People seldom do what they believe in. They do what is convenient, then repent.

-Bob Dylan

click HERE for Part 2.

“So listen, baby,” I said, trying to change the subject before she totally shit all over what was left of my little optimistic moment. “Ya wanna go across the street and have some sushi with me before ya go to your meeting?”
“Suchiii!!” She squealed. “Sal-mon, sal-mon, go go!!”
We sat down at our regular table. The Chinaman took our order and brought us the hot towels on a wooden tray. Narcisa picked hers up and buried her face in it like she was trying wipe her mind away. I could relate.
“How you think they make it hot like these the towel, Cigano, hein?” She asked.
I was happy that she was actually asking my opinion about something… anything. Even how the Chinamen heat up the little hand towels.
“I think they probably just soak it in water then stick it in the microwave for a minute…” I ventured.
“Hah! These focking ridiculous, Cigano! Why you so e’stupid, hein? Microwave! Hah!” She spat.
The Chinaman came back with our sodas.
“Eh you,” she said to him, holding up the little hand towel. “How you make it these e’sheets hot, hein? You boil it in the WOK or something like these?”
“No, Senhorita,” the Chinaman said politely. “We make towel wet and we put inside microwave oven…”
Narcisa looked at me sheepishly for a moment. I smiled. Poor Narcisa.
Pissed off for losing face maybe, she started right in again about my questionably prestigious invitation. Shit…
“An’way, is normal for me be suspect about these e’stupid party, Cigano. Nobody ever even hear bout it you writing work here in Brazil. You only publish on the America! You don’ write nothing in the Portuguese… You book no even translate into the Portuguese still, so why they gonna invite you for the focking trophy, hein?”
“I dunno, Narcisa,” I said, finally taking the bait again, infuriated now with her endless toxic put downs. “Why the fuck don’t ya fucking ask them? And why don’t you tell that shit to all the Brazilian readers who send me fucking fan mail from the cover stories I wrote for some of the biggest magazines in Brazil while yer at it too, hein? Maybe you should post a blog on my Portuguese website telling those other thousands of Brazilian readers that they’re all fulla shit too, that its all a big hallucination whatever the fuck they’re reading since I really don’t write nothing in Portuguese, hein? Would that satisfy you? What the fuck is your fucking PROBLEM, Narcisa? Why you always need to run me down? Is dragging my shit through the dirt the only way you can ever feel better about yourself? Jesus…”
Thay say truth hurts…
“I NO run down you, Cigano! If you so paranoided like these is no my problem… An’way, I think it you only make up these whole e’story for make to me feel bad.”
I just sat there quietly saying nothing, lost in my own thoughts.
Hmmm… So other people’s success and recognition makes Narcisa feel bad… There’s a clue there somewhere I guess… I really needed to think about that one a bit more…
The sushi came. But Narcisa wasn’t hungry anymore..
“Anyway, I was hoping you’d come with me to watch me get the stupid trophy. After all, baby, the book’s sorta about you..”
“I don’ give a fock ’bout these e’stupid book. An’ I don’ wanna go some place where is gonna be infested
With all the e’stupid cocktail peoples an’ boring drunk fags, got it?”
Then she stood up suddenly and stormed out of the restaurant without saying goodbye.
Off to her NA meeting… Progress, not perfection.
I sat there a while longer eating the sushi. It was nice not having to battle her off my plate for once. I ate all my sushi. Then I looked around gulliltily and I ate hers. I sat there thinking, wondering, contemplating all her strange, unfathomable little resentments… Then suddenly it came to me…
Maybe Narcisa was just pissed off because that omnipotent infant tyrant living comfortably in the depths of her subconscious mind, that creepy little fellow known as Ego had whispered in her ear while she was sitting there. And maybe what he had told her was that SHE is the one who should be receiving honors and prizes and trophies…
I know its not rational or even a conscious thought process for her either, poor thing. Its just the common root of that fucked up mental twist known as addiction in all its splendor. That thing called an infantile ego… And even against all her intelligence and better judgement and even her best of intentions, she, like nearly every living addict wholeheartedly believes the absurd things it tells her somewhere deep inside, below the level of consciousness – in this case that she is fully elegible for and unconditionally entitled to public aclaim and prestigeous honors and recognition for all of her nonexistant accomplishments….
As far as I know though, they don’t give out prizes for smoking crack wrecking your life and being a menace to human society.
Or maybe they do…
Suddenly I remembered that this evening she would be getting her little keychain to great fanfare and applause at her NA meeting.
And boy was she looking forward to getting that little plastic ‘ficha’… The one that says “Clean and Serene for 30 days.”
I don’t know about the “serene” part.
But still, I cannot think of a more valuable prize for my crazy little purple butterfly, Narcisa.
I got up and paid the bill.. I was in a hurry now to get to that NA meeting and watch her beat her fragile little wings and start flying into the land of the living again…
Keep coming back, Narcisa.
We love you…

