This Is Gonna Hurt: Music, Photography and Life Through the Distorted Lens of Nikki Sixx (5 page)

I am confused about a few things but not this. The Bible, the book of lies, the spoliation of my industry, the lies of fame, the narcissism of neurotic behavior, victim saints and soul-sucking whores, say it now, I say, bloody rosary in hand; fuck you for the memories.
I am not my past but my past is me.
Pain is a beautiful reminder of what I try to forget.

I am the outcast come home to roost and the eggs of tomorrow are incubating in my fame. You hate me, you love me, you made me, and now I am in you. I am like that disease brewing in your loins and I think you like it…

I once wrote a song for Mötley Crüe called “Poison Apples”:

Poison Apples
Mötley Crüe

TOOK A GREYHOUND BUS DOWN TO HEART ATTACK
AND VINE WITH A FISTFUL OF DREAMS AND DIMES.

SO FAR OUT I DIDN’T KNOW THAT I WAS IN.

HAD A TASTE FOR A LIFE OF SLIME.

WHEN PUSH CAME TO SHOVE, MUSIC WAS THE
DRUG AND THE BAND ALWAYS GOT TO PLAY.

SEX, SMACK, ROCK, ROLL, MAINLINE, OVERDOSE.

MAN, WE LIVED IT NIGHT AND DAY.

WE LOVED OUR MOTT THE HOOPLE,

IT KEPT US ALL SO ENRAGED.

AND YOU LOVED US, AND YOU LOVED US,

AND YOU LOVED US.

WE’RE SO FUCKING BEAUTIFUL!

PRETTY LITTLE POISON APPLES, SEE THE SCARS

TATTOOED ON OUR FACE.

IT’S YOUR DISGRACE.

PRETTY LITTLE POISON APPLES, MAMA SAID,

“NOW DON’T YOU WALK THIS WAY,

JUST FIND SOME FAITH.”

TABLOID SLEEZE JUST MAGGOTS ON THEIR

KNEES DIGGIN’ IN THE DIRT FOR SLAG.

MOONSHINE, STRYCHNINE,

SPEEDBALL, SHOOTIN’ LINES.

ANYTHING TO PUSH THEIR RAGS.

STILL WE LOVE OUR MOTT THE HOOPLE,

IT KEEPS US ALL SO ENRAGED.

AND YOU LOVE US AND YOU HATE US

AND YOU LOVE US.

WE’RE SO FUCKING BEAUTIFUL!

PRETTY LITTLE POISON APPLES,

SEE THE SCARS TATTOOED ON OUR FACE.

IT’S YOUR DISGRACE.

PRETTY PRETTY POISON APPLES, MAMA SAID,

“NOW DON’T YOU WALK THIS WAY, JUST FIND
SOME FAITH.”

BLUEPRINTS FOR DISASTER.

YOU BETTER NOT PUSH ME

’CAUSE I’LL BRING YOU TO YOUR KNEES,
TO YOUR KNEES.

BLUEPRINTS FOR DISASTER.

YOU BETTER NOT LOVE ME

’CAUSE I’LL BRING YOU TO YOUR KNEES,
MAMA, TO YOUR KNEES.

PRETTY LITTLE POISON APPLES, MAMA SAID,

“NOW DON’T YOU WALK THIS WAY,

JUST FIND SOME FAITH, FAITH, FAITH, YEAH.”

PRETTY LITTLE POISON APPLES.

This Is Gonna Hurt

Sixx:A.M.

Feels like your life is over

Feels like all hope is gone

You kiss it all away

Maybe maybe

This is a second coming

This is a call to arms

Your finest hour won’t be wasted wasted

Hey hey hell is what you make make

Rise against your fate fate

Nothing’s gonna keep you down

Even if it’s killing you

Because you know the truth

Chorus

Listen up listen up

There’s a devil in the church

Got a bullet in the chamber

And this is gonna hurt

Let it out let it out

You can scream and you can shout

Keep your secrets in the shadows and you’ll be sorry

Everybody’s getting numb

Everybody’s on the run

Listen up listen up

There’s a devil in the church

Got a bullet in the chamber

And this is gonna hurt

You got your hell together

You know it could be worse

A self-inflicted murder

Maybe maybe

You say it’s all a crisis

You say it’s all a blur

There comes a time you’ve gotta
face it face it

Hey hey hell is what you make make

Rise against your fate fate

Nothing’s gonna keep you down

Even if it’s killing you

Because you know the truth

FATHER & SON

MOTHER & SON

SELF-PORTRAIT, HELSINKI HOTEL 3 A.M.
fig.h35

I was speaking sarcastically of growing up and having the sword of judgment always waving above my head…I was laughing at you for laughing at me by saying, “We’re so fucking beautiful.”

I was making fun of you…again…It was revenge through pen and paper. I don’t see how this could be any plainer than the poison on the end of my tongue. But at that time I couldn’t see it. I could feel it for sure, but that’s a whole different thing…I am not angry, or defiant, anymore. (Well, maybe a bit here and there.) I am more aware now that we’re all on a journey, and mine is not only to be different but to “show” and help others to “see” the beauty in difference.

I rant and rave, I push and shove you with these words to make you feel. To make you see all that is before us is
maybe
not the truth. I push myself to ask questions and engage; why would I not do the same to you?

Right now, as we speak we’re on the same page, but maybe not in agreement and that too is OK.

Some things sticky don’t always stick.

I was driving my ’32 Ford hot rod today, windows down, roar of the motor in my half-deaf ears, Starbucks in hand, and as I slowed to a stoplight I noticed the pedestrian ahead of me reading
Autobiography of a Yogi
as the Santa Ana winds were kicking up. I went into one of those stop-motion moments where it seems your life is flashing before your eyes.

I remembered reading that book when I was seventeen living in Glendale, California. My grandmother Nona had sent it to me. I thought it was the weirdest thing to send an elephant-tranquilizer-snorting, whiskey-drinking, speed-taking teenager. I sat it on the table and probably cut lines off it or used it for a doorstop. One day it ended up in my angry, sweaty (speed’s such a wonderful drug) hands. It stuck with me for weeks, sticky in its content. I couldn’t put it down. Mesmerized and then forgotten. So there I was thirtysome years later and remembering how at ease it made me feel. I wasn’t ready for the journey of peace; I wanted war and I got what I went after.

Isn’t it wonderful how life tugs and tugs on your heartstrings, sometimes gently, sometime not? This was a gentle reminder that I am a different man now. The part of me I “see” clearly is the beauty in the honesty of just being yourself. When I photograph you, I hope to see it in you…Only the honest stand before me now.

CHILDHOOD
fig.37c

N
ew Anthony, New Mexico, doesn’t seem so long ago or far away. I remember being nine years old, walking down a dirt road toward the gas station that sold my favorite penny candy. I remember how impermanent I felt even then.