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Narcisa is the only person I’ve ever known who smokes crack-cocaine as a totally psychedelic- or “mind expanding”- drug experience.

For her, of course, tea and cookies at Grandma’s house would be a psychedelic freakout carnival ride to Alpha Centauri.

So why should her unique and fiercely authentic approach to crack addiction surprise me?

Or anything else about my Narcisa?

It’s all a big crazy cosmic three ring circus, with elephants and acrobats and flaming human cannonball clowns!

The monkeys are really loose tonight!

She just took another big hit of crack… and boom!

Suddenly it’s like there’s a pounding roomfull of hyperactive, acid-tripping electrical monkeys running amok all around me now…

She scampers up the wooden support pole, disappearing like a greased weasel into the loft, deftly avoiding the more traditional ladder approach usually preferred by slow-witted, clumsy human beings…

And now she’s up there, tumbling around, crazy, frenetic, jerky, bouncing movements I can hear, but, still wrapped up in my writing, I don’t bother to look up and see…

RUSTLE RUSTLE… CRASH! BUMP BUMP!BANG!!!

What the fuck?!?

Then - BOOM!!!

Here she comes, Jesus H. Fucking Christ!

Narcisa, flying down like Haley’s fucking Comet over my head in a perfect red-assed baboon somersault, landing right on her perfect white adolescent ass on the sofa with a goofy look of surprise on her face as astonished as my own…

Okay…Whatever.

So I just take note of the event and go right back to my writing as though nothing unusual had happened, with only a quick, offhand comment to Narcisa.. “The monkeys are loose again, huh, baby?”

I’m used to it by now…

But just when I think I’ve seen it all…

As if by way of an answer, she suddenly plops herself right down on my lap, like 90 pounds of shivering cataclysmic chaos with her colored pencils and a sheet of paper.

Okay… She swiftly sketches out some alien geometric form resembling an unbelievely complex crop circle…

“That’s beautiful,” is all I have time to say before she’s up on her feet again, creeping across the room like a shellshocked Alaska King Crab.

I watch in utter baffled fascination, knowing anything can happen next.

And it does.

Suddenly she’s wrapped her wirey, naked frame up into a powder blue sheet like a Hindu sari and she’s methodically tearing a powder blue plastic garbage bag into another smaller sheet and wrapping her long brown hair up in it like an alien Maharaji’s royal turban.

She sits down again there beside me, looking like some weird outer space Mata Hari acid vision…and as I stare at her in total amazement, suddenly she cocks her head back like a hungry coyote and howls like a cat in heat.

“MEE-OOOW!!”

I laugh and laugh and laugh!

The monkeys are loose tonight

How I love my beautiful, terrible, inimitable dakini, Narcisa!!

How I love Narcisa!

Copyright Jonathan Shaw 2008. All Rights Reserved.

NOTIFIÇAO: Os eventos relatados neste site são contos de ficção - registrados na Biblioteca Nacional como ficção com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor, Jonathan Shaw. Os personagens mencionados são interamente ficticios. 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.