爱华网
Marilyn Manson自传 汉化（正文前）But someday,In a stronger age than thisdecaying,self-doubting present,he must yet come to us,the redeemingman,of great love and contempt ,the creative spirit whosecompelling strength will not let him rest in any aloofness or anybeyond,whose isolation is misunderstood by the people as if it wereflight from reality-while it is only hisabsorption,,immersion,penetration into reality,so that,when he oneday emerges again into the light,he may bring home the redemptionof this reality;its redemption from the curse that the hithertoreigning ideal has laid upon it .The man of the future ,who willredeem us not only from the hitherto reigning ideal but also fromthat which only from the hither to reigning ideal but also fromthat which was bound to grow out of it ,the great nausea,the willto nothingness,nihilism;this bell-stroke of noon and of the greatdecision that liberates the will again and restores its goal to theearth and his hope to man;this Antichrist and antinihilist;theearth and his hope over God and nothingness- he must come one day.-----Introduction by David LynchⅠ Part one:when i was worm3.......① The Man That You Fear17.....② For Those About To Rock,We Suspend You31.....③ Teen Dabbler49.....④ The Road To Hell Is Paved Whit Good Rejection Letters 63.....⑤ I Wasn't Born With Enough Middle FingersⅡ Part two:deformography79....⑥ The Spooky Kids97....⑦ Dirty Rock Star107..⑧ To All The People Who Didn't Die Contents131..⑨ The Rules139..⑩ All For Nothing163...11 We're Off To See The Wizard177...12 Abuse,Parts One And Two199...13 Meating The Fans/Meat And GreetⅢ Part three:how i got my wings209...14 The Reflecting God [dreams]217...15 Antichrist Superstar245...16 Fifty Million Screaming Christians Can't BeWaong273 acknowledgments275 photo credits IntroductonOutside it was raining cats and barking dogs.Like an egg-born offspring of collective humanity,in saunteredMarilyn Manson.It was obvious-he was beginning to look and sound alot like Elvis.David Lynch-New Orleans 2:50 A.M. To Barb And Hugh Warner MayGod Forgive Them For Bringing Me Into This World《离开地狱的漫漫长路》（《The Long Hard Road Out of Hell》）作者：Marilyn Manson为保障个人隐私之故，本书中凡涉及明确可识别身份者之名均为化名，有些则是多人之姓名合一而成。另：此书精装版于1998年由HARPERCOLLINS出版社出版发行但终有一天，在一个比当下腐朽不堪，人人自卑的时节更令人振奋的年代里，他终会向我们走来：一个给我们带来安慰的人，他怀有深沉的大爱与对他人强烈的不屑一顾；他那富蕴创造力的精神有强制性的力量，使他不会安于整日逃避：那逃避的内涵中仿佛带着与生俱来的词义“与世隔绝”，这总被芸芸大众误解成逃离现实的唯一出路。然而“与世隔绝”对他来说，却恰巧正是他全神贯注地沉浸于现实，并试图渗透现实的最好方式。因此，当他有一日从明亮的光中现身，他将把对现实的救赎带给我们。这是对压迫性的统治思想迄今为止（所加在人们头上的）所有诅咒的救赎。这来自未来的人哪，他能够给我们带来安慰的，不仅仅只是让我们从压迫的思想中得以救赎，他还能将我们从那必定会随着恶毒思想产生的衍生物——极端的憎恨，一文不值的空想，虚无主义中解救出来。那伟大的决心将如午日的圣钟之音，终将实现意志的再解放，重建对世界的认知之目标和他对人的性灵之希冀；这个反基督，反虚无主义的伟人；这超越了一切虚无和神灵的胜利者——有朝一日他终将降临。——弗里德里西·尼采（Friedrich Nietzsche）《论道德的系谱》（《On the Genealogy ofMorals》）（1）注释（1）：[此为本书扉页里曼森对尼采理论的部分引用。尼采，1844-1900，德国著名哲学家，西方现代哲学的开创者，卓越的诗人和散文家。他自称是非道德主义者和反基督徒。曼森引用的此段中主要是对尼采超人哲学的诠释，尼采对现代人和现代生活很失望，他梦想改造人，造就新人，即是超人（overman），超人不是具体的人，而是一个虚幻的形象。尼采认为，超人还没有现实的存在，它是未来人的理想形象，超人给现实人生提出了价值目标，是人的自我超越。]