by Nikki Sixx
There she goes again, whispering in my ear. Sometimes I think I hear her say I’m going to die.
JANUARY 26TH, 1987
Van Nuys, 4:10 a.m.
Bob Michaels just left. We hung out and got high but he really pisses me off. Bob will do coke and drink all night but gets all lame whenever I try to give him some junk. I suppose I understand why but it’s not like he’s clean living. Maybe I should just give him some china white to snort and tell him it’s coke. Fuck, he’s my friend, and I know how much he’d enjoy it!
BOB MICHAELS: I used to do loads of pot and coke with Nikki, but I’d never do heroin. I was terrified of needles. Most junkies don’t give a fuck what other people are doing as long as they can get their own drugs, but Nikki was different. He was always trying to get me to do a shot because it would be “awesome.” Once or twice I left my pipe out on the counter and, when I wasn’t looking, Nikki sprinkled heroin in it. I’d get a lot higher than I expected, and when I looked over at him he’d be laughing at me.
10:20 p.m.
I’m very impressed with myself, if I say so myself. I’m maintaining OK in the studio. It helps if I do a couple of lines of coke before I go in, then maybe a snort of dope so that I don’t feel too jumpy…the methadone of course…then a few trips to the bathroom while we’re rehearsing.
It’s hard, but I’m keeping an even keel until I get home in the evenings and all hell breaks loose. It’s when I come home that it’s hard…my secret room keeps talking to me. I’m not listening. I’m really trying.
TOMMY LEE: Nikki was coming to the studio nicely sedated. He can be quite the control freak, but when he was on heroin he was absolutely out of control so he couldn’t be in control. I just found him very lax, which isn’t his personality–Sixx is Sagittarius but he’s got the personality of a Taurus, a bull.
JANUARY 28TH, 1987
Van Nuys, 4 a.m.
Tonight, Diary, I’m going to try something different. Instead of writing to you after an evening of psychosis, I’m going to write to you while it’s happening. Maybe someday somebody can read this and understand what Hell is.
So here I sit. The curtains are drawn, the candles are lit, and it’s just me and you. My guitar’s on my lap, my diary’s on the table, and I’m ready. Let’s see what happens.
I just did it.
My head is exploding. I…
I feel like throwing up.
Now I know, what I hear isn’t there. There is someone…it’s….
4:40 a.m.
I need to get on paper what just happened. I was convinced 30 minutes ago that there were people outside my house. There is NOBODY outside the house…what the fuck is wrong with me?
I can’t stop, but I want to still do it. I NEED THIS. I can’t stop. I don’t know how to stop thinking about it. I want to get high and I don’t want to go insane.
I know it’s fake, I know it’s fake. I know it’s not real. It’s just the drugs…
Sometimes when I sit here alone surrounded by only candles, the shadows dancing on the walls feel like my only friends. I’m listening to Tommy Bolin, trying to think of a reason to pick up my guitar…I wonder if this is how he felt, right before he died? This isn’t how I thought life would turn out.
I can’t seem to read anything lately…music seems abrasive. The scabs on my arms are festering with infection. I can’t breathe from all the blow and I can’t seem to get drunk anymore. I’m at the edge. I feel like I’m standing at death’s door and no one will let me in.
Why can’t I do the drugs like everybody else? Everybody else does the drugs and they’re OK. I do the drugs and things happen to me that I can’t explain. I’m trying to put it on paper, but I can’t…I can only describe it and you must think I’m insane but I’m not. I’m sitting here right now sane, as sane as the next guy…it’s just the drugs. It’s not me.
I remember back in Idaho, going fishing and hunting as a kid. I remember discovering Deep Purple on my cheap lil AM/FM radio, my first crushes and those warm summer nights in the park. I wanna go back to those times of innocence. I’ve forgotten who I was.
Please, God, make it stop.
BOB TIMMONS: Cocaine gave Nikki acute paranoia and hallucinations. One night he called me and asked me to get the police over to his house right away because there were little men with helmets and guns in the trees surrounding his house. It took me quite a while to talk him down from that one.
