Sophie's Journal
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Journal Entry - December 1994
Wow. I was just reading back through all
these diaries and was thinking that if someone came across them and
read them, they would definitely think I was a Nympho, or sex addict.
You know? I'm pretty sure I am one or the other. Didn't use to be
this way. I don't want to analyze into why I do what I do. I like it.
I'm single. Guys are like toys, I like to play with them then move
onto the next newer, shinier toy. I did the marriage and kid thing
once and the only good thing that came out of that was Arik. His
father is, was a manipulative piece of work. Looking back now, I
know I lost a lot of self-esteem in that time in Hell we called a
relationship, then marriage. Power. I think that's what it comes down
to. No man will ever have power over me again. Ever. I come and go as
I please, not his whims. I think I've been destroyed as a normal
girl, woman, whatever, and adopted a very male way of thinking when
it comes to sex.
Fucking is fun. Rock Star Fucking is the
best. Sex > Love. Sex Love. I don't need Love to have Sex.
Sex is exercise. Love is.... I really don't know. I mean, I know
love from my parents, my band, and my son, but no man I've ever
gotten sweaty with has given me Love. Nadir? Maybe a bit. I think it
was more about ownership and possession than love. EVERYONE says,
"God, I love you...." when they come, or they are THINKING it to
assuage the guilt of just fucking for fun. "I love you, right now,
this minute. But as soon as I pull it back out, and get dressed, I'm
gonna be out of love." That's how I think now. Goddamn I am
rambling! OK, the whole point of this entry was to tell a tale of
how I CAN hook up with a guy and NOT fuck him. Yes! Shocking I know!
But it IS possible and has happened on more than one occasion. Case
in Point? Two words. Marilyn Manson.
I
shot this pic with a polaroid that was on the set of the video he was
making for "Lunchbox." He did a shot down his pants at his dick, but
I don't know what happened to that one. He probably gave it to Trent.
I got invited to the shoot by Trent Reznor, the guy in that one man
band NIN, or Nine Inch Nails for those who need it spelled out for
them. He was the one who discovered Manson I guess down in Florida
and is pimping him along now. I first saw him play on tour with
Trent earlier this year.
I went backstage, (Of course) and mingled
and met Trent and Manson. Manson is just fucking creepy, let me state
that upfront. He lurks. What does that mean? OK, he's tall, rail
skinny, COVERED in thick black ink tattoos of all sorts of symbolic
goats and pentagrams and shit. He's pale as rice and has long mostly
stringy black hair down to his waist. Lots of eyeliner, white pancake
on his face, not like he needs it, and smeared around Hollywood Whore
Red lipstick. Quick the picture, eh? Anyway. Backstage at that show
I was talking mostly with Trent, trying to get on the pony because I
was digging all the latex and shit he was wearing. I'll tell you
right now, I struck out cold. Shocked? Oh well, it
happens.
Manson I would see talking to a few people
here and there quietly, but mostly he would just stand off to the
side or in a corner lurking and watching people. He reminded me of a
big black Praying Mantis. Did I mention he's got scars all over his
body? Well on his back and belly is all I've seen. Reminds me of Iggy
Pop sort of shit. Gnarly man. So yeah, we met that night, met
Trent, got shot down in flames, then went to the 'Bow and found some
entertainment there.
That brings us to getting a call from Trent
to come and watch the video shoot. I was shocked he even thought to
call me, but my ego tells me it was Manson who maybe asked him to do
it. Either way, it was a nice way to spend a day away from Arik, and
get out and check out this new shit being called "Alternative Rock"
or what the fuck ever. Rock is Rock. Call it whatever you want, you
are just renaming the wheel.
I went down to some run down Roller Rink in
the Valley, and went inside. I had NO idea these sort of places were
still around. They still smell the same as I recall as a kid. Dusty,
Moldy, and like bowling alley shoes. There was the camera crew, a
few chosen groupies, management, Trent, extras, the kid in the video,
and the rest of Manson's band of course. This was the second time
I'd seen them up close, and believe me, it doesn't get any less
weird. I think there was a new one on keyboards the looked like a
deranged Uncle Fester. Wait. Is that possible? Anyway.... It was my
turn to lurk. I stood off to the side, out of the way and line of
fire, and watched. Trent came over and slipped me a CD of some of his
new stuff and said he wanted to know what I thought.
"I think my career as a Metal Chick in a
band is running down the drain thank you very much because this new
shit you are creating is awesome." That's what I wanted to say, but
didn't of course. I can be smooth at times. Stop laughing. So, he
mentioned something about dinner after and when I asked if Manson was
going to come along, he got the weirdest look on his face, or rather
his dark little eyes. Plotting. Thinking. Building a web, or trap.
Or, maybe I am just paranoid. He said he would ask him, and we left
it at that. Now shooting a video is an experience in tedium torture,
and let me tell you, watching one get made, SOBER is worse. I hung
in there, because I wanted a day out, away from the house and I had
practically had to sell my soul to get Ceej to watch Arik for the
day, possibly night.