目录：本书导言 —— 大卫林奇（David Lynch）第一部：寄生虫之日（When I was a worm）1、 令你惊恐的人儿2、 对那些即将踏入摇滚之行列的人，我们将中止你3、 浅尝辄止的年轻人4、 通往地狱之路铺满了辞令优美的拒绝信5、 我生来拥有的中指根本不够第二部：畸变的记录（Deformography）6、 幽灵般的怪异小孩7、 肮脏的摇滚明星8、 献给所有还没死去的人9、 法则10、白费心机11、我们要去看男巫12、尽情堕落，第一和第二部分13、与歌迷见面（2）第三部：我如何展翼（How I got my wings）14、上帝之倒影（梦）15、反基督明星16、五千万尖叫的基督教徒再怎么也不会有错儿注释（2）：[此处曼森用了同音词：meating和meeting。翻译具体内容时应该会有解释。]特此感谢本书图片提供者导言窗外正大雨倾盆，就像是一个聚集了人性所有之光辉的卵生的后代诞生的时辰，而它就存在于游侠一般闲逛的玛丽莲·曼森之内。很明显地——无论是从外表看上去还是听起来，他越来越像Elvis（3）了。——大卫·林奇（4）凌晨两点五十分于新奥尔良疑问（3）：[不知此处是否应该理解为猫王，还是此名字包含的本义：“全能的”]注释（4）：大卫·林奇（DavidLynch），美国著名编剧、导演，电影有超现实主义色彩。主要作品：《橡皮头》、《蓝丝绒》、《我心狂野》、《穆赫兰道》。献给芭布(Barb)（芭芭拉的昵称）和休·华纳（Hugh Warner）愿上帝原谅他们把我带到这个世界上
Marilyn Manson自传 汉化（一）
①the man that you fearAmong all things that can be contemplated under the concavityof the heavens,noting is seen that arouses the human spiritmore,that ravishes the senses more,that horrifies more,thatprovokes more terror or admiration than the monsters,prodigies andabominations through which we see the works of natureinverted,mutilated and truncated.-----Pierre Boaistuau,Histoires Prodigieuses,1561...............Circle one -limbo.........Hell to me was my grandfather's cellar.It stank like a publictoilet,and was just a filthy.The dank concrete floor was litteredwith empty beer cans and everyting was coated with a film of greasethat probably hadn't been wiped since my father was aboy.Accessible only by rickety wooden stairs fixed to a rough stonewall,the cellar was off-limits to everyboy except mygrand-father.This was his world.Dangling unconcealed form the wall was a faded red enema bag,asign of the misplaced confidence Jack Angus Warner had in the factthat even his grandchildren would not dare to trespass.To its rightwas a warped white medicine cabinet,inside of which were a dozenold boxes of of generic,mail-order condoms on the verge ofdisintegra-tion;a full ,rusted can of feminine-deodorant spray;ahandful of the latex finger cots that doctor use for rectalexams;and a Friar Tuck toy that popped a boner when its head waspushed in.Behind the stairs was a shelf with about ten paint canswhich,I later discovered,were each filled with twenty 16-millimeterporno films.Crowning it all was a small square window--it lookedlike stained glass,but it was actually stained with a gray grime--and gazing through it really felt like looking up out of theblackness of hell.P4.......................................................................................................................................................What intrigued me most in the cellar was the workbench.It wasold and crudely made,as if it had been constructed centuries ago.Itwas covered with dark orange shag carpeting that looked like thehair on a Raggeby Ann doll,except it had been soiled from years ofhaving dirty tools laid on it.A drawer had been awkwardlly builtinto the bench,but it was always locked.On the rafters above was acheap full-length mirror,the kid with a wooden frame meant to benailed to the door.But it was nailed to the ceiling for whateverreason--I could only imagine why.This was where my cousin,Chad,andI began our daily and