* * *
SO GOOD, SO BAD
Chinese highs, pearly white down the mainline So sad Susie has the blues up in Soho Says it’s cold as ice deep down in her arm White horse screams unpleasant dreams and pain Blind lead the blind like the German faith Riding high thru the graveyard of the night
* * *
JANUARY 29TH, 1987
Van Nuys, 7:30 p.m.
I’ve been up to no good again, diary, but it’s given me a killer idea for a song.
Becky came around again yesterday, during her school lunch break. As she was getting dressed again afterwards, putting that Catholic school uniform back on, I asked her about the Lord’s Prayer…is it important? She looked at me wide-eyed and said, Sure, it’s real important…so I got her to recite it for me, and I scribbled a few notes down. Then I dropped her back at school on my Harley.
The nuns all looked horrified when they saw me, like they were going to have a heart attack. They will too if they hear the song I’m writing.
NIKKI: Becky was a local schoolgirl who used to get very friendly with me on her lunch breaks. She had a real famous mom who would freak if she knew what her daughter was doing back then–so you know what? I’m not gonna tell you who she was…
JANUARY 30TH, 1987
Van Nuys, midnight
Today has turned to night. I’ve laid around all day, naked, playing guitar–writing, writing–this lovely lil love song called Wild Side. I think it’s an ode to Lou.
* * *
Kneel down ye sinners to Streetwise religion Greed’s been crowned the new King Hollywood dream teens Yesterday’s trash queens Save the blessings for the final ring
AMEN
Wild side
I carry my crucifix Under my death list Forward my mail to me in hell Liars and the martyrs Lost faith in the Father Long lost in the wishing well
Wild side
* * *
* * *
Fallen Angels So fast to kill Thy kingdom come on the wild side Our Father Who ain’t in heaven Be thy name on the wild side Holy Mary Mother may I Pray for us on the wild side Wild side Wild side
Name dropping no-names Glamorize cocaine Puppets with strings of gold East LA at midnight Papa won’t be home tonight Found dead with his best friend’s wife
Wild side
Fatal strikes We lie on the wild side No escape Murder rape Doing time on the wild side A baby cries A cop dies A day’s pay on the wild side Wild side Wild side Tragic life on the wild side Wild side Wild side Kickin’ ass on the wild side
* * *
Ah, lyrics to kill your career by…chew on that, MTV!
JANUARY 31ST, 1987
Van Nuys, 11:30 p.m.
I weigh 164 lbs…40 lbs less than a year ago.
Last night I went to Vanity’s and when I left this morning I stole one of her leather jackets. I’m so fuckin’ thin I can wear her clothes…and some are actually baggy…
Doc came around today while Jason was here and kicked him out of the house. Fucking asshole–he may be our manager but he can’t tell me what to do in my house. Even if what I want to do is kill myself.
DOC McGHEE: Nikki looked fucking awful when he became a junkie. He sank into himself, lost all his weight, and just hung around his heroin den house looking horrible. I went around there once when his dealer was there, and I told the pasty piece of shit, “If you ever see Nikki Sixx again, or I hear you’ve brought him even one bit of heroin, I will have you killed.” I would have done it too. Nikki was all junked out and the dealer guy was just fucking vermin.
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FEBRUARY 1987
WHEN I’M LOSING MY MIND, THE ONLY THING THAT CAN SAVE ME IS HEROIN.
FEBRUARY 2ND, 1987
Van Nuys, 1 a.m.
When I’m losing my mind, the only thing that can save me is heroin.
I love the ritual of heroin. I love the smell, and the way it looks when it goes into the needle. I love the way the needle feels when it goes into my skin. I love watching the blood register and mix in with the beautiful yellowish-brown liquid. I love that moment just before I push…
Then I’m under that warm blanket once again, and I’m perfectly content to live there for the rest of my life. Thank God for heroin…it never lets me down.
I’m off the methadone. It didn’t work.
9:30 p.m.
