Sic

By Henry Rollins

Sic, (a word which is defined by Merriam-Webster as “intentionally so written”) is the product of hostility, grief, the past and the present, written from 2019 through 2021. During this time, I concluded if my mobility was going to be so catastrophically limited at almost every possible turn by millions of people all over the world, who seemingly didn’t want to put a global pandemic behind them, I’d create a space where I could work without restraint or compromise. The title speaks for the writing. Consider me a hostile witness, gratefully and perpetually at your service. — Henry Rollins 09-19-22 Wilmington DE

• Language: English
• Publisher: 2.13.61
• Release date: Dec 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781880985922

Henry Rollins

Originally from Washington DC, Henry Rollins fronted the Los Angeles-based punk band Black Flag and is well-known for his hard-hitting writing, music, and acting.

Book preview

Dead Calendar 2019

12-01-19 LA CA: 1316 hrs. I’ve never been to prison nor have I ever been in combat. Still, I feel like an inmate of a correctional facility and the veteran of a conflict. I’m well aware that having been in neither environment it’s out of line for me to have these feelings, but I do. These ideas are ridiculous, I know. These shadows and echoes are with me at all times and inform almost every thought and action in my life.

December is the month my friend Joe Cole was murdered in 1991. This event changed my life. I’ve been, for the most part, incredibly fortunate. I can pay my expenses and never miss a meal. For this, I’m grateful. No matter how bad I feel at times, I’m in a perpetual state of gratitude for what has come my way. I have an audience that allows me to create things and put them into the world. Without these people, I don’t know what I’d do. I’m fixated on making the next thing, finishing the work, putting it out and finding something else to make. This is what I do every day. I don’t take vacations or days off. I’m obsessed with what I can come up with, accomplish and what I can do next. It’s not about money or adulation. These are often negatives disguised as assets, which can misguide and ensnare creative types. Ironically, it’s also what often staves off reality for awhile and allows them periods of inspiration before their creative forces are neutralized and they become too self aware and addicted to adulation to be effective.

Creativity, when used correctly, is a curse. Most who have it, thankfully use it incorrectly and spare themselves. For those doomed to use it well, there will be ample amounts of pain, brutal bouts of self-examination and a butchering from the inside. If it doesn’t cost almost everything, you probably saved yourself before it was too late and your full creative potential was realized. For most people, mediocrity is a perfect long range life plan and for the sake of their well being, they should stick with it.

I’ve read the average person uses only a small fraction of their brain’s capacity. Well regarded geniuses only use a slightly larger portion but still do not tap into their brain’s full potential. I think humans are lucky to have such limited access. If anything, I wish I had less capacity to process and store information. There are many things I know, I wish I didn’t.

It starts in late November. Around the third week, I feel like I’m being pulled into a planet’s orbit. I’m unable to break free and at this point, I don’t try. It’s stronger than I am. It’s a truth that cannot be denied, so I must submit. This pull gets stronger with each passing year. It’s like being confined with one’s captor. Neither can escape the presence of the other. I liken it to walking down a hallway where the lights grow dimmer and the ceiling gets lower. There’s something about the confinement and its dedication to incarcerating me every year that feels like home. That word, and the concept of it, has always repelled me. There’s no actual structure I’ve ever been in where I thought I was home. The idea strikes me as bad battle strategy. It’s how the enemy takes you out. You turn your back to the window, you relax and live your life. This is how you get killed. I can honestly say I don’t feel at home anywhere, not on the streets where I grew up, not around people I’m familiar with, absolutely nowhere or with anyone. Some might think this is a bad way to live. I couldn’t disagree more.

In December, I try to interact with as few people as possible. I’m uncomfortable around them enough as it is. The social rounding of the edges is difficult. It’s much harder to maintain at this time of year, so I withdraw as completely as I can.

For the first two weeks of this December, I have a number of things to do and they all involve people and a lot of moving parts. I don’t get nervous about things I’m obligated to complete but the time before they happen is almost unbearable. I don’t mind confrontation. I just don’t like having to wait. The phone is ringing. 1358 hrs.

1602 hrs. Ian MacKaye and I talk for a little while almost every Sunday. He and my manager Heidi are the only people I know all that well.