progressively more daring intrusions into mygrandfather's secret life.I was a scrawny thirteen year old with freckles and a bowl cutcot courteasy of my mother's shears;he was a scrawny twelve yearold with freckles and buck teeth.We wanted nothing more than tobecome detectives,spies or private investigators when we grew up.Itwas in trying to develop the requisite skills in stealth that wewere first exposed to all this iniquity.At first,all we wanted to do was sneak downstairs and spy onGrandfather without him knowing.But once we started discoverringeveryting that was hidden there,our motiveschanged .Our after-school forays to jerk off to and half a morbidfascination with our grandfather.Nearly every day we made new and grotesque discoveries.Iwasn't very tall,but if I balanced carefully on my grandfather'swooden chair I could reach into the space between the mirror andthe ceil-ing.There I found a stack of black and white bestialitypictures.They weren't from magazines:just individually numberedpho-tographs that looked like they had been handpicked from amail-order catalog.There were early-seventies photos of womenstrad-dling giant horse dicks and sucking pigs' dicks,which lookedlike soft,fleshy corkscrews.I had seen Playboy and Penthousebefore,but these photographs were in another class altogether.Itwasn't just that they were obscene.They were surreal-all the womenwere beaming real innocent flower-child smiles as they sucked andfucked these animals.P5......................................................................................................................................................There were also fetish magazines like Waterspors and BlackBeauty stashed behind the mirror.Instead of stealing a wholemaga-zine,we would take a razor blade and carefully cut out certainpages.Then we'd fold them into tiny squares and hide themunder-neath the large white rocks that framed my grandmother'sgravel driveway.Years later,we went back to find them,and they werestill there--but frayed,deteriorated and covered with earthwormsand slugs.One afternoon in the fall as Chad and I sat around mygrand-mother's dining room table after a particularly uneventfulday at school,we resoled to find out what was inside the lockedworkbench drawer.Always hell-bent on stuffing her brood withfood,my grand-mother,Beatrice ,was force-feeding us meat loaf andJell-O,which was mostly water.She came from a rich family and hadtons of money in the bank,but she was so cheap that she'd try tomake a single Jell-O package last for months.She used to wearknee-high hose rolled down around her ankles and odd gray wigs thatobviously didn't fit.People alway told me I resembled her becausewe were both skinny with the same narrow facial structure.Nothing in the kitchen had changed as long as I'd been eatingher inedible food there.Above the table hung a yellowing picture ofthe pope in a cheap brass frame.An imposing-looking family treetracing the Warners back to Poland and Germany,where they werecalled the Wanamakers ,was plastered on