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“Meu fumodromo narcicista,” she said proudly, displaying her latest creation, a new psychedelic juxtaposition of household objects.

Nothing ever stands still or stable around Narcisa’s world in constant flux and kinetic motion, forever and always rearranging the furniture and every other material object within her alien reach in an endless hyperactive mission to create and recreate from the material world an amazing shape-shifting sculpture of her own bizarre futuristic archeology…

Her “narcissistic smoke-a-drome” is the latest “novidade”. Consisting of an antique mirror with a little marble shelf piled up with three rubber balls, a few little boxes and a butter knife precariously balanced on the top.

“Uma faca desafiada,” she said, her bulging bughouse eyes boring into my limited non-altered perception like alien laser beams. “What on the fuck I am gonna do with a dull knife, uma faca desafiada! Hein?”
“Desafiar a existencia?” I ventured. Challenge existence? A spontaneous play on words almost worthy of Narcisa’s own supersonic alien poetry.

She got it. She gave me a supersonic glance of minute quasi-admiration before turning her attention back into whatever unseen dimension she was traveling back and forth from in her brief visits to the mundane world of matter.

Now she’s tearing through the latest issue of TRIP magazine, ripping out scraps of pages as she reads random phrases, mumbling out load to herself.

“La donna piu bella!” She said in Italian as she examined a picture of a naked girl, then tore it in half.

Now she’s making strange exterrestrial music with the pages, rubbing her fingers up and down, rustling, tearing…
“I wanna KNOW ’bout the texture of things, the speed an’ the quality. Velocity… I can make my own instrumento musical from the recycle things, only paper. But I wanna know how to do it, no the way THEY do it, got it?”

Suddenly she farted.
“Why is always these GASES come out my ass when I e’smoke, hein? … May be is some e’spirit come an’ put his finger in my ass hole when I no looking?”

Then she started singing in an alien language I never heard before, something haunting and oddly familiar, like a cross between moaning and whining like a dog and whinnying like a horse. Amazing.

She hasn’t slept or eaten in two days now. She picked up the package of biscuits I left for her and started scavenging. While she ate, she read the little words on the back of the package out load.
“Lua nova industria e produtos alimenticios, ltda… Ingredientes: farinha de trigo enriquicida com ferro e acido folico, fermentos quimicos bicarbonato de amonio, extrato de malte…. What the fuck I am eating here, man? Drugs?!? Great, Max!! Is pretty good for me!!”

“Ahhh! I am a scientist, an’ my laboratory is these e’stupid body I got here now!”

Just for today I have to agree with her.

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.As vários fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.