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.

I am not a fan of Thanksgiving. Never have been.
While I’m lucky enough to be thankful for many things on any given day of the year, Thanksgiving is one day I’ve actually found difficult to be thankful for anything on.
Everything is closed. Everyone is drunk. Football. Food. Marathons of Intervention. It’s like a gathering of pigs.
Which is fine, some people like that.
I don’t and I have my theories as to why. Perhaps it’s the rampant patriotism founded on a janky set of principles, where raping and pillaging and infecting weird Anglo saxan diseases on the innocent is
okay as long as you take a moment to be “thankful” for the corn you stole out of that baby’s mouth.
Maybe it’s because I went to the petting zoo when I was three and they told me not to look a turkey in the eye. Well I looked it in the eye.
And then it attacked me, leaving me with 7 stitches in my face.
It’s not the “why” though. It’s dealing with the now that matters.
And so,  I’m here on behalf of Scabvendor and Jonathan Shaw to wish you a happy Thanksgiving if you’re feeling shitty today.
If you don’t understand this bizarre feeding frenzy tradition either, you’re not alone.
There is something to be thankful for. Understanding.
Jonathan taught me one good thing, to make any annoying consumer holiday seem worthwhile, which I will share with you today.
It’s called a gallon Ziploc freezer bag. It is to be kept in your back pocket throughout Thanksgiving day and slowly filled with cranberry sauce, apple pie, turkey, mashed potatos and anything else you can get your hands until you have yourself a week’s worth of meals in the trunk of your car. Cooked for hours and hours by friends and family and gladly taken home and frozen by you.
If that is not something to be thankful for, I don’t know what is.
So with that, I will leave you, with the gifts of understanding and guaranteed free food.
Enjoy your day, kids.

- Alessandra DeBenedetti

click HERE for Part 1.