December is here. It’s a vacuum. Since there’s nothing I can do to change the reality of my past, the absolute truth of the information or how I process it, I accept it completely. It’s like accepting death and cold. I just do it. Even though it hits me harder as I get older, I’m far more destroyed than I used to be. So, while the horror is more profound, the fact I am—to a great degree—dead, in a lot of ways neutralizes the effects. I liken it to shooting yourself in the head, watching the brain matter slide down the wall and then doing something else.

Even if it’s the worst month of the year for me, it’s still a relief. I trust it. The thoughts I have, the hours I endure, are truer than anything else I’ve ever known. I’m alone. There is no home and there’s nothing anyone can do or say to change any of this. These unalterable facts are as close to me as my own life. 1621 hrs.

12-02-19 LA CA: 2109 hrs. I try to always be working. Now and then, I earn money from it. USA is not my friend. USA is a killing field. USA murdered Joe Cole. USA is without hope. USA is all eventualities of Homo sapiens. I don’t believe in the existence of a social safety net. That sounds so weak to me. Like I’m supposed to depend on any government agency to help me if I have a financial crisis. Who believes this? Not me. I never have. I pay all the taxes I owe never thinking any of it’s coming back to me if I hit retirement age. USA is bigger than I am and will take what it wants. I’m grateful at the end of every day USA hasn’t killed me. I’ll pay my own way until I’m dead.

Since I’m not good at anything, I have nothing to lose. I came to Los Angeles in the summer of 1981 with the minimum wage mindset that has never left me. If there’s a paying job I can do, or at least convince the boss I can do, I’ll try. I can audition to be in a film? Why not? I should be bagging your order so I’m always looking for ways to beat that. I know what I was trained for and where I should be. I reckon it’s only a matter of time before I’m there. It’s like knowing you’re going to drown but you keep swimming nonetheless.

Tomorrow afternoon I’ll go into a studio in Burbank and do voice work for an animated show. I was given the chance to audition for a part weeks ago. I didn’t get it but they threw a different one to me and said I could have it if I wanted. I took it. At my age, work of this kind is harder to come by. The older I get, the less opportunities come my way. It doesn’t worry me. I’ve understood USA since at least the early 1980s. Work. Save. Always be ready to move. I have no family. I have myself and my will to survive. What they call freedom in USA is abandonment. You’ve been left to make it or not.

This particular show is being run by a big company, so just getting the scripts was a bit of an ordeal. Only a few hours ago, all the paperwork was straightened out and the scripts came through. My character is over the top. I’ve been running the lines to myself for the last two hours. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll go in there and not blow out too badly. As always, I need the work. 2153 hrs.

2242 hrs. Just back from the office where I auditioned for another voice part. I did three takes and sent them in. It’s another big show which I’m sure not to get. I know the odds are against me. For voice work, especially in Los Angeles, you have to have talent. No matter what part you’re going for, most if not all the others auditioning are far better than you could ever hope to be. I get what I get but it’s mostly showing up so many times, that for some reason, it goes my way. I won’t get this. I know it, the agent knows it too. It’s the agent’s job to find walls to throw me at and it’s my job to try and stick.

There is a lot to like about this highly business oriented environment. Being polite and professional is of the utmost importance but it’s about getting to the place, walking in and hitting it. Rarely is anyone anything less than friendly and welcoming but no one is there to waste time. I like that. They don’t want to know me, they just want to know if I can solve their problem. I’ve found that they make their mind up on the first take, so I have to come in completely prepared.

Outside, the air is cold and there are clouds in the sky. I wish I was in one of two situations, neither of them being the one I’m in now. It would be great to be on tour. I don’t care where. USA or Europe would be great. A year ago at this moment, I was in Stockholm on a night off. It was cold. It got dark early. I had a job. I felt bad, as I always do in this month, but I had shows almost every night so there was something to focus on. I was ninety-eight shows into the year. That would be optimum. I can’t wait to be on tour again. I need to put together some solid material and go. I would like the next tour to be at least a year and a half. The other situation I’d rather be in is to be somewhere like Stockholm, Copenhagen or Helsinki, where it gets dark early. Alone. Darkness. Cold. My last day of responsibility is 12-12-19. After that, I can be extinct. It’s not even a matter of looking forward to it. Again, it’s the power of the orbit. There’s nothing I can do.

