrados na Biblioteca Nacional com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor Jonathan Shaw. Os personagens mencionados são inteiramente fictícios. Certos eventos, personagens, lugares e relatos, foram baseados em fatos reais, porém qualquer semelhança a qualquer pessoa viva ou morta se trata de pura coincidência. As várias fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.

Waking up this morning was a traumatic moment of torture I’ll never forget, the fucking alarm drilling mercilessly into my fuzzy head like a sadistic dentist high on crack.
I cursed the day Narcisa was spawned from that nasty old hell hole an angry inch from her cunt bitch mother’s putrid stinking bung-hole. I moaned in despair as I rolled over and covered my head with the pillow. It was no use. I crawled across the bed like a wounded
bleeding old baboon and lowered myself down the loft bed ladder, hating every detail of existence with a screaming bloody vengence.
But Narcisa was awake. And, still burdened with all of her usual
hyperactive, attention-deficit impatience – which she still doesn’t
understand is a characteristic trait of the disease of addiction, a
corroding soul-sickness of the infantile ego mind of every untreated
drug addict – absolutely insisted I must also be awake at 9 am
sharp.

Anxiety. Impatience, hurry up Cigano, go go go! God forbid I should
get a full night’s sleep after catering to her every childish consumer dream, whim and demand all day long, every day of my goddamned life. And all that raging NEED and infantile impatience snapping furiously at the heels of a full, action-packed month of non-stop mind
fuck drama and systematic daily sleep deprivation. God forbid I should be allowed to sleep a full 6 hours wake up at noon like I’d begged her to let me do last night. God forbid. Narcisa knows I need to sleep between 6am and noon. And she’s always managed to expertly awaken me during those ungodly hours when I’m only good for one thing – sleep.
Narcisa has found a way to continue to torture me with sleep deprivation, even from afar, and without smoking crack. Remote mind control. Narcisa. Fuck.

Copyright Jonathan Shaw 2008. All Rights Reserved.

NOTIFICAÇÃO: Os eventos relatados neste site são contos de ficção registrados na Biblioteca Nacional com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor Jonathan Shaw. Os personagens mencionados são inteiramente fictícios. Certos eventos, personagens, lugares e relatos, foram baseados em fatos reais, porém qualquer semelhança a qualquer pessoa viva ou morta se trata de pura coincidência. As várias fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.

“That which I supposed to be the road to Hell is lined with angels. That which appeared as  sordid shadows indeed holds its beam of light. Upon that narrow beam, stretched out taut like a tightrope, we all balance. Umbrellas held high, step by step, fearless dancers teetering over the abyss. There below, a net of wings supports our fall.”

  - Caio Fernando Abreu

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