 After about half an hour my phone rang.
 ”Alo, Cigano,” Narcisa’s savage growl croaked in my ear. “I am finish with Reike now. Where are you? Wanna see me?”
 ”I’m at the office, baby.”
 ”Ok bye,” she said.
  What I heard was actually “ok b- CLICK!” That’s Narcisa.
 I packed up my laptop and stashed it with the guy behind the counter. Then I walked outside and wandered across the street to my “office”, which is really just a yellow plastic chair facing the pounding waves behind the little kiosk at the end of the beach.
  I stood there making small talk about the unseasonally cold weather and high surf with the lady who runs the spot. Suddenly her eyes lit up.
 ”Here she comes,” she said.
  I turned around and there was Narcisa running crookedly up the crooked mosaic sidewalk with her arms held out like a kid playing airplane. With her skinny legs propelling her toward me, all dressed in purple and blazing with life, she looked from a distance like a crazy little butterfly.
 ”She looks like a butterfly!” The kiosk lady exclaimed. I smiled. More and more lately Narcisa makes me smile.
 She ran straight into my waiting arms and I could smell the oil in her hair from her spiritual massage. It seems to be working for her. Progress… I was happy.
 ”Hello!” She said to the kiosk lady as if suddenly noticing her standing there… More and more Narcisa is actually being selectively polite to people. Amazing. Progress…
 ”I gonna get it my ficha for thirty days clean on Monday, Cigano!” She breathed excitedly into my ear. And Marta Luiza gonna come to the meeting to see…”
  I was happy. Marta Luiza is the Reike lady. And she’s been a very bright light in the dim landscape of Narcisa’s burned out soul.
 ”That’s great, baby!” I said smiling.
 Then I remembered the strange invitation I’d just received.
 ”The weirdest shit just happened, Narcisa,” I said.
   She looked at me with concern. Narcisa doesn’t like surprises. Probably because she always expects the worst out of life.
  “I got invited to go to Niteroi and receive a trophy…”
 ”Trophy?!?” Narcisa said. “What trophy, hein? How?”
 ”It’s a prize they wanna give me. To honor me for my writing…”
 ”Hein?!? What?!? Fala serio, Cigano,” she said nervously. It was as if I’d just told her I was diagnosed with rectal cancer or something.
  “Why you gotta get it these trophy, hein? Fala serio…”
  “I’m serious, baby. That’s what the guy who just invited me said…”
 ”What guy?!? Who invite you for these trophy e’sheet, hein?”
 ”The guy at the internet cafe,” I said. “He’s working with some kinda cultural commitee for this big municipal arts thing…”
 ”The FAG?!?” She said skeptically.
 ”Yeh, that’s the one…” I said.
 ”You better be careful, Cigano. I don’ like these guy…”
 ”Why don’t you like him, baby?”
 ”He is NO good…”
 ”Why is he no good, Narcisa,” I asked.
 ”Cuz I don’ LIKE him…”
 ”But WHY don’t you like him, Narcisa?”
 ”I already e’say it why I don’ like him. Is because he NO GOOD, got it?”
  Oh yeh, right… Narcisa.
  I tried to explain to her that it might just be a good thing. A nice thing…
  “Well is no the Nobel prize or an’thing like that, Cigano. So I don’ wan’ you got you hope up an’ then when these thing turn out be a big e’sheet, then you gonna come complain into my ear, got it? I just try protect you… An’ you better be careful ’bout any invitation where you don’ know it the peoples…”
  “Jesus, baby, sometimes I’m really glad I’m not you,” I laughed.
 ”Yeh, okey, Cigano, is okey for you laugh now. An’ then just you no come cry to me later, hein?”
 ”Well why would I cry later, hein? What’s the worst that could happen, baby? Worst case scenario I take a nice motorcycle ride across the bay and if it sucks, I just got another weird experience to write about. It’s all good for me no matter what happens…”
 ”Or maybe no so good, hein? Maybe worse scenario you gonna got kidnap an’ kill you over there… I only try an preserve you safety…”
 ”WHAT?!?” I practically howled with laughter now. “Jesus! What a mind you got!”
 ”You think so funny, Cigano. Maybe you need think more. These e’stupid fag he seeing you there ever’day in these e’same place writing on the e’spensive private laptop computador…”
 ”So what, you really think the homo’s gonna go to all the trouble to print up a buncha fancy invitations to some big party with the Mayor of Niteroi and cook up a whole fucking three ring circus story to get me to go all the way over there just to rip off a fucking laptop?!?”
 ”Maybe could be… You don’ know the peoples e’same way I do…”
 ”Thank fuckin’ God for that!” I said. And I really meant it.
  Keep coming back, Narcisa. It gets better…

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 was a bit of drama. For a change…

