My Pain Hurts (Part Three)
The Secret Diaries of Henry Rollins
Published August 6, 1999 in Dirt

See: My Pain Hurts: Part One
My Pain Hurts: Part Two

See also...
... in the Dirt section
... from August 6, 1999

Europe is a whore with bad feet. Met Gore Vidal in a café in Rome, made him arm wrestle me for the check. Pantywaist calls himself a writer? I don't plan on looking like that when I'm 85. Hemingway had it right. Live, then die, in that order. Hunt a few buffalo, fight a few wars, screw a few broads -- well, two out of three ain't bad.

Read my new book of poetry at a school for deaf kids. Couldn't make them sit still, finally had to break some little bastard's thumbs to set an example. I figure it's just one less hitchhiking European to deal with back in the States. My war marches on.

Toured the cathedral at Notre Dame. What is all the fuss about this Christ guy? He had some decent pain there at the end, but what about weight mass? Little runt couldn't bench press a paper bag. Got to talk to his publicist. Need a triple latte, hold the cup.

One hundred twenty-six shows in a row. Throat a mass of purple lesions. Broken every bone in my body now. Evil Knieval sent me a get well card. Threw it away. Nobody knows the trouble I've seen.

Lost four teeth last night biting a slab of concrete. Made a mental note to floss more. People ask me why I do what I do. I guess it's because the Berlin Wall is still up across my soul. The New World Order of Pop Music is upon us, Ich Bein Rock'n'Roll.

How long have I been out here now? My pain hurts.


By Junior Downey
Junior Downey is the author of
Greedy Media: The Blind Leading the Retarded and a past recipient of the PEN/Faulkner award for bad writing.