the wall nearby.Andcrowning it all was a large,hollow,wooden crucifix with a goldJesus on top,a dead palm leaf wrapped around it and a sliding topthat concealed a candle and a vial of holy water.Under the kitchen table,there was a heating vent that led tothe workbench in the cellar.Through it,we could hear my grandfathercoughing and hacking down there.He had his CB radio on,but he nevertalked into it.He just listend.He had been hospitalized with throatcancer when I was very young and,for as long as I could remember,Inever heard his actual voice,just the jagged wheezing that theforced through his tracheostomy.We waited until we heard him leave the cellar,abandoned ourmeat loaf,poured our Jell-O into the heating vent and ventureddownstairs.We could hear our grandmother calling futilely afterus:"Chad! Brian! Clean the rest of your plates!"We were lucky allshe did was yell that afternoon .Typically,if she caught usstealing food,talking back or goofing off,we were forced to kneelon a broomstick in the kitchen for anywhere from fifteen minutes toan hour,which resulted in perpetually bruised and scabbedknees.P10....................................................................................................................................................Chad and I worked quickly and quietly.We knew what had to bedone.Picking a rusted screwdriver off the floor,we pried thework-bench drawer open wide enough so we could peek in.The firstthing we saw was cellophane:tons of it,wound around someting.Wecouldn't make out what it was.Chad pushed the screwdriverfurther,and I pulled until the drawer gave way.What we discovered were bustiers,bras,slips and panties----andseveral tangled women's wigs with stiff,mottled hair.We beganunwrapping the cellophane,but as soon as we saw what ifconcealed,we dropped the package to the floor.Neither of us wantedto touch it.It was a collection of dildoes that had suction cups onthe bottom .Maybe it was because I was so young,but they seemedenormous.And they were covered with a hardened dark orangeslime,like the gelatinous crust that builds up around a turkey whenit is cooked.We later deduced that it was aged Vaseline.I made Chad wrap the dildoes up and put them back in thedrawer.We'd done enough exploring for the day.Just as we weretrying to force the drawer shut,the cellar doorknob turned.Chad andI froze for a moment,then he grabbed my hand and dove under aplywood table that my grandfather had his toy train set up on.Wewere just in time to hear his footsteps near the bottom of thestairs.The floor was covered with train-set paraphernalia,mostlypine needles and fake snow,which made me think of powdered donutstrampled into dirt.The pine needles were prickling our elbows,thesmell was nauseating and we were breathing heavily.But grandfatherdidn't seem to notice us of the half-open drawer.We heard himshuffling around the room,hacking through the hole in histhroat.There was a click,and his toy train began clattering aroundthe large track.His black patent leather shoes appeared