Regarding Angry Henry

“I treat humans like what they are, garbage.” (After claiming to kick a female junkie until he was barely able to breathe.  From Eye Scream)

“Stoned / Cowards / Living death / Men of action turned into weak pieces of shit / They could get my respect again / If they shot themselves in the head” (A line from the poem Black Sabbath from Bang!)

“I could fall in love with a cruel desert that kills without passion, a canyon full of scorpions, one thousand blinding arctic storms, a century sealed in a cave, a river of molten salt flowing down my throat.  But never with you.”  (Goin’ off and talkin’ about girls again in Solipsist.)

Hmmm.  Let me start off by saying it hasn’t really been lost on me as to what kind of horrible place this world is, and I suppose it’s alright to hold someone to a certain level of esteem when they examine the trust of humankind as a whole with a somnolent eye, but let’s cut the shit and stop pretending that we’re not all stuck here together for the rest of our waking lives, so we may as well not have complete apathy and disdain for one another, shall we? 

Furthermore, if you, or someone you love, clasp Henry Rollins’ portable-hating-on-everyone-quote-mill against your breast while whispering “that’s po-eh-tray” beneath your breath like a nineteenth century Jane Austen heroine in the midst of hysteric euphoria, Stop It.  Or don’t, I don’t care.  But also take the time to revisit page one and ask yourself whether your days wouldn’t better be served by focusing on something other than pure contempt for your fellow men (and women.  Seriously, what the fuck was up with Henry’s vitriol towards us goyles?  I’ve never slapped the dick out of his mouth simply because he owns one, have I?). 

I’m not downplaying the importance of anger in anyone’s everyday life at all.  Anger personally keeps me sharp, driven, and has given me the good grace not to take shit from people that unnecessarily try to give it to me.  However, when I read Rollins now, I get a completely different (and disappointing) sensation than back when I read Rollins in the late 90’s.  Back in the olden days – when I wore an onion tied to my belt because that was the style of the time – everybody who listened to punk music read Rollins as if he were the Moses to the Old Testament.  He was the perfect counterbalance to all the chicken heads (and even smelly hippies, if you want to get right down to it) on the high school scene.  He resembled a jock, but looked like he wanted to murder anyone that mentioned varsity football.  As the drug-addled cheerleader on the J.V. squad, when I first noticed his glowering intensity and butt-chin, I simply wanted to fuck him real bad.

Anyways, back to my anger.  It’s turned into a completely different animal than it ever was in my late teens/early twenties.  My temper (as anyone who knows me will easily acknowledge exists and is scary), has lent itself to a certain quietness that only comes with age, and that’s why I basically have rolled my eyes for years at the mention of Rollins until I went to lunch with my friend Arthur about two weeks ago.  We were both discussing our recent break-ups and how we were dealing with them, when he said, “Lately, I’ve romanticized or been drawn to the idea of the warrior-poet, like Henry Rollins.  On a quest of body and mind.  Angry, but thoughtful.”  He went on say things about working out and avoiding booze, to which….oh my god….how do I ever?

At that point, I actually realized it’s hard to criticize someone so unevenly when I look at myself and see someone whose main immediate concerns include how tan my legs are, why I nearly starve myself so I’ll look good in clothes, and whether or not I’ll ever have a threesome with two men.  I am the exact kind of person Rollins would absolutely loathe; I am unequivocally part of the bullshit machine that he would destroy in a heartbeat if he got his way.  But, maybe that’s why I still respect the fucker, who knows?  Or maybe it’s simply because I haven’t abstained from drinking and jumped on the treadmill for longer than a month since my mid-teens, and simply give kudos to guy for doing what I can't?

Aside from whatever else separates us (and trust me, there’s a lot), the major difference is that I find use of emotions other than fury.  When you're so mad all the time, people stop giving a shit, you know?  I love laughing at things.  I enjoy ridiculous things.  And that’s why I’m pretty sure I’m in love with Henry’s new bug show on Nat Geo Wild:

Thank christ for cable.