December is the truest month for me. It reminds me that a single event, only minutes in duration, can change everything. For many years, the most consequential event of my life was joining Black Flag. That was no small deal but as far as informing how I think and act, it was the murder of Joe Cole that has had the most determinant influence on me. It wouldn’t be right to say his murder ruined my life. I’m not the one who’s dead. I’m not the one with a dead son or relative. What his family members must go through, I have no idea. It would be unacceptable for me to say I did. They have their misery and I have mine. I’m willing to bet they’re both completely awful. I’m alone in a cold room. Tomorrow I have to go out, smile, talk and make sense to people. Knowing this is going to happen, it seems impossible I’ll get through it. 2334 hrs.

12-03-19 LA CA: 2135 hrs. In front of the speakers, listening to Become The Discovered, Not The Discoverer by Keiji Haino, Merzbow and Balázs Pándi.

I got to the studio for the voice over at 1530 hrs. The session was slated from then to 1800 hrs. It was about ninety minutes before I was told to go in. It’s early on in the sessions and they’re dialing in voices and doing rewrites on the spot. We were told not to talk about the show to anyone. I overheard one of the producers saying it won’t be released until 2021.

My part, which is intense, requires me to do a lot of shouting. I don’t see the character that way but it was easy to take direction and give the producers what they wanted. They seemed to like what I did and the head producer said I exceeded expectation. That she had little to no expectation was abundantly clear. I nodded, smiled and got out of there as quickly and quietly as I could. We only got through one of the two episodes that have been given to me. I don’t know when the next session will be but I’m guessing it might be on the 16th as that was an alternate hold date. Hopefully, it will be earlier. I want my responsibilities to people to be over as soon as possible. When things I can’t change get added on, it feels like the goalposts have been moved. I need the job. They can do what they want with me.

Leaving the studio around 1823 hrs., I felt good I had made it through the session, established the character’s voice and posture and had it behind me for now. The next four nights will be good but challenging. I’ll be going to see the Make-Up play tomorrow and Thursday and Alex Cameron on Friday. Saturday night, I have band practice with Cyndi Lauper for her benefit I’m part of next week. I’ll be performing Rise Above by Black Flag with her and her band. I was asked to be part of the show but had no idea what to do. The song was Heidi’s idea. Cyndi gave it the green light and so, another adventure begins. It was a good idea on Heidi’s part. I get out of that too late to do much of anything. Why it has to go into the night is a drag but there’s nothing to do. So, the next three nights, I’ll be at two different venues, leaving here late, getting back late. I want to see the Make-Up and Alex absolutely but I’m not looking forward to what comes with going to shows. I think it’s wrong to not go to shows. I don’t know what it is exactly but I feel a duty to show up at the gig. Life is short, I have to do it. It won’t be easy but I’m going.

The older I get, the more I want to be alone. This started in the mid-1980s and has only intensified. It has become a struggle. Going to shows is difficult. Working with people isn’t a problem because we’re interacting with a shared goal. Today there were people in the room. I can’t tell you what studios they work at but it’s as high level as it gets. The green room coordinator warned me it was a very full house in there. This isn’t the kind of thing that gets to me, it’s just work. I prepare as fully as I can, go in and be ready to hit it on the first take. That’s how I always am in these situations. I did the takes, dialed in all the direction they gave me and didn’t say anything else while they were telling me what they wanted. Never, ever interrupt a producer. It doesn’t matter how many people are in the room. There’s work to do and I do it. That’s the beginning and end of it.

By day, I’m working, preparing for things like the voice session I just did. I throw myself into these tasks in order to get them done and also to avoid all the other thoughts competing for dominance. At night, all the things I’ve walled off take over and here I am. This happens a lot but in this month, it’s heightened. Information is what it is, so it doesn’t matter when I think about it, so why is it in this month? It’s a construct of my own design. In December of 1992, I was living a few traffic lights from where I’m sitting now. I was just back from touring all year. I was exhausted and empty. On the night of December 18, a few hours before it would have been a year since Joe Cole was murdered, I was overcome by memories and feeling bad. This has turned into a yearly event that now takes up almost the entire month. I sit in rooms alone. In my mind, I see jets of black liquid shooting from my mouth as I vomit gallons of it for hours. It’s like I’m screaming but it’s just black vomit. A bad life reacting to still being alive. I don’t want to live but I must keep living. I don’t want to wake up but I have to keep waking up, keep showing up, keep speaking when I’m spoken to. I know I must push back against what’s inside me that tells me to do nothing, to not exist.