The video finally wrapped up the scenes in
the Roller Rink around eight o'clock, and the outdoor stuff would be
shot the next day with the kid again, and some schoolyard set. I am
glad I like that song "Lunchbox" because listening to the playback
all day and into the evening has infused it into my DNA now I heard
it so much. Manson came over to where I was sitting and said "Hello,
and thanks for coming to watch the shoot." I told him I liked it, I
liked his band and the sound, and he seemed very appreciative of
that, and humble almost. He's got this deep voice with a strange
timbre to it when he talks normal and isn't screaming lyrics. He's
really intelligent, I got that much from the little bit of talking we
did before Trent came over and did introductions even though we'd all
met before. Trent asked Manson about going out to dinner, and he
didn't look too keen on the idea. He said he was tired and thought he
was coming down with something.
I must have looked very disappointed because
when he looked from Trent to me, he gave me a smile, that was sort of
creepy and tired at the same time, and said, "He would if the lady
wanted him to go." I nodded and so it was decided we would skip
going to the strip, and hit some LA restaurant off of the beaten path
of rock and roll cliche hang outs. I called Ceej to let her know
what was up, and after the usual lecture, I was told to go have fun
and she'd see me in the morning, or else. We took two cars to Il
Capriccio on Vermont in Los Feliz, and managed to not get lost or
separated on the way over. I was sort of bummed neither offered to
ride over with me, but that just fueled the fire of my conspiracy
theory that they were up to "something".
It was a nice, family style restaurant, and
even though we were pretty on the casual and better than club wear
dressed, we stuck out. People looked at us as we walked in and were
taken to a large booth in the back. They could tell, and rightly so
SUSPECTED we were SOMEONE but none of us were HUGE or MTV fodder, so
they just looked curiously, and forgot about us as soon as we were
out of sight.
Journal Entry - April 1995 - Dallas,
TX
So
here I sit, in the back of a tour bus, the tour bus for my boyfriend,
lover, fuck buddy, Guy I am exclusively fucking this week, month,
Riff Randall. Real name Randall Mason from Austin Texas. A Good Old
boy playing in a sleazy rock band that reminds me of the Dangerous
Toys sort. Sort, type, the kind I always go for, then either dump
because they get boring, or piss me off. He's very close to falling
into the latter category. I'm sitting here, in the back of his bus,
working on my third Lone Star (Tastes like cold piss) and trying to
fight down this pissed off, jealous girlfriend demon welling up
inside of me. We haven't seen each other for two weeks, so I flew out
here for a couple of days to hang out, party, drink, and fuck. I
walked in on him getting a head start on that, hence me here, him,
fuck all knows where, and me scribbling in this damn notebook while
getting drunk.
Now, the reason Rockers date other Rockers
is we know what to expect from the animal. We drink, we party, we do
stupid shit, but occasionally, we want someone to call "our own" even
for a short time when the Groupie Games get old. He and I, we've been
'dating' let's call it for about six months now, and we have rules in
place, for the both of us. I know he's on the road, playing shit hole
clubs, and halls and having all sorts of local girly cooze coming at
him. I know that, I expect that, and I am not going to delude myself
that he's not going to keep his dick from that every night. So, we
set up rules, for him. Me on the road? Sure I fuck around. Me on the
road when I am "going steady", I use my industrial strength vibrator.
Anyway, the ground rules for him are this:
1. No fucking. His dick doesn't go in any
pussy, or ass that isn't mine.
2. No Kissing on the mouth. Period. I own that filthy mouth with the
hillbilly accent.
3. Blow jobs, hand jobs, and tit fucking are allowed. I'm not inhuman
after all.
So where's the problem? (Fuck. Writers
cramp, and my beer is gone.) Where's the problem? Well, call it an
unfortunate crossing of roads, or rather, blonde bimbo twins. I
showed up, late to the show, but not unexpected, just... forgotten
for the moment, after the show was over. Damn cab from the airport
broke down and it took forever to get another, anyway... I arrived to
the venue, then to the band's dressing room in time to open the door
and see them, all four of them being entertained by a pair of
accommodating blondes who were naked, on the floor on hands and
knees, being serviced front and back by all four members of the band.
Granted, dear Riff was abiding by our agreement, and was balls deep
in the mouth of one of the bimbos, right in the middle of his orgasm
and expressive O face. Kacy was doing the same thing, the singer, and
he saw a flash of me in the doorway, and then made his "O shit!
Girlfriend" face. Riff's back was to the door and me, but I'd seen
enough in the reflection of the mirror to send me back down the hall,
and outside.
It's one thing to give your guy permission
to feed sperm to a groupie, it's another thing entirely to be treated
to that performance. I wasn't pissed, but, OK, I was pissed, but I
couldn't be at him, so I was at HER. I was walking around outside by
the buses fuming when Muff, their sound guy finished his smoke and
squired me into the bus, got me a beer, and dashed off I am guessing
to inform Riff I was there, if Kacy hadn't already told him that
update. So. That brings us to now. I've been back here for about 15
minutes, and two rapidly drank beers. I'm tired, and buzzed, and now
have to try to stay pissed at him long enough to deny him sex for...
