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This is what life has put on my plate today… And it isn’t so bad, all things considered!
In fact, it’s great.
Now its three o’clock in the afternoon, and with the usual clockwork precision of her bizarre timing she’s just woken me up. Just as I finally got to sleep.
Shit.
We had a listless, terrible fuck where she watched cartoons on TV and groaned impatiently telling me to hurry up. Then she went to get her fucking stash of crack.
Now that she’s had her medicine, of course she seems to be in a much better mood. Of course.
When I dropped her off at noon, I even grabbed her pussy as she got off the bike and said, “go have fun and warm up the chicken pie, cuz ill be back soon and ill be hungry.”
I noticed an extra little twitch in her perky chicken tail as she wiggled it off down the road to damnation…
Now we’re sitting back together on my veranda looking out over the city and the bay. She’s rooted a book of Henry Miller out of my bag and she’s reading out loud in English, not making the least bit of sense. But the tone of her voice itself has made my dick hard again in anticipation of a much better fuck than the morning chore.
That had at least gotten her off her lazy ass, even if it was only to go smoke more crack and start the whole viscious cycle of her life over again.
The work of an Eternal Muse is never done, and now she’s up juggling coca cola bottles on the little veranda.
She’s doing pretty good, so far. She hasn’t bopped either of us in the head, and that’s a bit of progress from a coupla weeks ago I’d say.
One of her big dreams is to join the circus - there’s a bit in my book “Our Lady of Ashes” about taking her to join the circus, which is neither here or there…
Narcisa is a walking talking three ring circus, or more like a psychic freak show.
Yesterday she got into a fight with a vulture that landed on the roof of the Casa Verde while she was up in the attic smoking.
I didn’t ask her for details of the skirmish and of course none were forthcoming.
She told me she chased the bastard off, representing her percieved or real impending death, and that was all I needed to know, I guess. When I prodded her for details, all she said was, “That’s why I love to e’smoke. Because it kills my memory, Cigano. Got it?”
I got it.

I didn’t ask her for any more details. Its just as well, I suppose..I like to make up my own details anyway. Between my own paranormal imagination, and her surreal reality, it all makes for a pretty interesting existence.
  Sometimes I feel like I can read her past and her whole life story,         receiving crucial nonverbal information and impressions with my         dick’s inner antenna while I’m fucking her.
   It’s an interesting, if sometimes terrifying game for sure, and often     quite enlightening. And stimulating for us both, I like to think.
   But it could all just be a figment of my own warped, LSD-spiked          imagination.
   Narcisa, with all her staggering ‘true-life’ accounts, the marathon       fucking and endless battles of will, seen through the distorted             psychedelic lens of the crack she smokes… The danger, the vultures,   the Dakini dance hell-fire coke bottle juggling, the battle scars and     bruises and tattoos and abrasions on my battered hide and my           soul…  the book, her shadowy midnight declarations and apocolyptic   prophecies, and all the abstract poetry of her insane twisted                 existence and quasi-mythical life story and unrelenting death wish…   all of it.
 

What the fuck?
It seems like it’s always been this way for me… all my life, one big, long, surreal delirium dream, or nightmare. And I guess its the same for her too.
So it’s no wonder that we’ve somehow found each other and come together for whatever this foggy hallucinatory journey is taking us, along a polluted tributary of the big, long cosmic stream.
She is my acid queen, my mirror image cosmic fishbowl cross to bear or to burn.
And, just for today, I have no argument with any of it.

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.

Shit, it’s almost time to go back and get her now… but I’m really too tired to keep going. Fuck! She should be all beat to Hell by now too, after four days without food or water or sleep.But she won’t stop, can’t stop…Narcisa has completely lost all control now…When I went to pick her up earlier this afternoon after her 2nd or 3rd trip to the crack spot today, she told me that even one of the local bandidos who run the drugs up there had told her she was looking like shit.Hello.

Santa, originally uploaded by Scab Vendor.

