“Jonathan Shaw is a fucked-off hunk of shit, a fish-asshole-cuntsucker!” This lovely encomium was written by that model of restraint, the late, great Charles Bukowski and inscribed on the bookmark of Shaw’s new novel, Narcisa: Our Lady of Ashes.
For a man who professes to be anti-celebrity, Shaw has been awarded serious mythologizing. Wedged between outlaw and genius, the motherfucker’s got serious street cred: Johnny Depp, Iggy Pop, Debbie Harry, Jim Jarmusch and Jerry Stahl laud his nightmarish talent on the accompanying bookmark.You can’t beat Marilyn Manson’s book blurb endorsement: “Jonathan Shaw is a shameless evildoer.”
Visiting from his home in Rio de Janeiro, Shaw returned last week to his old stomping grounds on the Lower East Side. He used to pack a pistol or two at Fun City, the underground tattoo parlor he ran back in the days.A legendary tattooist who inked the bods of noted rockers, artists, actors, bikers, dopers and other ne’er-do-wells, he’s since transitioned to writing.
I arrived in the blood-red record store Hospital Productions on East Third Street, across from the Hell’s Angels’ headquarters, to hear him read.There were no nurses there, not even in latex. The black shades were drawn, the air conditioning sweating, Shaw was at the back of the shop reading to a room crammed with listeners who chuckled at the more hyperbolic lines. Wearing oversized white eyeglasses, Kembra Phaler of the Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black, sat on the floor. At the front, Gibby Haynes of the Butthole Surfers towered over the rest of us, listening raptly.
Though labeled fiction, the book’s based on Shaw’s life. The main character Narcisa is an underage crack ho who bewitches him, becoming his nemesis, his foil, his muse, his Circe, the love of his life.“To look at her one would hardly imagine her to be a jaded glue-sniffing pe dophile, a pimp, prostitute, and criminal.” After reading several passages, the lights came on, we all blinked and Shaw signed books. Shaw’s interest was only held for so long, though.“I’m off to meet Jarmusch now,” he told a friend, and darted out the door.
For a man who professes to be anti-celebrity, Shaw has been awarded serious mythologizing. Wedged between outlaw and genius, the motherfucker’s got serious street cred: Johnny Depp, Iggy Pop, Debbie Harry, Jim Jarmusch and Jerry Stahl laud his nightmarish talent on the accompanying bookmark.You can’t beat Marilyn Manson’s book blurb endorsement: “Jonathan Shaw is a shameless evildoer.”
Visiting from his home in Rio de Janeiro, Shaw returned last week to his old stomping grounds on the Lower East Side. He used to pack a pistol or two at Fun City, the underground tattoo parlor he ran back in the days.A legendary tattooist who inked the bods of noted rockers, artists, actors, bikers, dopers and other ne’er-do-wells, he’s since transitioned to writing.
I arrived in the blood-red record store Hospital Productions on East Third Street, across from the Hell’s Angels’ headquarters, to hear him read.There were no nurses there, not even in latex. The black shades were drawn, the air conditioning sweating, Shaw was at the back of the shop reading to a room crammed with listeners who chuckled at the more hyperbolic lines. Wearing oversized white eyeglasses, Kembra Phaler of the Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black, sat on the floor. At the front, Gibby Haynes of the Butthole Surfers towered over the rest of us, listening raptly.
Though labeled fiction, the book’s based on Shaw’s life. The main character Narcisa is an underage crack ho who bewitches him, becoming his nemesis, his foil, his muse, his Circe, the love of his life.“To look at her one would hardly imagine her to be a jaded glue-sniffing pe dophile, a pimp, prostitute, and criminal.” After reading several passages, the lights came on, we all blinked and Shaw signed books. Shaw’s interest was only held for so long, though.“I’m off to meet Jarmusch now,” he told a friend, and darted out the door.