I have to be very careful at this time of the year. Many of the things I want to do are precisely those which I shouldn’t. I become my worst enemy. I have to put myself away. It’s one of the reasons if I’m here and not on tour, I’ll leave USA and store myself in some other country. There’s no one I’m looking to contact. I strive for as little interaction as possible. I just wait myself out until the feelings of emptiness, desperation and rage subside enough to have some self-control.

On many counts, I’m disgusted at how I feel sometimes. Now and then I get lonely. It happens at this time of the year. It’s as close as I come to being human. I live with a lot of self-contempt as it is. One of the only things that neutralizes this is knowing, without a doubt, I’m a psychopath and a bad person. I’ve learned how to channel it to do good things but it’s a constant struggle. 99% of my thinking is wired for bad. I fight it with the 1%. I have no excuse to be lonely. It can’t be loneliness. I have the emotional range of a bag of garbage, so it’s not loneliness. I think it’s flinching, denial. It’s wanting that which cannot change, to be different. I can’t change history or the events in my life. I can’t change how I think about them because that would be saying the truth is not the truth. Can’t do it. I can’t change what I am because it’s as set as my DNA.

My parents should have never mated with anyone, especially each other. They both know what they are. They know I know what they are and I’m pretty sure they know what I am.

I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and do anything. I will, however, wake up in a few hours and do all the things I’m slated to do. Around this time, I’ll be either at Zebulon or driving away. At this moment I’d like to be in a small room with a chair I could sit in and wait for my heart to stop beating. I don’t like life. There have been moments where it wasn’t so bad but for the most part, it’s not for me. I’m not a religious person but I do believe in defiance and confrontation. They keep me going out there. 2316 hrs.

12-04-19 LA CA: 1950 hrs. In front of the speakers, listening to a band I don’t know anything about called Dhidalah, a three piece from Tokyo. Really good. I’m leaving here at 2100 hrs. for Zebulon to see the Make-Up. Today was pretty good. I put myself into the work and mercifully, that’s all there was.

I like people but find it hard to deal with them. The older I get, the more I respect them, us, the struggle, human dignity. Somehow, everyone is doing the best they can to get by. Even if it’s someone I disagree with, I have to give them the benefit of the doubt. I get letters I don’t know how to answer. I got an email a few hours ago, the heading was Good news, I got arrested. The sender told me about being arrested in his car he was going to spend another night in. He was allowed to bond out to a halfway house. He’s found work and has been sober for three weeks. He hopes to return to his family some day. He finishes with the following:

Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to reply to my emails. It means more to me than you know. Enjoy the rest if your day and know that your words have positively effected my mindset and the future well being of my family.

I don’t remember his previous emails or writing him back. I often get letters from people in difficult situations.

I just wanted to thank you for being such an inspiration to so many people and especially to me, because you were the one who told me that i’m basically responsible for my life and that i should just go out and live it, and do whatever i want and that’s simply something i wanna thank you for. I really hope that one day, i will have an opportunity to talk to you and to meet you in real life, because i consider you an amazing person and i’m proud of everything you do.

He’s a young man from a tough part of the world but he’s doing music and other art and from the letter, it sounds like he’s hanging in there. I write back the best I can but I don’t really know what to say. What I’ve found is if you just acknowledge you’ve read the letter, it goes a long way. I don’t think they’re looking for a single sentence that’s going to fix all their problems, but just that the person they wrote read their words, that their call was heard and responded to. At this point, I’ve gotten thousands of letters of this kind. This is one of the ways I evaluate the human condition. We’re a dynamic species. The good parts are great but the bad parts are horrific. My life is the same as countless millions of others. I’ve seen both sides. 2052 hrs.

12-05-19 LA CA: 1944 hrs. It’s Thursday night and I’m here for a little while before I leave to Zebulon to see the Make-Up again. They were great last night. Going to shows is a mixed bag. I have to prepare myself to interact with people who will often make sudden movements, like coming up behind me and clapping their hand on my shoulder—which is not only startling, but forces me to react quickly to bypass my instinct to put that person on the ground. I can’t do that to a woman and really, I can’t do that to anyone. It’s just not what you do in a public space. I can’t be that guy but unfortunately, I am that guy.