“So you’re really hooked on it bad now, huh?” He said as he took her money and handed her a little bag of the deadly rock.She nodded.”I see you up here every few hours, girl,” he said.. “What’s up? You can’t stop?”She’d just shook her head shyly in defeat.The bandido just laughed.”Of course you can stop,” he said. “I used to be all hooked on this shit too, and I quit.. Now I’ve got this little job selling it and I’m making money, doing pretty good now. You just need to go out to run on the beach first thing in the morning, like I did. And then, if you ask God to help you quit, you can put the shit down…. If I could do it, you can too.”She’d actually seemed pretty impressed with that.Sure.Here’s a little dead-end thug, selling crack up in the favela, armed with a machine gun and home-made hand grenades, just another nameless teenage soldier in the vast underworld drug army… and even HE’S telling her she should quit now….Not only that, but now she’s telling it all to me too, the very trick who’s stood right by her through it all! Right up to the point where I went from being her friend to being her full-time trick, to being a real friend to a friend in need.Then I went from being her friend to being her lover to her full time sugar-daddy boyfriend now.Even I, her closest accomplice many years clean off of drugs, am always trying to encourage her to quit…Suddenly she’s just found herself surrounded by all these irritating little reminders that its finally time to do something about her problem…Even some of her old crack buddies, denizens of the notorious Casa Verde, have finally thrown in the towel and gone crawling off to the Narcotics Anonymous meetings and quit…And still Narcisa just keeps muddling along.Sometimes I think she’d really rather die than have to give up any of her poisonous old ways and ideas.When she told me what the bandido had said, I just looked at her sadly.”God has been talking to you about this shit for a long long time now, baby,” I said. “And God will use anybody to get a message to you - even the ones who pay for it now, even the ones who fucking SELL it to you. Don’t ya see? That’s God trying to get through to you… but you just don’t wanna listen…  I just hope you’ll wanna get out of this mess someday. I don’t know how and I don’t know when… and I know I can’t even tell ya the way out, cuz it wouldn’t mean shit… But I never give up hope for you… That you can make it. Shit. If I could, you can too. And that bandido just told ya the same fucking thing…”

She didn’t say anything but I could tell she was listening to me, and she even gave me an appreciative little squeeze there on the back of the bike that just made me want to cry.But I’ve already cried so so many tears for Narcisa over the years that now I hardly even cry at all anymore lately.I cried for so long and so hard for her, all while I was writing the book about her, the whole time she was tucked away in that ridiculous evangelical rehab.Finally, I guess I just ran dry. And now I got no more tears to cry anymore.Not for Narcisa. Not for anybody.Not today.At this point, I just pray for the little victories.Now I just pray to be able to get some sleep tonight.Sleep… So I can make it through yet another long, agonizing fucking day with 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.
As vários fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.

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.

Things are getting better around here.Even as so many weird, seemingly malevolant “outside forces” appear to be gathering around us in the form of insane, abusive religious fanatic relatives and phsycotic, bottom-feeding parasitic stalkers, bubbling right up from the stinking depths of Hell itself to harass and persecute and crucify us daily for our art, our love, our chosen lifestyle, for all our “godless, evil, immoral ways”…Even with all that depressing ugly, soul-stifling evil shit going on lately, on some other deeper level, personally, as this unlikely couple, we’ve oddly been getting better somehow, Narcisa and I…Growing closer and closer every day.I don’t know just how that happened. And I don’t know if it’s a blessing, or a curse really…But we’ve paid our admission and we’re on the big fucking ride now, once and for all…