on thefloor just in front of us.We couldn't even see as high as hisknees,but we knew he was sitting.Slowly his feet began scrapingagainst the ground,as if he were being violently rocked in hisseat,and his hacking grew louder than the trains.I can't think ofany way to describe the noise that issued from his uselesslarynx.The best analogy I can offer is an old,neglected lawn mowertrying to sputter back to life.But coming from a being,it soundedmonstrous. P11.................................................................................................................................................... After an uncomfortableten minutes passed,a voice called from the top of the stairs."JudasPriest on a pony!"It was my grand-mother,and evidently she'd beenyelling for some time.The train stopped，the feet stopped."Jack,whatare doing down there?"she yelled. My grandfather barked ather through his tracheostomy,annoyed."Jack,can you run to Heinie's?We're out of pop again." My grandfather barkedback,even more annoyed.He didn't move for a moment,as if debatingwhether of not to help her.Then he slowly rose. We were safe, forthe time being. After doing our best toconceal the damage we had done to the workbench drawer,Chad and Iwalked to the top of the stairs and into the breezeway,where wekept our toys. Toys,,in this case,being a pair of BB guns. Besidesspy-ing on my grandfather, the house had two other attractions:thewoods nearby,where we liked shooting at animals,and the girls inthe neighborhood,who we were trying to have sex with but neversuc-ceeded until much later. Sometimes we'd go to thecity park just past the woods and try to pick offlittle kids palying football.To this day, Chadstill has a BB lodged beneath the shin in his chest, because whenwe couldn't find any other targets we would just shoot at eachother.This time,we stuck close to the house and tried to knockbirds out of trees.It was malicious, but we were young and didn'tgive a shit.That afternoon I was out of for blood and,unfortunately, a white rabbit crossed our path. The thrill ofhitting it was incommensurate, but then I went to examine thedamage. It was still alive and blood was pouring out of its eye,soaking into its white fur. Its mouth kept meekly opening andclosing, taking in air in a last, deperate attempt at life. For thefirst time, I felt bad for an animal I had shot. I took a largeflat rock and ended its suffering with a loud, quick and messyblow, I was very close to learning an even harsher lesson inkilling animals.P12..................................................................................................................................................... We ran back to thehouse,where my parents were waiting outside in a brown CadillacCoupe de Ville, my father's pride and joy since land-ing a job asmanager of a carpet store. He never came into the house for meunless it was absolutely unavoid-able, and rarely even talked tohis parents. He usu-ally just waited outside uneasily, as if hewere afraid of reliving