In all the venues I go to here, I’ve found spots where I can hide out and watch the show. Whenever possible, I try to get the set time and arrive a few minutes before. If I get to the venue early, or if the band goes on late, which happens a lot, I stare at the ground and try to be in a place where I’m not in anyone’s way. As far as I’m concerned, I’m non existent. It’s not my show. The show is for young people. It’s their time and they shouldn’t have anything interrupting that. I’m not trying to hang out with them or anyone. I just want to see the show and leave. I do my best to go unnoticed and for the most part, I pull it off.

As it sometimes happens, people from my past life turn up at shows and chapters of history are suddenly reopened. A woman who worked for an old manager I had saw me. I can’t remember her name. I hadn’t seen her in over twenty years. She reminded me I made her some tapes of the Birthday Party and the Stooges and she still has them. Another woman came up and asked if I was me. I affirmed. She told me she loved me and started talking at a high rate of speed. When I’m in public and someone talks at me, almost immediately, I have difficulty understanding what they’re saying. It’s like the words bounce off me. It’s stressful because after a couple of sentences, I become almost completely lost in what they’re saying and I don’t know what to say back and I want it to end. I’m sure I come off as rude or just stupid. I don’t mind being considered stupid but I don’t want to be thought of as rude. These people mean no harm, they just want to say hello. The woman got several words in and lost me. All I could do was nod, smile and shake her hand. After she left, I put my head down again and wondered why the Make-Up couldn’t have just started on time. They eventually went on 29 minutes after they were supposed to. I don’t know how that works. When I’m late going on, it’s not me. I’m told the house wants to hold because people are coming in too slowly to start on time and even then, it’s only a few minutes. Anyway, I’m just waiting it out and I see a man coming towards me. He told me that I looked deep in thought and he didn’t want to bother me. He told me who he was. I remembered him. I hadn’t seen him since probably 1984. It’s not fair to put his name here. He’s quite well known in the Los Angeles music world for his music related activities as well as alternative profit motivated opportunities that fell outside of the law. He was never anything less than cool to me and I have no problem with him whatsoever. He asked me, Do you know who I am? I told him his first and last name, the first time we met and other particulars. He then went into our brief history from decades ago. I wanted it to be over but I just listened. Then he said, I’m going to see Greg Ginn’s Black Flag on Saturday. I just said, Good luck. I didn’t know what else to say. He said something else which I couldn’t hear, shook my hand and said he was looking forward to the show, to which I said I was as well. He left. I went back to staring at the ground wishing the band would start playing. The man from my past came back again, put his hands on my shoulders and leaned in, like he’s a coach talking to one of his players. Really, man? More? He’s inches from my face. You’ve come a long way, Henry. I made sure to do nothing. Even though the feeling of his hands on my shoulders made me want to put my left fist into his right kidney. I did my best to freeze my facial expression, whatever it was, and just wait it out. He then walked what he said back and started trying to talk around it. I thanked him. He said he didn’t mean it like that. I just nodded. I wonder if all those years he spent in prison motivated him to tell me how well I’ve done with my life. I’m no better than anyone. I belong in an ash heap. I know this but at the same time, it’s a little much to have to sit through this. I did. He stuck his hand out, I shook it and eventually, he left. He meant no harm and I know it but at the same time, I just want to see the show. It’s things like this that are almost a guarantee when I go to a place where a bunch of people are. It’s not the end of the world. How bad is it, really? It’s not but it makes me just want to leave. I kept my head down and finally the band went on. They were really good and I’m glad I went. They played for 63 minutes. If there was an encore, I didn’t see it. I usually get out and try to get to my car as fast as I can. It worked well last night and I was on the road back to here less than five minutes after the band left the stage. Tonight, I’ll have Heidi with me. When I go to a show with her, I get talked to less. That might be because people think she’s my girlfriend and they feel awkward. I was going out with a woman a few months ago and we ended up going to at least two shows. At the first one no one talked to us but at the other one, a lot of people came up to talk to me and ask to take photos. Near the end of the show, three women came up to the woman I was with and told her she was beautiful and she looked like a model. She took it okay but I could tell it tripped her out a little.

As the days pass, I feel myself hardening. It’s not like I’m bracing for what’s to come but that parts of myself are falling away. The deeper into the month I go, the less I should be around people.

Earlier today, Heidi and I, along with two producers we’re working with, went to a building that belongs to a very large corporation, to meet with someone to pitch a television show we’ve put together. The fifth person on the team came in by screen. The person we were pitching to was very cool and I think at least she gets what we want to do and why we want to do it. Obviously, that