The First Five (High Adventure in the Great Outdoors; Bang!; Art to Choke Hearts; Pissing In the Gene Pool; One From None) PDF
Preview The First Five (High Adventure in the Great Outdoors; Bang!; Art to Choke Hearts; Pissing In the Gene Pool; One From None)
H E N R Y R O L L I N S COLLECTED WORK 1983 – 1987 The First Five: Collected work of Henry Rollins from 1983 – 1987 ISBN: 1–880985–51–9 ©1997 Henry Rollins Fifth Printing This book is comprised of High Adventure in the Great Outdoors, Pissing in the Gene Pool, Bang!, Art to Choke Hearts, and One From None, which were originally published as five separate books. Design: ENDLESS ∞ Cover drawing: Mark Mothersbaugh Text Preparation: Alison Freer JOE COLE 4.10.61 – 12.19.91 T he contents of this book were written all over the world, usually while on tour. You get full disclosure of the character building experiences of a young man grinding it out on the independent music circuit. Famine, bitter cold, mean women, crazy women, no women at all. Clouds of locusts fill the sky and the gas gauge hits empty at every turn. These books have been given every bad review in exist- ence. They have been brutalized and interrogated under harsh lights. They have been denied visas and sent back where they came from. They have been scorned and cast aside, yet they still exist through the sheer tenacity of their small but sturdy publisher. Comrade, you hold in your hand The First Five, a wood- pulped fist of screaming fury. A densely packed tome to keep the blood thin and the mind clear when enduring a long night of solitary refinement. Don’t hitchhike solo on the highway to the great Abyss. No need to sail alone through the stormy sea of your self-pity. When you need to wallow in the mire of your existence with a fellow self-obsessed insomnia-ridden megalo- maniac and your friends no longer pick up the phone when you call, reach for this book. – Henry Rollins Summer 1997 High Adventure In The Great Outdoors 8 2 HENRY ROLLINS South Bay... are there any real people here at all? Have you ever been to 7-11? Nothing but cellophane and youths humping the video games. 25 cent video youth, what culture! Those machines breed killers, I’m sure of it. Go, go video youth, go to the street, here’s a quarter kill a queer, kill a nigger, kill a commie. Kill! Kill! Kill! I can see them now, storming into Westwood armed to the teeth with automatic weapons and quarters. Eddie Van Halen & Michael Jackson at the controls, distributing quarters and bark- ing commands! This is a sick world we live in. Only Earth could come up with Philadelphia. ’ ’ ’ ’ ’ My father took me to see The Godfather when it first came out. The theater was packed. The movie was underway and everyone very quiet. Behind us was a large black man. The man pulled out a bag of potato chips and opened them up. The bag made a bit of noise and my father said, “Hey shut up!” real loud. I sank into my seat and remained there for the rest of the film. I think it would have been real cool if: (a) the guy smiled and offered my dad some chips (that would have chilled his shit pretty good) or if (b) the guy slapped my dad upside his head. My father took me to McDonald’s one Saturday when I was young. It was springtime. We pulled into the parking lot and got out. There were two hippies parked next to us, a boy and a girl. On the side of their car they had some American flag stickers stuck on upside-down. My dad started yelling at them. He called them pinkos, fags, commies, and hippies. He told them to get haircuts and to take those stickers off their car. The girl got real upset and ripped her shirt open, her breasts fell out, right there in the McDonald’s parking lot! I don’t know why she ripped her shirt open to express her agitation, maybe that’s how you did it back then. It might have been kind of neat if the girl kicked him in the nuts or something. ’ ’ ’ ’ ’ High Adventure in the Great Outdoors 2 9 I’m in my apartment My left foot nailed to the floor I just go in circles A little blood seeps out I’ll be here tomorrow If I can make it through today A little blood seeps out The days pass Like passing your hands through broken glass A little blood seeps out I feel some pain here and there I feel the days passing me I choke on the exhaust A little blood seeps out ’ ’ ’ ’ ’ I want to take a walk A long walk Into the desert Into the heat I see my name Carved in the ruins I see my number Carved in the ruins I can finally see myself My reflection in sand Reflected in light Reflected in heat I raise my hands to the sky It is time to die It’s always time There’s always time to die Didn’t it always seem like time? Didn’t it? 10 2 HENRY ROLLINS The sun brings the blood to a boil I drop to the ground ’ ’ ’ ’ ’ Numbers are perfect, infallible and everlasting. You aren’t. Numbers are always right in the end. You may see an incorrect figure but that’s not the fault of the number, the fault lies in the person doing the calculating. How many times will your heart beat during your lifetime? Of course you don’t know! But there’s a number that will provide you with this small bit of informa- tion. Numbers are dependable! The sun may explode, you may lose your job, you may never be able to “get it up” again, but at the end of the day five is five. Get it? Good! Numbers do not cut in line at lunch time. Numbers do not write bad checks. Num- bers sound cool, like when a fucking pig gets a call on his pig radio to go answer a 511. You can go to buy coffee at 7-11. Numbers make good names. Like at a party or soiree. I always wear a sticker that has a martini glass and the words: “Hi my name is:” printed on it, underneath the printing I write in “2-13- 61.” So I can say, “Hi, my name is 2-13-61, what’s yours?” Then you can say to girls or guys, “Hey you’re really the bees knees! What’s your number?” ’ ’ ’ ’ ’ He can take you to the desert. He can tell the time by just saying so. He can take you home if that’s where you want to go. He told me the world was gonna get hit with a coat of black paint that was never gonna come off. He is insanity. Pure. I think he wants to burn the world down. I acknowledge my life through his deaths. With the perpetual delirium of an insane dream I think I know just what he means. I am afraid of the animals he understands. In a dream he touched me with a burning hand. ’ ’ ’ ’ ’
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