whatever it was he had experienced in thatold house as a child. Our duplex apart-ment,only a few minutes away, wasn't any less claustro-phobic thanGrandpa and Grandma Warner's place. Instead of leaving home aftershe married, my mom brought her mother and father home with her toCanton, Ohio. So they, the Wyers (my mother was born BarbWyer),lived next door. Benign country folk (my dad called themhillbillies ) from West-Virginia, her father was a mechanic and hermother was an over-weight, pill-popping housewife whose parentsused to keep her locked in a closet. Chad fell ill, so Ididn't go to my father's parents for about a week. Although I wasdisgusted and creeped out, my curiosity about my grandfather andhis depravity still hadn't been satisfied. To kill time whilewaiting to resume the inverstigation, I playedin our back-yard with Aleusha, who in some ways was my only realfriend besides Chad. Aleusha was an Alaskan malamute the size of awolf and dis-tinguishable by her mismatched eyes: one was green,the other was blue. Playing at home, however ,was accompanied byits own set of paranoias---ever since my neighbor, Mark,hadreturned home on Thanksgiving break from military school.P13--P14.................................................................................................................................................... Mark was a roly-poly kidwith a greasy blond bowl cut, but I used to look up to him becausehe was three years older than me and much more wild. I'd often seehim in his backyard throwing stones at his German shepherd orthrusting sticks up its ass. We started hang-ing out when I waseight or nine, mostly because he had cable televi-sion and I likedwatching Flipper.The television room was in his basement, wherethere was also a dumbwaiter for dirty laundry from upstairs. Afterwatching Flipper, Mark would invent games like "Prison," whichconsisted of squeezing into the dumbwaiter and per-tending like wewere in jail. This was no ordinary jail:the guardswere so strict that they didn't let the prisonershave anyting---even clothes. When we were naked in the dumbwaiter,Mark would run his hands all over my skin and try to squeeze andcaress my dick. After this happened a few times, I broke down andtold my mother. She went straight to his parents, who ,though theybranded me a liar, soon sent him to military school. From then on,Our families were bitter enemies, and I always felt that Markblamed me for tattling on him and causing him to be sent away.Since he had returned, he hadn't said a word to me. He just glaredmaliciously at me through his window or over his fence, and I livedin fear that he'd try to exact some kind of revenge on me ,myparents or my dog.So it was somewhat of a relief to be back at my grandparents'the next week ,palying detective again with Chad. This time we weredetermined to solve the mystery of my grandfather once and for all.After forcing down half a plateful of my grandmother's cooking ,weexcused ourselves and headed for the cellar. We could hear thetrains running from the top of the stairwell.He was downthere.