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So it’s 3:30 in the morning but I’m still up wondering why I can never sleep like a normal functioning human being in this city where everyone has 8 am wake up calls including myself. Why I feel lonely and isolated today, the way Narcisa must feel sometimes when she’s all alone up there in the favela. I worked all day at the coffee shop on Cahuenga and Franklin writing and emailing and sitting with Amy, Jonathan’s ex who is adorably pregnant and married to Noah Levine. Then I sent some more emails trying to set up a meeting in Berlin for a European book tour, went to see a guy about a thing, ate a hamburger really quickly and ran off into the night to seek some validation. Went to 86, the best decorated new bar in Hollywood, then stood outside of Vine Bar for a minute and felt empty so I wound (as usual) with Nicky at the Cafe 101 and drank some tea. When I got home I emailed Jonathan and told him to call me, but he didn’t.

I’m assuming right now he has a pillow over his face and is sleeping away under Brazilian summer sun. I missed him tonight. Tonight was painstakingly lonely. And then I realized, we’re all battling the same loneliness. It’s not about validation from other people. It’s about validation from yourself. Someone asked me what I wanted today and my answer was “oblivion”. And as true as it rang in that particular moment standing in front of the bar, it’s not true. Feelings are important. They are the only real thing in life. Everything else is an illusion- matter, time, space… it all comes from a feeling. Why would I not want that? I wish someone would explain that to Narcisa.

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.

Its not gonna be an easy ride for Narcisa - this much I know. When she finally woke up this morning after lights-out for 30 hours and God knows how many terrible nightmares where she’s paying for all her sins again and again, she’s up and then it’s the television, that terrible, consumer culture brainwash box that she just dives right into, a world of stupidity and mindless materialism to reinforce her already twisted worldview right from the moment her eyes and ears open to the world.

Right from the start she just drops her soul into the sewer of the human cesspool at its most base and disgusting and sits there like a drooling zombie waiting for some big white washing machine to drop out of the sky and make everything spotless and new and sparkly like all the stupid yankee sitcoms and mind control programming promises to poor ignorant cattle children like her the whole world over.I’m out on the street dropping her off later and I look around and see the people running amok like it’s the goddamn Mardi Gras, my people, ignorant little replicas of Narcisa with her TV eyes and childlike mind and it hits me, it’s not just her, it’s the world, it’s Brazil, a whole mind-warped brainwashed culture, a nation of whores and beggers and petty thieves and crooked liars and pipe dreaming slaves, with or without the crack habit, its all the same ratty fairy tale happy ending mind of slavery to ego and self and the belief in eternal satisfaction at the end of a magic consumer wand or a machine gun or a beer can or crack pipe or a politician’s promise or a whirlwind of romantic love-boat wedding chapel angel food cake, whiter than white flouride toothpaste smiles and shit-eating grins on skulls that will soon be rotting in the ground no matter fucking what.Whatever whatever, so maybe Narcisa’s right to just burn it at both ends like she does and do the best she can to live as intensely and dangerously as possible and so what if she fucking dies, at least she provided me the inspiration to write a fucking book cause she is that interesting and authentic and beautiful and that’s more than I can say about 99.999999 percent of the fucking human race.Ya hear that, princess? That’s how important you are, and I only wish you could get your head out of your ass and know it and stop reliving the betrayal that those fucking disgusting worms planted in your mind before you were old enough to know any better, just like they did to me and somebody did to them all the way back to the questionable origin of this ignoble species of brainwashed monkey slaves… 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.