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She’s reading aloud from the dictionary as if she were reciting the most soulful beautiful poetry, with such expressive tone and cadence and fire! For the previous two hours she spoke in so many brilliant discourses that I got absolutely lost. She took a big hit a couple of hours ago, then she lay on the floor on her back and started talking:

“I am only a doll, a toy, a homeless defenseless young girl out in
the world, on the street, the rubber doll to play with. Toy to burn
out and use up, exploit, destroy, throw away. Plastic. Disposable. The
little toy for the men on the streets for play with and throw away. I
am a toy. Disposable. Cheap. Plastic and rubber. To play with and
break and throw it out when is used up and no fun for play with no
more…”

Then she just shifted. She started talking with this happy, playful little girl voice with the sweetest little smile, giggling mischievously, and I knew it was on: spirit possession. There’s this entity that takes over sometimes, a little girl. She likes to sing and play and tell me childish little stories. It’s a benevolent, playful spirit, like a sprite or nymph or something like that. It doesn’t come around too often, usually only when she’s been up for more than a couple of days. But it’s quite charming when it does possess her. And it likes sex, it likes to get fucked, long and hard. And it excites me to no end. I think of it as the ‘Lolita spirit’. More than anything else, that’s part of what always keeps life with Narcisa constantly exciting and compelling. Multiple personalities. She’s many many women and girls with many faces, all wrapped up in one dizzying paranormal totality of experience. People say she’s crazy. And what if she is. I guess that would make me crazy too, since she’s the only girl in the world I feel compelled to want to experience as every
lesson and teaching and challenge for the evolution and edification of my soul, my very life itself.

Hours later, it’s all shifting, changing, morphing, never stable or predictable and now Narcisa is gone, really gone, left her physical and spiritual body open to OTHER beings. I guess this is what it means for a person to be ‘unbalanced’. Completely disconnected from themself.

The drug has taken her over completely now. And the various entities that accompany her are weighing down her entire being. Nothing I can do to pull her off this vicious cycle merry-go-round that is running off its tracks and spinning wildly, digging a hole down down down into the deepest regions of Hell.

What to do? I know she can’t step off this infernal machine. I gotta get off. But how? When? Were trapped together on this dirty little journey.

She’s reading some book she found on the street today, reading it as if it contained the secrets to the universe. Whatever. Insanity. Paranoia. Disease. Dysfunction. Reading out-loud, fast, crazy, driven, spouting out words and theories like a sidewalk preacher babbling bible phrases. Now she’s reduced to this futile cocaine-driven babbling, beating her lips compulsively and furiously like a demented wind up toy, a plastic doll, burning out, running out of energy and soon she’ll need more of the drug cuz she can’t stop and she goes goes goes. Nonsense. Nothing. Breaking through dimensions into another alien reality and this is her way, her only path to enlightenment, and I must respect it beyond all the well-intentioned common wisdom and theoretical knowledge and information available in this current, albeit pathetically limited reality-view. This shit looks to me like pure, indominable psychosis, the hamster wheel, and it goes round and round and round and she can’t get off and I can’t get off and this, my little friends, is Hell.

Just for today. As, momentarily I abandon all hope again and again and again…

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.