一之一、令你惊恐的人儿一弯苍穹之下，在所有值得人去冥思的事物之中，没有什么比它更能激起人类之激情，更能产生令人陶醉之场景，更令人惊惧，比妖魔更能激起恐慌和敬畏，从它之中我们感受到奇迹之光和憎恶之恨，而它则是大自然的作品——那被逆转了的，被毁伤了的，被截去灵魂了的作品。——Pierre Boaistuau (1), Histories Prodigieuses（《惊人历史》）,1561注释（1）：[Pierre Boaistuau，法国出版商，作家和翻译家，对当时和后世的文学影响很大。]第一周期：地狱边境对我来说，地狱就是我祖父的地下室的地窑。它成日散发着令人作呕的臭气，像个公共厕所似的，其污秽程度也和那差不了多少。潮湿的混凝土地面上杂乱地堆放着空的啤酒罐子，所有的一切东西都裹着一层薄薄的油脂层，大概从我爸爸小时候起祖父就没清理过这儿了。想到地下室去，唯一的通道是钉在坚硬的石墙上的一条摇摇晃晃的木梯。对除开我祖父以外的所有人来说，地下室就是个禁区。这是我祖父一个人的世界。在地下室墙上，一眼就能看到那儿悬挂着一个褪色的红色装灌肠剂（2）的包，这现象显然表示，我祖父杰克·安格斯·华纳（JackAngusWarner）把他的自信用错了地方，他觉得他的孙子根本不敢擅闯到这里来。包的右边是一个变了形的白色药箱，里面有一打旧盒子，装着没商标的非专利药品（3）、邮购来的，边缘开裂的避孕套；一个生锈了的，装满了女性专用除臭喷雾的罐子；少量医生用来做直肠实验的乳胶指套；还有塔克修道士玩具（4），要是想把玩具的头推到它肚子里，那可是犯了个愚蠢的大错。木梯后面有个架子，摆着十瓶颜料罐。后来我才发现，每一罐里面都装着二十个16毫米色情电影胶片。在它上面有个小小的方形窗户——看起来像有色玻璃，但它其实是被灰色的尘垢染成的——从那窗户凝视外面的世界，真像从漆黑的地狱里仰望一般。注释（2）：[Enema，更大可能是指润滑剂。]注释（3）：[非专利药品，即未申请专利或专利期失效的药品，多家厂商均可生产。]注释（4）：[塔克修道士，侠盗英雄罗宾汉中的人物之一，智勇双全。]最能激起我好奇心的，还当数是地下室里的工作台了。台子旧了，而且做工也很粗糙，就像是好几个世纪以前做成的似的。它的表面被深橘色的粗布覆盖，要不是因为上面摆放了太多肮脏的工具而满是污渍，它看起来可就像是破烂娃娃（RaggedyAnndoll）（5）的头发似的。工作台上修有一个难看的抽屉，不过它老是锁着的。台子的椽子上面有一面很便宜的全身大镜子，这种带木框的镜子本来是应该钉在门上的，不过不知道为什么，它却是被钉在天花板上的——不过关于这原因，我也只是想想罢了。而这地下室，就是我和我的表弟查得（Chad）每日对我祖父私生活进行愈来愈深的，小小的侵扰的起始点。注释（6）：[破烂娃娃，推出年份：1915年。原作者JoniGruelle当时在玩具设计与杂志插画界中只是个初出茅庐的设计家。一天，独生女在祖母阁楼的房间中找到一个旧旧的布制人形，JoniGruelle为这个人形画上新的脸庞，从此Ann就成为女儿无可替代的好朋友，接着他还为女儿创作了许多关于Ann的冒险故事，讲述给常常生病的女儿听，但在一次意外的预防接种感染中，心爱的女儿不幸去世。JoniGruelle万分悲痛，而助他脱离丧女之痛的正是他所创作的娃娃Ann。而Ann也成为了美国有名的布娃娃，她以一头红发，衣服破烂的模样著称。]那时候我是个骨瘦如柴的十三岁男孩，满脸雀斑，顶着锅盖儿头——我母亲主动给我剪的。查得比我也胖不了多少，他十二岁，除了雀斑外还有一口龅牙。我们实在太想在长大以后做个“福尔摩斯”（6）、间谍或者私家侦探一类的角色了。我们探索地下室的秘密，也只是为了锻炼出今后秘密行动时所必须的本事，然而就在这过程中，我们却被赤裸裸地暴露在罪恶之下。注释（6）：[此处‘detective’为避免与后文‘private investigator’重复，有一定程度的改动。]一开始，我们只是想偷偷溜下楼到地下室里去，在不被发现的情况下监视我祖父。不过一旦我们开始探索那里隐藏的一切，我俩原始的动机可就转了向。我们放学后对地下室的“突袭”，一方面是年轻的小男孩儿想找些色情小刊物以作为手淫时的对象，另一方面，则是我们对祖父产生了病态的迷惑幻想。几乎每天，我们都会对地下室做些怪异的（grotesque）新探索。那时，我并不是很高，可是如果我能在我祖父的木椅子上很好地保持住平衡，我是可以钻到镜子和天花板之间形成的空隙里的。在哪儿，我找到了一叠黑白色的兽奸图片。它们不是从什么杂志里剪下来的：它们是独立的有标号的照片，看起来它们像是有人从图片目录里仔细挑选过，并邮购到家里来的。那里面有早期七十年代的女人照片，她们双腿叉开，坐在马的巨大阳具上；要不然就是吸吮着猪的那玩意儿——它们看起来像是软软的多肉的螺丝钻。我以前看过《花花公子》（《Playboy》）和《阁楼风情》（《Penthouse》）（7），不过跟这些照片比，它们根本就不是一个程度的。那些照片不仅仅是淫秽（obscene）罢了。它们就像梦幻一般，荒诞不经。所有的女人——不管她们是在和动物性交还是口交——都绽放出真正的，无邪的嬉皮士（flower-child）（8）一般的笑容。注释（7）：[《Penthouse》，和花花公子齐名的杂志之一。]注释（8）：[Flower child，六七十年代在西方出现的主张爱情和和平的佩花嬉皮士。]在镜子后面还藏着其他的一些不良杂志，比如《Watersports》和《BlackBeauty》。我们没把整本都偷走，我们会拿一个剃刀片，沿着杂志的边缘很小心地切下某些页。然后我们把它们叠成很小的整齐的方块儿形状，藏到我祖母私人汽车道的大块白色铺路石下面。很多年后，当我们再回去找它们，它们还是静静地躺在里面——不过它们已经磨得不成样子，早就损毁了，上面爬满了蚯蚓和蛞蝓。在一个秋日的午后，一个和平日放学后没什么两样的日子里，我和查得围坐在我祖母的饭桌旁。那天，我们下定决心要去看看地下室锁起来的工作台抽屉里到底有什么东西。我祖母碧翠斯（Beatrice）老是不顾一切地想让她的孙儿填饱肚子，她强迫我们吃肉卷儿和几乎全成了水儿的吉露果子冻。碧翠斯出身一个富有的家庭，银行里也有成堆的钱，不过她也真是够市侩的，每次做了一个吉露果子冻，她都想吃上好几个月。她过去老是穿着长度本应是到膝盖，却被她卷到脚踝的长筒袜，戴着一头灰色的怪怪的，显然根本不适合她的假发。人们都告诉我，说我简直跟她一个模子里刻出来的似的，我俩都是瘦的要命的人，而且也都不怎么跟别人打交道，社交圈子窄的很。只要我往那一坐，开始吃她那些根本不适合端上饭桌的东西，每天在厨房发生的一切都会开始一成不变了。饭桌上方悬着一幅用便宜的黄铜框围起来的，泛黄的教皇图片。近边的墙上贴着一幅看起来真够宏伟的家谱图，它把华纳家族追溯到了波兰和德国，那时候华纳这个姓是叫“沃纳梅克”（Wanamaker）。在这所有东西之上，挂着一个很大的中空木制十字架，最顶端有一个金色的耶稣像。干枯的棕榈树叶包绕着这十字架，十字架的顶端可以移开，里面藏着一段蜡烛和一小玻璃瓶圣水。厨房的桌子下面有一个出热气的风口，它能通到地下室的工作台那儿。