Long Hard Road Out of Hell by Marilyn Manson & Neil Strauss

Author:Marilyn Manson & Neil Strauss
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Azizex666, Non Fiction
ISBN: 9780060987466
Publisher: ReganBooks
Published: 1999-02-06T05:00:00+00:00

AMERICA, MEET MARILYN MANSON: PART TWO OF A TWO-PART STORY

by Sarah Fim

Empyrean Magazine, 1995

When we last left Marilyn Manson, he was in his hotel room snorting coke and giving Empyrean an exclusive on the whirlwind events of the past year. The time now is four A.M. that same night and just as he is preparing to launch into the carnage tales of his tours with Nine Inch Nails (with the Jim Rose Circus Sideshow and, later, Hole as opening acts), there is a knock on the door. He hides his drug-covered Judas Priest CD behind a cardboard box and stands up, smoothing out his Adam Ant Friend or Foe T-shirt. He looks cautiously through the peephole, half expecting to see the psychotic runaways that slavishly follow his every movement and sleep with his crew (and occasionally very desperate band members) to find out his latest whereabouts.

But the sight facing him when he opens the door is a much more horrid one: it’s Twiggy Ramirez, the band’s bassist, with a bottle of wine in his hand and an expression of pure, abject horror on his face. He complains about how miserable he is because he’s snorted too much cocaine. Then he snorts another line and sits on an armchair in the corner of the room, curling his knees up to his red-and-white button-down shirt. Instead of making him talkative, the cocaine is bringing him down. To every question he is asked, all he responds is “whiskey and speed.”

I wonder if his presence will keep Manson from opening up and being honest, but Manson says not to worry as he pours himself a large glass of wine.

EMPYREAN: Snort some of that and then we’ll get started again.

MANSON: This is good talking powder. [Big snorts.] Eek. [He is startled by a scene on the video of handicapped people being massacred.]

When did you start doing cocaine anyway?

Not that long ago. The first time was on the Nine Inch Nails tour. We had just played in Chicago, and one of the roadies called me and Twiggy into Trent’s dressing room. He was there with someone else in the band. The room was destroyed. There was food everywhere. Shit was crushed into the floor. Dirty clothes were strewn all over. And everything was covered in flour because those guys used to pour flour all over themselves.

In the middle of the wreckage there was a strange, gray-haired, pock-marked hippie who had bribed his way backstage with drugs and carved out something like thirty lines on a stainless steel counter in the bathroom. It was some ridiculous rock star amount of drugs, something insane like an ounce. He was like, “Do you want some?” And we were like, “We’ve never done this before.” And he said, “Try it.” So we did, and we were wired out of our minds. We were doing lines like crazy.

I was wearing rubber underwear that had been built only with an opening for your dick; I wore them all the time on that tour.

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