Daytime in the studio for a rock band is torture. When you’re a creature of the night, daytime is not your best creative time, but that’s when our producer wants to work. Tom Werman can be such a whiny lil fucker. I have no idea why he’s producing our album. We’re doing all the work…he’s just on the phone most of the time or sending out for food. He hasn’t come up with one idea to better our music.
I used to like this guy, but now I realize he’s just a money-grubbing cheeseball. This is his last album with us–he can go produce Poison, or some such bullshit.
I have to do all the work with Vince on the vocals and it’s hard being a mess and trying to organize vocals. I always do since I write the lyrics, but Werman could at least help.Vince is just always trying to hurry through the vocals and it drives me nuts. I know I drive him crazy but he would do a half-assed job if it wasn’t for me bird-dogging him. So I’m sure he hates me…that makes two of us…
VINCE NEIL: When Nikki was coming into the studio fucked up, I could only tell he was strung out because he wasn’t saying anything. Nikki likes to talk. If he wasn’t talking, it meant he was fucked up, and can I tell you something? I liked him like that! I was happy when he was quiet at the Girls sessions!
I’ve never had any interest in sitting around a studio watching Nikki play bass or Mick play guitar, but Nikki has always liked to be there when I record my vocals. He’s always had to give his opinion or criticize me, and I’ve always told him, “Dude, shut the fuck up!” I listen to the album producer, not to Nikki Sixx. We’ve got in a few fights over that. Nikki was spending a lot of time shooting up in the bathroom during the Girls sessions, and that suited me fine–it was the perfect time for me to record my vocals.
TOM ZUTAUT: I was Mötley Crüe’s A&R man at Elektra Records, and Nikki Sixx used to go on and on about how he was the guy who was going to set rock ’n’ roll on fire and take over first Sunset Strip and then the rest of the world. I thought to myself, yeah, he’s absolutely right, the kids are bored with new wave, and this glam rock Kiss meets the New York Dolls vision of Nikki Sixx’s is going to change popular music.
The second time I ever met Nikki he described to me the almost cartoon-like character attributes of each member of Mötley Crüe, why they were there, the part each of them had to play within the Crüe, and how with his songs they would revive rock ’n’ roll and kill new wave. At that point, I was convinced that Nikki was one of the smartest guys I ever met. The remarkable thing is that he had his vision of Mötley Crüe laid out in his head from Day One.
FEBRUARY 4TH, 1987
Van Nuys, 10 p.m.
There are some good songs coming through for this album. I’m really proud of Wild Side, but other times I’m just recycling old Aerosmith riffs or repeating myself.
I know I should be trying harder but I can’t be bothered.
I never thought I would say those words.
DOUG THALER: Nikki was normally a talented and prolific songwriter, but he just couldn’t write enough good songs for Girls Girls Girls. You want the truth? Tom Werman made that record. We even had to include a live track, “Jailhouse Rock,” on the album. Nikki wrote one song in a key that Vince couldn’t even sing, and some of his lyrics were absolute dreck. One day he came in wasted, and he’d written a song called “Hollywood Nights” that was just so bad: really, really horrible.
* * *
LOST LYRIC
Candy coated holocaust buried in the past Swallowed all these lies and shit it out your ass Babies born with switchblades Dumping bodies in the Everglades California high tide, needles on a fishing line Backwashed and belly up, dancin’ on a land mine
* * *
FEBRUARY 6TH, 1987
Van Nuys, 3:15 a.m.
It’s pouring rain outside. I’m alone again, sitting here with this one candle…my pen in my hand, trying to not reach for my dope. I can’t stop. I’m so strung out and I can’t get off…I don’t think I will ever be off drugs. I think this is my purpose in life. I’m gonna be the guy who had it all and lost it all ’cause he couldn’t stop–or just another dead rock star.
The rain is making a beautiful rhythm on the roof. It’s hypnotizing. Sitting here reminds me of when I was a kid, laying in bed, listening to the rain, wondering where my mom was, or if she was even coming home. I feel the sorrow still, it stings…
Everybody thinks I’m so tough as nails. If only they knew.
