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….Kerouac is on the verge of a stroke trying to follow the beat, Baudelaire horrified, shaking like a little girl - and Bukowski can’t get enough from the fish-ass taste on his tongue:
Narcisa, Our Lady of Ashes is here and she is yanking them out of their rotten graves to rape them with to most powerful of all drugs: reality.
This is a story of commitment. Commitment to love and the absence of consequences; like every great love should be.
From page one till the end, it is hard to take a breath of air. And forget about pure air by the way. There is not the slightest moment of hesitation by the author to dive head first into the deepest realms of hell, have brunch with Mr. Goat Head in person and let the reader be shat on with pure pain. No compassion whatsoever.
After going through so much immorality on every holy-fucking page of this Goddamn-Bible of Hell, I found and learned one solid moral:
“Love is a piece of maggot-infested, putrid meat that hangs on a hook of an abandoned Butcher’s shop in hell. Only those hungry and brave enough to eat it like a fancy carpaccio will be blessed by the sickness, the wounds that only God himself will heal and transform…”
I got all this and more from this book. Salve Jonathan Shaw,  the most authentic person I know.

- Antonio Luiz “Tonico” Monteiro de Carvalho