I don't know how long.
*******************
Journal Entry - August 1986 - East
Coast
It's hot here, I hate hot. I hate hot and
and humid and that's what it's like here. I've escaped to the bus for
now, and am jotting this down while Sixx does press. Sixx. Yes, HIM.
Why am I out here with him, and baby Arik is home with Grand ma?
Because he CALLED me up, and asked me if I wanted to fly out for a
few days, and hang out. OK. OK. Translation for the very thick: "Heya
Soph... I like your tits. I hear you are single. Wanna come out and
fuck me for a few weeks?" So I did. He paid the airfare and I get to
hang out with the hottest band on MTV besides mine, and fuck Nikki
Sixx. Sometimes good things DO happen to bad people.
So, yeah, their set, and show is cool. I
wish ours was that big. Soon. Real soon. I'm gonna scribble this bit
down and try to get more sleep. They party like Mack trucks, and I
admit, it's hard to keep up. We were up until six thirty am this
morning, and then hit the bed. Round two for sex then we crashed to
sleep. Round one was when we first got to the hotel after the
backstage routine. He's distant, and clingy at the same time. It's
really strange. After the gig, we went back to the hotel to drink
some more. The drinking onstage, and after at the M&G wasn't
enough. I didn't even try to keep up with them on that level. Jesus.
He puts down a fifth of JD like it's coke. Err... Cola. The other
coke, well, that disappears around here up noses by the
kilo.
So yeah. As soon as we get back to the
hotel, it's a dash into his room, clothes go missing and down on the
bed for a rough and fast round. Then... he's up, dressed mostly, and
off to seek more liquid and chemical sex with the rest of the band,
and any fans lingering about. Now, this was a bit odd for me to
experience the first couple of times. I've known for a while now I
like a quick fuck, and love isn't a necessary ingredient to that good
time at all, but Jesus. He's up, and dressed almost while I'm still
catching my breath. I think I'd feel fucked and dumped if I wasn't a
bit like him when it comes to not needing love to fuck. Still, it's
odd. It's like he does it because it's expected, part of the set
list. Something. Bang. Hit that mark, then move onto the next number.
The next number is never another girl, or four, like Vince, so it
doesn't piss me off, just puzzles me.
Fuck. So much for jabbing down a few words
and sleeping. Look at it this way Soph, you are saving bucks by
writing this down, and not going to your shrink....
So then, on goes the party until dawn.
Drinking, snorting, malicious mayhem, and all sorts of vandalism
until they return to the rooms around six-ish and crash until later
in the afternoon. With us, it's another round of bump and grunt
before sleeping finally. I'm usually back in the room long before he
even thinks of returning, and he crawls in, we hump again, a bit
slower this time, nicer kissing, and then crash. Here's where the
contrast comes in. When we're in bed sleeping... He's all about
cuddle, and contact. He spoons up tight, holds on around my waist,
nuzzles his face into my hair, and holds on. Every time I roll over,
or try to change position, he reattaches. Weird. If I get up to pee,
which I usually do, he wakes right up, and is laying there leaning up
on an elbow or the pile of pillows waiting until I come back and get
back in bed. Once I am, Snuggle Nikki is back. He's not like this any
other time. During the day, we walk around and don't even hold hands
or anything. Weird boy this guy. But, who cares? We are both having a
good time Star fucking, and that's why we do this, and don't work at
Tower Records, right?
Current mood: disappointed
*******************
Journal Entry - September 1986 -- Los
Angeles
Well, I'm home, and despite WHO you talk to,
I either just left after my fling with Nikki, or he sent me home.
Jerk. I'd been out there with him for a couple of weeks, and after
that long, I'd had enough of him, and his routine. How do I put this
delicately? I guess there is no way really. He's a fucking slob. A
doper slob. He spends most of his waking and non-onstage time getting
drunk or high. That got old real quick. And showering? Well, that's
saved for special occasions like once a week weather he needs it or
not. Fucking gross man. I'd hop into the shower or go somewhere with
a sink and hot water to wash up after every time he touched me. He
doesn't seem to mind his own funk, combined with me, or whomever he's
rubbed up against.
Two days ago I decided I'd had enough of
THAT glamorous lifestyle and planned to go home. When we'd crawled
into bed at the crack of dawn the other day, I'd told him I'd be
leaving that night after the show to go home. I told him I missed
Arik, and I should be getting back to him. He flipped. He put his big
ass feet on my butt and shoved me out of the bed. He started yelling
about how I should just go now, and catch an early flight instead of
a late one. Well, fine. You don't have to tell me
twice.
I packed up my shit, not that there was a
lot of it, and bounced. Asshole. I got down to the lobby and was just
in time to catch a shuttle to the airport, and left. I arrived home
to an ecstatic Arik, a ton of mail, and several phone messages from
Nikki. They ranged from apologetic, to ranting pissed off, back to
apologetic, and "Come on back out, yeah?" I erased them all, took a
LONG HOT shower, and went into the rehearsal space with Arik, and
began working on some new stuff.
Rock Stars. You can have them.
Seriously.
Current mood: confused
*******************