And all along this hair-raising, teeth-rattling, unpredictable spookhouse roller coaster ride, things are rattling and clattering, moving and grooving and changing… morphing and shape-shifting all around us now.As usual…Violent, turbulant winds of change… as if to somehow perfectly reflect the ever-changing, totality of the surreal landscape of our very existance itself…It’s hard to even believe it, but it’s been well over a week now since we’ve even fought or tried to completely destroy each other…Thats huge! Memorable! A cause for celebration and joyful rejoicing!Even our traditional Sunday night knock-down-drag-out was somehow quietly averted this week, simply passed over and forgotten like some unimportant missed date…And suddenly, shit, it’s Tuesday afternoon again already, after a long lights-out crash day… and now we’re waking up, almost like a normal little couple, to coffee and crackers and cigarettes…Waking right back up to our nasty old cosmic whorehouse tricks.Fuck fuck fuck, smoke smoke smoke, go go go…No fights. No discussions. No crazed screeching, nose bleeding death threats or arguements or rabid vendettas or violent rebuttals…Not a fucking peep…That’s historic in itself.Damned if things aren’t getting better between me and Narcisa.And that’s a start.I find myself hoping once again. A start. Hope. A prelude to Narcisa getting better at last, to her wanting to get better, finally wanting to live again…Why not? After all, Narcisa and I are nothing more, in esoteric terms, than two sides of the same fucking coin… A unit. A team. An agreement…I asked her this morning if she wasn’t a little worried that our little habitual rituals and routines were starting to become a bit… How did I put it? Predictable…Predictable?She just looked at me.”You know, baby,” I said sheepishly. “Fuck fuck fuck, smoke smoke smoke… Sleep sleep sleep, eat eat eat… Defecate… How about us turning the page, before some ignorant, ranting moralistic morons with their fucking bibles and guns come along and turn it for us?”"No, Cigano! We DO turn the page!” She said with such a firm conviction, I just sat there quietly and nodded her on.”No only fuck fuck fuck, smoke smoke smoke now… Also think think think,” she said, “talk talk talk, write write write, art art art… Creatividade, Cigano, what you say ’bout that, Hein?”Holy shit. She’s right! We’ve been doing all that and more together lately, in our own dysfunctional little way….And she’s been cranking out the poetry like a fucking maniac, too. Good poetry. Solid poetry. Some of the best, most honest, soulful poetry I’ve ever seen. Heard. Lived…Things are really getting better…Better.Amazing.It would appear that those dark-minded, stinking evangelical assholes and dickless do-gooders and shit-gobbling, low-rent stalkers who’d like to drive us apart out of envy and sour grapes for our perceived offenses and transgressions of their bullshit hypocritical self-imposed morality codes are really only serving to strengthen and unite us more and more, super-charging our crazed and obsessivly passionate kinship with a new and powerful spirit of allience and an iron-clad solidarity.Ha ha ha!Today she awoke from her latest peaceful 24-hour crash, getting her troubled little head ready for the latest mission to start again.She sat there on the sofa, happily watching tv while I picked away at my Blackberry, furiously composing the latest blog entries.She squealed in delight like a happy child watching the latest adventures of Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie.Totally surreal.”Cigano! Put it on our blog page that Narcisa’s favorite TV personalities are Paris Hilton and Nicole… Do you know them, Cigano? Put it in the blog, an’ say that Narcisa love them an’ she wanna meet them…”I told her I didn’t know them, but that my main girl in Hollywood, Alessandra probably did. Alessandra knows EVERYBODY!Narcisa’s eyes lit up at the news as, dutifully, like some kind of sleepy whorehouse Santa Claus taking an order, I wrote it all down.”Narcisa’s favorite TV stars are…”Then I stopped and asked her for some more names.She just gave me a blank look and went back to watching the Paris and Nicole show.No more?”That’s it, Cigano. Only these ones…”"That’s not a very long list for a questionaire, baby,” I said.Questionaire?She glanced at me blankly again, before turning her full attention back to the blaring nonsense chatter of the TV box.I guess its a step up from staring at herself bug-eyed in the mirror for hours and hours….I asked her why she liked those bimbos so much, hoping to maybe fill out the list a bit, make it more interesting, whatever…”You can put it that Narcisa like them because they are very slutty… they are tall an’ skinny… an’… extravagante! Very extravagante an’ controversial an’ FREE… An’ I am… How do you say? I am in LOVE with them too because they are completely retard!”I started to write it all down. Suddenly she grabbed my arm, as if I might be about to unpin a grenade or something.”No, Cigano! Is better you don’ to put it that I say they retard, because maybe then they no gonna LIKE Narcisa an’ they never gonna call…”I told her it was alright to say they we’re retarded, because they are.I explained that for people like that, “retarded” was probably like a term of endearment or something.She made a thoughtful face and was silent for a moment as her bright, bottomless hazel eyes scanned the TV screen greedily.Then she looked back at me and said, “I like them the most because they REALLY retard… like you can fuck them in the ass an’ then they just gonna look on you like… ‘Wha’ the fuck just happen, man?’ You know?”What the fuck just happened, indeed.Yeh, baby, things are getting better.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.

