Title: The Heroin Diaries: A Year in the Life of a Shattered Rock Star
Author: Nikki Sixx (with Ian Gittins).
Genre: Non-fiction, autobiography, drugs, addiction, mental health, music.
Publication Date: September 18th, 2007.
Summary: A collection of diary entries written between Christmas of 1986 and Christmas of 1987. In considerable detail, the diaries chronicle the recording of Mötley Crüe's 'Girls, Girls, Girls' album and the subsequent 'Girls Girls Girls' tour, ending with Sixx's near-death from a heroin overdose in late 1987, which inspires the band to quit heroin altogether.
My rating: 7.5/10
♥ A Short Alternative Medical Dictionary (DEFINITIONS COURTESY OF DR. LEMUEL PILLMEISTER (also known as Lemmy)
Addiction - When you can give up something any time, as long as it's next Tuesday.
Alcoholism - A habit that helps you to see the iguanas in your eyeballs.
Cocaine - Peruvian Marching Powder - a stimulant that has the extraordinary effect that the more you do, the more you laugh out of context.
Depression - When everything you laugh at is miserable and you can't seem to stop.
Heroin - A drug that helps you to escape reality, while making it much harder to cope when you are recaptured.
Psychosis - When everybody turns into tiny dolls and they have needles in their mouths and they hate you and you don't care because you have THE KNIFE! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
♥ They say to keep what you have, you have to give it away. I believe that. I also believe that you can be cool as fuck, not give a fuck and fucking kick ass in life, and not be fucked up. I'm still the first person to say 'Fuck you' but I'm faster to say 'I love you.' If life is what you make it, I've made mine great. It took a lot of hard work and if you need to, you can do it too.
♥ One could say that I've been having a 10cc love affair... my mistress is so seductive. She sneaks, she lies - in fact, she will lie dormant, if that's what's needed to seduce me from my lifetime commitment (my music). Some could say I'm married to my music. Other... fuck them...
Is this a crisis or a needed creative outlet?
There she goes again, whispering in my ear. Sometimes I think I hear her say I'm going to die.
♥ Her love is like a swimming pool
Winter comes and it's no use to you
Her love is like a suicide
Lose your faith and it takes your life
Her love is like a merry-go-round
Spins you in circles then it knocks you down
Her love is like cheap alcohol
Morning comes and you don't remember at all
Her love is like a Cheshire cat
At first so friendly but at you it laughs
Her love is like a passionate kiss
At first so sweet then it takes your breath
Her love is like the stars above
Your guiding light always leaves you lost
Her love is like Jesus Christ
No matter how much faith
You still die on the cross
♥ Yuppies dressed up
as satanic clowns
Commit another suicide just
to please the crowds
And this anti-freeze is
how we shoot the breeze...
With this bottle and keys we'll
drive off in our disease...
Handsome dreams dressed up as a
And the reason for a gun is to
prey on the meek...
Last year's haggard housewife
scored a sedative as a lover
Sits on her kitchen floor and eats
from the same gun as her mother.
God bless the weak?
♥ Steven Tyler told me once he didn't think he would ever be off heroine. At this point in my life, I remember thinking the same thing. The feeling of completely giving into your demons is hopeless, but when you can't climb your way out of such a hole, you tend to crouch down and call it home.
♥ Which side of the blade is sharper? The lie or the truth? It all seems irrelevant when your jugular is sliced open and you're lying in a pool of blood for the whole world to see.
♥ This industry is the most fucked-up business ever. Musicians spend their childhoods learning to play instruments in their bedrooms, then they spend their lives in a recording studio creating music... then some fucker in a suit comes along and says if I can distribute what they've done to enough people, I'm going to sell PRODUCT to create CASHFLOW for my CORPORATION... at which point I ask myself, Where did we lose the music?
We write the music. It's our songs, our vision, our message, our angst, so how can some record company OWN Motley Crue or Aerosmith or Led Zeppelin's music? I mean, what the fuck? This system is slavery. It's our music, our business... we should own it...
♥ When you're sitting on a plane 40,000 feet up in the air, looking our the window, dreaming of your future and how bright it appears to be, or maybe just watching the drops of rain being pushed into different designs from the force of air at 400mph, well, life feels good. Then the oxygen masks fall, the plane jumps, snaps and jolts. People start to scream, babies burst out crying, people start praying all in time to the overhead announcement that we're gonna crash. Right then, as your life flashes before your eyes, you hear yourself say, "God, if you get me outta this one, I'll stop [insert lie here] forever." Right then the nose of the plane pulls up an the captain says, "Wow, that was a close one, folks. We're OK, we'll be landing in thirty minutes and we're all safe and sound... sorry for the scare..."
That's how getting hooked on junk is, and when the kick is over you can't believe you ever got on that plane in the first place. The question is, Will you ever fly again?
♥ When we think of storing stuff away you usually think some day you may need it, but with feelings it's different. You store it away and forget about it, then one day - like a serial killer keeps all the dead bodies in his garage - something starts to stink. They say a dog is the first one to smell his own shit. I think a drug addict is the last.
♥ The Los Angeles earthquake of October 1, 1987, measured 5.9 on the Richter scale. It killed eight people, injured scores more, and left 2,200 people homeless and more than 10,000 buildings badly damaged. However, Nikki Sixx was by far the most infamous Los Angeleno to react to the quake by running out of his house butt-naked and waving a crack pipe. (~Ian Gittins.)
♥ We paint the outside of our bodies beautiful but the inside is like dead men's bones. The hurt topples on top of itself until our hurt gets so big and ugly, growing like a cancer worm, webbing around the walls of our heart, which ultimately turns cold and callous and dull of love. We mistake lust for love and pop more pills, slam more drugs, drink ourselves silly or end us, as I did, scraping the inside of a pipe just to hit the resin and flush life down a toilet. (~Evangelist Denise Matthews.)