DOC McGHEE: Nikki Sixx was a pretty fucking angry guy in 1987. He was very nice and polite and intelligent, but he had a really dark side to him. I think it all came down to the way his family life was before he came to LA and a lot of the things that had happened to him as a child. Let’s just say that he had a pretty disturbing start to his life…there are some things that I’m just not able to tell you about.
FEBRUARY 7TH, 1987
Van Nuys, 4:40 a.m.
I can’t feel my soul. This darkness has become my only friend. My new addiction is drinking tons of water right before I shoot coke, then puking it all up in the Jacuzzi as my head explodes into the stratosphere. Why? Why not? I’m engaged in a dance of death in this house…
* * *
RANDOM LYRIC: HOOLIGAN’S HOLIDAY
Drop dead beauties Stompin' up a storm Lines of hell on our face Bruised bad apples Crawling through the night Busted loose and runaway
* * *
FEBRUARY 8TH, 1987
Van Nuys, 2 a.m.
Bob Timmons came to rehearsal today. I’ve no idea who sent him down. He asked me straight out if I was using. Of course, I denied it, said I’d just been partying hard, doing too much blow and drinking, but I could easily stop if I wanted to.
I don’t know if Bob believed me, he didn’t look like he did. But I’m not gonna let him put me in rehab again–I’d kill him first…or kill myself…
NIKKI: Bob Timmons and Doc McGhee put me and Nicole in rehab in the summer of ’86. I hated it and it was a disaster. The counselors kept talking about God, and in those days I agreed with my grandfather–who needs God when you’ve got a Chevy pickup truck and a 12-gauge shotgun?
I lasted three days. One nurse kept talking to me about God, until I stood up and yelled, “Fuck God and fuck you!” The nurse told me to sit back down, so I spat in her face, jumped out of the window and took off walking home–it was only a few blocks from my house. Bob followed me in his car until we agreed he wouldn’t take me back to rehab. He took me to my house and I showed Bob my ritual room–my bedroom closet. It was covered in dirty black marks from all the spoons, and Bob and I spent hours cleaning the room. We went through it finding all the bindles of coke, pills, booze and syringes, and disposed of the lot. The only thing I didn’t get rid of was my guns. I promised Bob, I can do this on my own; I don’t need rehab.
The second Bob left, I picked up the phone. Jason delivered the cocaine and junk an hour later.
Then Bob came back and I wouldn’t let him in. I was lying on the floor in the hall, talking to him through the crack under the front door, with my .357 cocked and loaded. He was asking me to go back to rehab and I was saying I’d rather die than go back there. I said I’d shoot myself if he tried to come in.
Except that when I came down from the cocaine,
Bob had never come back at all. It had just been me and my demons, yet again.
Nicole stayed in rehab for a few weeks and got clean. She and I were inseparable drug buddies, never leaving each other’s side, but as soon as she came out clean, we didn’t have a thing to say to each other. We didn’t even know each other. We had met via a shared love of narcotics, and as soon as that had gone, we had nothing. So that was the end of that. For now…
BOB TIMMONS: When Nikki walked out of rehab in ’86, the rehab center phoned me. I happened to be in the area, and saw Nikki walking down the street. I pulled my car over and asked him what was up: he just said, “Fuck you!” So I drove real slow alongside him as he walked along and glared at me. Eventually, when I promised I wouldn’t take him back to the center, he got in my car and I drove him home. When we got there we cleared out his closet of all his drug paraphernalia. It was like an exorcism–getting rid of all the bad memories that were in his living space.
Did I know that Nikki called a dealer as soon as I’d left? No. Does it surprise me? No.
TIM LUZZI: I remember once cleaning Nikki’s house out of booze, bent spoons and all the needles that were lying in every closet and on every cabinet shelf. I thought I had found all of his drugs and paraphernalia, but it turned out later that he had hidden a stash in the brass balls on top of the bedposts. He came home, unscrewed one of them and shot up. There I was busting my balls cleaning his house out, and I didn’t check the balls.