I been thinking of mold today, as the unique smell of it clings to my senses like a vague past life recollection.Living here in the tropics, things tend to go moldy pretty fast. Mold and mildew just accumulate when things aren’t aired out regularly.Narcisa’s clothes usually sit in a damp pile in a corner on the floor, going moldy.Narcisa digs through the pile and puts on some clothes and walks around all day smelling of mold and ashes and crack-tainted sweat and sex and life and death and dirt and blood and lust and endless, unsatisfied want, fear, anger, passion, adrenaline and…Something Else there are no words I know that can quite describe.Maybe something like a spiritual mold… 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.

I fell asleep cold and damp and uncomfortable on the bare, sheetless loft bed in the big abandoned house on the hill. Narcisa sat on the cold floor below, using the only blanket as a pillow for her lazy self-centered ass while she smoked crack and admired herself shamelessly for hours in the mirror, flirting with herself, checking out her tits, her south-bound sagging ass, seducing herself, making love to whatever’s left of herself with her eyes, her whole being. A disgusting, depressing self-centered display of undisguised narcissism.I couldn’t get near the bitch of a creature that posessed her now more and more with every hit she took, she just pushed me aside and continued her dark, heartless psychopathic journey into the hellish realms of self-obsession in that accursed mirror.I was getting tired of waiting for the next fuck, great as the last one had been. And I knew it wasn’t gonna happen. Till her crack supply ran dry. Like a hungry buzzard, I hovered and waited..Finally I just couldn’t take it anymore. I crawled up into the loft bed and put in the earplugs and fell right asleep..Half an hour later I awoke to a sharp tap on my shoulder. I jumped up with a start, thinking it was Narcisa, finally bored with her own ash grey raccoon-faced image in the mirror, waking me up for a fuck, a touch of human companionship, warmth, company, money, cigarettes, something, anything to lift her up out of whatever dark pit she’d gotten herself lost in, sucking on that little funnel to hell, staring into the deep pools of insanity of her own crack-addled eyes.I looked around in the dark. It wasn’t Narcisa in the bed with me.It was something, but it wasn’t her.I looked down and there she was, still sitting there transfixed before the mirror, staring at herself. Obsessed. Lost. Gone.

Then I felt it again. Some ghostly hand touching me.This time I was wide awake. I screamed out loud.I could feel goosebumps covering my body as I scrambled down the ladder. She barely glanced in my direction as I threw on my clothes and stumbled toward the door.Just as I was about to close the door behind me, I glanced over at her and I saw it.Saw it in her face. The same something that had awakened me with a scream and a chill from a sound sleep.She had finally managed to open some terrible portal, casting an ugly spell of self-obsession on herself and somehow unleashed an entity… a heartless, inhuman, hateful lower spirit being into herself, into the room, into the world.Great.She continued staring at herself in the mirror. I picked up my case of heebie-jeebies and got the fuck out of there in a hurry.Two minutes later I was sitting at the lively, brightly lit paderia Santo Amaro, surrounded by busy little people having their morning coffee, on their way to work. Old Roberto Carlos music was playing on the radio. Busses and taxis were rumbling down the street. The sun was emerging in the 6 am sky.I drank my coffee and tried to muster up the courage to go back up there and try one more time to rescue Narcisa from the deadly malevolant curse of herselfFinally after 2 cups of coffee and a half a dozen cigarettes, I got on the bike and rode back up to the house on the hill. The House On The Hill. It sounds like some old horror movie, doesn’t it?It was….As I climbed the creaking old wooden stairs to the room where she sat, I could swear I saw something indistinct darting in the shadowy hall.I opened the door and there she was, still sitting where I’d left her half an hour before. Sitting in front of the mirror, fucking around with her god damned crack pipe, opening the gates to some occult hell I’d rather not know about, but for as long as I’m under her spell, there’s no real escape from.I stood in the middle of the room and looked at her. She looked up. Somehow she looked more human in the soft emerging light of day now.”What’s up?” I said curtly.”My last hit,” she mumbled.Great. The beginning of a new mission. Or sleep…Whatever.

viewfromahill, originally uploaded by Scab Vendor.

I walked out onto the balcony and sat down looking out over the bay, watching the bright red sun of morning emerge, listening to the squawking bird sounds and the distant rumble of the awakening frantic machine of the city as Narcisa sat in her ash strewn corner with her last hit, awakening God knows what from the invisable Underworld closing in all around us now…..Copyright Jonathan Shaw 2008. All Rights Reserved.NOTIFIÇAO: Os eventos neste site são contos de ficção - registrados na Biblioteca Nacional 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 vivo 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.