  I was sitting at my regular internet cafe by the beach in Copacabana getting some writing done while my little rag doll Narcisa was at her regular Tuesday afternoon Reike session, getting her moth-eaten, crack-tainted aura patched up. Its a life’s work, believe me. But one session at a time she’s slowly getting better. Not quite happily, usefully whole just yet… But better than the full-time homacidal, suicidal kamikaze pilot of a few months back…
 Progress, not perfection. That’s what they say at the meetings she goes to every night now. Keep coming back is another popular catch-phrase there too. For her sake I really hope she keeps coming back. That’s something they repeat over and over all the time at those meetings. They say it’s only a suggestion, but in Narcisa’s case, I’d venture to call it a matter of life and death. The difference between outright madness and another chance to dodge the cold box one more day…
  So I was sitting there doing some writing on the new edit of my book Narcisa: Our Lady of Ashes, when the nice gay fellow who works at the place came over to my table.
 ”Can I bother you for just a moment, Cigano?” He asked.
 ”Of course,” I smiled politely.
 It’s good to be polite to people whenever possible. I was glad Narcisa wasn’t there too… Last time she came in the place she was asked to leave by the manager and the police were called. I won’t go into the details of that incident just now though. Suffice it to say that Narcisa still hasn’t learned much about being polite. Suffice it to say I really hope she will someday. If she keeps coming back to those meetings there’s a good chance she will. Progress, not perfection…
  The nice gay fellow pulled up a seat at my table.
 ”You’re a writer, Cigano…” he said.
 I nodded. No denying the fact that I spend the bulk of my waking hours doing exactly that.
 ”Well I know you’re busy,” he continued, “So I’ll be brief. I’m helping to organize an important cultural event for the city of Niteroi across the bay. They’re having a big Gala to inaugurate the newly renovated Teatro Municipal there, and they’re looking for popular writers and artists to participate. I’d like to invite you to be officially recognized for your work and to receive an official honor. A prize…”
 ”A prize?” I said, smiling.
 ”Well it’s a trophy actually, for your contribution to local culture and literary work in the Arts… The prize will be presented to you by the Mayor… Or it could be presented by another writer of your choosing if you prefer… Anyway it’s gonna be a really nice event with a red carpet and lots of celebrities and cocktails and tasty food. Real first class affair….”
 ”Wow!” I said. “That sounds great!”
 I immediately thought of inviting my famous local writer friend Mayra Dias Gomes to come along. With a red carpet and free booze, it wouldn’t be a hard sell for Mayra… I asked the nice gay fellow if it would be alright to bring Mayra as my guest. He almost jumped for joy.
 ”Mayra Dias Gomes! A filha do Dias Gomes? Perfeito!!”
 That being said and done, he took down my information and gave me an official looking invite, assuring me I would be put on the roster of celebs to appear on their web page. Wow!
 I thanked him and he thanked me. Then he got up and went back to work… I wondered vaguely if he’d just heard of me by word on the street or if he’d ever read my work… And I wondered for a moment if the mayor would still want to get up on stage to give me a trophy if he ever did read it… Whatever. Sometimes interesting weird shit like that happens. I’m not in the habit of saying no to invitations. Maybe that’s a character defect… But the phrase “don’t look a gift horse in the mouth” comes to mind.
  I smiled and tucked the fancy invite in my back pocket. Then I went back to work on my book. I was working on a chapter in which Narcisa shits all over herself at my friend’s house and I describe the anal fireworks in graphic detail… I laughed out loud a few times thinking about the mayor handing me that fucking trophy…
  It is indeed a strange and wonderful world…

 -to be contd.

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.

What a weekend! In all these years running with Narcisa, I have never seen so much laughter, hope and agreeability in her as I’ve seen in the last few days. I have also never felt so grateful for my own paranormal ability to put up with all the shit she’s put me through over the years.
 Just to hear her laugh, her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, has made it all so worth it. She is my own personal miracle and my living demonstration of the truth of the words I had tattooed across my chest this year, thinking of her: Deus e amor. God is Love.
 And I’m here to tell you today, it is. The bizarre, terrible, magical, cathartic interaction between Narcisa and I, right from the start is proof enough for me to keep that truth burning bright in my heart for life.
  It has inspired what I am told is a pretty good little book, my first published novel, and a little voice of intuition keeps telling me that’s just the beginning.
 My life with Narcisa has been a high-thrills, dangerous and passionate roller coaster ride through heaven and hell from the very start. And today I’m just grateful to have been crazy and sick and recovered enough to have stayed on it all this time and survived, come what may.

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.

“Nothing in this world is a gift. Whatever must be learned must be learned the hard way.”
-Carlos Castaneda