Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Today I am bald. This wasn’t always the case. I actually like being bald. My head feels nice and cool and smooth. But sometimes I miss the days of hair. I recently found some pictures of me back in these days:

cripple passport photo

This one was from an old passport. Surprised they let me in to any country with this. I had a number of Passport control agents tell me that my passport was too mangled. It was still valid, but the picture was cracked and falling apart. I remember getting this photo & passport hours before leaving to Japan with Cop for our first tour outside the US. I had been up for 3 days. We almost missed the plane because I was waiting for the last drop of drugs, which in those days I didn’t think twice about bringing on the plane. I think I hid it all in my sock. The problem was that when we left on tour, no matter how many drugs I brought along, I would inevitably run out within a few days. Then I would be in this dark sick place for 23 hours a day, where everything was bleak. But that 24th hour, the one when we were on stage, was brilliant. It was like sun through a magnifying glass. Playing live was like electricity. It was nice when I finally stopped my chemical romance, I found that this electricity could be tamed, controlled, and brought in to the ebb and flow of my daily life, though it was still inevitably amped up when performing.


This photo was taken in an apartment in Washington Heights. I was living up there for a while with Reid (on the left). She came out of the Haight Ashbury San Francisco post hippie heavy drug life, had gotten her shit together to some degree and was a waitress at The Whitney Museum. She drank though. A lot. She saw what I was, a functioning addict (if there really is such a thing). And she wanted to save me, I think. She ended up teaching me to drink, while I ended up getting her back in to hard drugs. It’s like gravity: it’s always easier going down than up. We both ended up getting out of that lifestyle around the same time, though we were no longer together by then, and we had different paths. I have often wondered what happened to Reid, and have reached out once or twice to try to get in touch. Always a dead end. Reid, if you are still alive and reading this, let me know.

csc option 1

This was a picture from an article in Option magazine. I was too messed up to make the scheduled photo shoot. Natz, Phil and Tod did the shoot with just the 3 of them, plus a number of photos with an old homeless career drinker from the Bowery. We all thought it was a good idea to run those photos and name him Jim. But that ultimately didn’t happen, so I had to have a separate photo shoot. I was pretty ragged and gaunt by this point. I remember the photographer talking to me about how she understood me. Never quite coming out and saying, “You are totally fucked up”, but making ongoing cloaked statements. I don’t know if she wanted to get high with me or if she wanted to save me. But I never fessed up, never got honest with her or myself.


One last big hair picture. Reid is here again. She went on a few tours with us to sell Merch. My old friend Clay is here, with an old girlfriend of his whose name I can’t recall. I think we were in Europe here, I can’t remember where. I apologize for making this my online photo gallery, but I happened to run in to these pictures and wanted to put them up here, along with their associated memories, before it all goes black.

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