从出风口处我们能听到我祖父在地下室里频频地干咳。他总是用收音机听民用无线电报，但他却不跟那吱哇作响的匣子说一句话，只是默默地听着。还在我一点点大的时候，他就因为喉癌住院了，从此在我的记忆里，我从没听过他真实的声音。我听到的只是他从气管里硬生生挤出的尖利的哮喘和啸鸣声。我们会一直等祖父。当听到他终于离开地下室的那一瞬间，我们就会立刻扔下手里的肉卷儿，把吉露果子冻从通风口一股脑儿倒进去，开始了去往楼下的探险之旅。我们总能听见祖母在身后徒劳地一声声叫着：“查得！布莱恩！把你们的东西吃完！”现在想起来那个下午我们真是幸运，她也只是在我们身后叫了叫罢了。一般来说，如果她逮到我们俩偷东西吃，顶嘴，或者是听说我们逃了学，她就会在厨房里给我们随便找个地方，让我们跪在扫帚把儿上面，有时候跪十五分钟，有时候跪一个小时，结果往往是我们的膝盖持续痛上好长时间，有时还会跪破，结了痂。我和查得动作很轻快，我俩在行动前已经想好今天的探险任务是什么。在地下室里，我们从地上捡起了一个生锈的螺丝起子，把工作台上的抽屉撬开到足够大，这样我俩可以偷看里面有什么东西。我们第一眼看到的是一大堆包着什么东西的玻璃纸，可是我们看不清楚它到底包了什么。查得把螺丝起子撬得更深了点儿，抽屉里还有头发和一些装饰用的带子。查得继续着他的工作，而我则不停地把抽屉向外拉，最终抽屉的锁完全坏掉了。我们看到的是女人穿的紧身内衣，胸罩，带肩带的衬裙和女式短裤——还有一些女式长筒袜，它们和一些硬扎扎的杂色头发胡乱缠在一起。我们开始打开玻璃纸，不过当我们看到里面是什么时，就一下把那一包东西扔到了地上。我俩谁都不想再碰它了。那是祖父收集的假阴茎，它们顶端还有看起来是用来吸吮的杯状物。可能因为我年龄太小了的缘故，我感觉那些玩意儿看起来简直大得吓人。而且，它们上面都覆盖着一层变硬了的深橘色粘液，看起来就像是在火鸡身上涂抹的那层粘糊糊的胶状物。我们后来推想一下，那东西该是有年头的凡士林液。我让查得把那东西赶紧包好，放回到抽屉里。今天的探险也该到此结束了。我们正在用力想把抽屉关上的时候，突然地下室的门把手转动了一下。我和查得像僵住了似的，不过也只是一瞬间罢了。查得很快便反应过来，扯着我的手潜伏到胶合板桌子底下，那桌子上面安放着祖父的玩具火车。在藏好的一瞬间，我们俩就听到了他下到梯子低端的脚步声。我们藏身的地面上满布着祖父玩具火车上的小玩意儿，大部分是松针和人造雪花，那雪花这让我想起被人踩了一脚，躺在尘埃里的，沾满了面粉的炸面圈儿。松针扎痛了我们的手肘，桌下的气味令人作呕，我们的呼吸十分粗重。但祖父好像根本没注意到我们，也没向半开着的抽屉瞅上一眼。我们听见他拖着脚在房间四周走着，从他的喉咙眼里不住地咳嗽。他碰了一下开关，他的玩具火车开始绕着长长的铁轨轰轰地运转起来，他穿着有他个人特色的黑色皮革鞋，现在那鞋子就站在我俩的眼前。我们甚至都没法看到他的膝盖处的高度，不过我们知道他坐下来了。慢慢地，他的脚开始摩擦着地板，好像他正在椅子里拼命地摇似的，他的咳嗽声甚至盖过了火车的喧哗声。我简直不知道有什么更好的方法来形容那从他破损的喉咙里发出的声音。我能想象得到的最好的比喻就是一架老旧的，被人忽视了的割草机（因为急于再次重返它的工作岗位）发出的可怕的劈啪声。不过如果这声音从一个人类身体中发出，听起来实在令人毛骨悚然。 令我们难以忍受的十分钟过去了，这时从木梯上方传来一个声音。“JudasPriest（9）正骑着小马在外头遛呢！”，那是我祖母在叫，显然的是，她喊了很长时间了。听到她的喊叫后，玩具火车停了下来，祖父的脚不再磨蹭地板了。 注释（9）： [JudasPriest：英国顶级金属乐队。这句话大概是祖母为了引起祖父的注意而故意瞎说的。]“杰克（Jack），你在下面搞什么鬼呢？”她又喊叫道。 我祖父从破喉咙里向她生气地吼了一声。“杰克，你能不能去‘海尼’（Heinie）商店跑一趟？家里的汽水儿又没了！” 我祖父更加气急败坏地吼了一声。有很长一段时间他一动不动地坐在那儿，好像是在心理斗争着到底要不要帮她这个忙去跑腿。接着慢慢地，他站起来了。我们俩安全了，最起码暂时是的。 当尽了我们最大努力掩饰好对工作台抽屉做的一切毁坏工作后，我和查得爬到木梯最顶部，到屋顶的过道里去。我们把我们的玩具都藏在那儿了。既然是想当间谍，我们那时的玩具就是BB气枪了。除了监视我的祖父以外，这房子还有两个吸引我们的地方：一是房子附近有片小树林，我们喜欢用气枪射里面的动物。其二就是邻居家的女孩儿们。我们老早就想和她们上床了，不过这事在很久之后才得逞。 有时候我们会穿过小树林到城市公园里去，用枪对着那些踢足球玩的小孩儿射击。直到现在，查得胸口的肉里面还嵌着一粒铅弹，因为当找不到其他的目标时，我们俩就干脆互相射着玩儿。这回，我们紧紧地靠着房沿，想把树上的鸟打下来。这种举动的确很恶毒，但是那时候我们还小，根本不管那么多屁事儿。那个下午不知道怎么搞的我嗜血得要命——很不幸地，一只白兔子从我们的射程里飞快地窜过。我打中了它！随之而来的（不是兴奋，而）是和那应有的感觉十分不相符的恐惧感。不过我很快便想看看兔子受的伤严不严重。它还活着，血从它的眼睛里不停地涌出来，慢慢地洇进它雪白的皮毛里。它的嘴巴轻柔地一张一合，拼命想吸入最后一口气，绝望地挣扎着，还想继续活下去。自从我开始射击动物到现在，这是我第一次为自己的所作所为感到痛心。我拿起一块大平石，随着一声又响又快的声音，我结束了它的痛苦——我把兔子砸得血肉模糊。我简直给自己又上了一课，课程的内容是：如何更残忍地结束一个动物的生命。 我们跑回房子，我的父母正在外面的车里等着我们。那车是都市牌的双门“凯迪拉克”，它是我爸爸做了地毯商场经理之后买的。能买到这车令他兴奋，自然也是他的骄傲。要不是火烧眉毛的事，他根本不会到我祖父母房子里来看我，而且他和他的父母也很少讲话。通常他只是在外面拘束地等着，就好像他很怕重温以前小时候在那房子里的经历似的。 我们的双层楼公寓离我祖父母家只有几分钟的车程，和祖父母家一样，我家的房子也是一个导致人产生幽闭恐怖症的地方。结婚之后，我的母亲没有离开这儿。她把她的父母接了过来，和她一起住在俄亥俄州的坎顿。所以，威尔夫妇（10）（我的母亲全名是芭布·威尔），就住在隔壁。她的父母都是从西维吉尼亚州搬过来的善良的乡下农民（我爸爸叫他们“乡巴佬”），她的爸爸是个机械师，妈妈是个很胖的，成年离不开药罐子的家庭主妇——她的父母曾经把她锁在私室里。 注释（10）： [威尔夫妇：即曼森的外祖父母。] 查得病了，我一周都没去我祖父母家。尽管我看到的事情令我恶心，而且也把我吓得够呛，但我对祖父一些邪恶行径的好奇心并没得到满足。在对祖父的调查重新开始之前的这段日子里，我为了打发时间，就在后院子里和阿露莎（Aleusha）一起玩儿，在某种程度上来讲，她可以算是我除了查得以外的真正朋友了。阿露莎是一只阿拉斯加爱斯基摩犬，她的身板和狼简直一样大，她有两只颜色不一的眼睛，因此极易辨别——一只发绿，另一只则是蓝色。你要想在我家的房子玩得高兴的话，天生就得是个妄想狂（因为这儿实在太无聊了）——然而到感恩节假期时我的邻居马克（Mark）从军校回来（那种感觉才消失了）。 马克是个矮矮胖胖的男孩，留着一个成日油乎乎的金发锅盖头，不过我曾经很崇拜他，因为他比我大三岁，也野得多。我经常看见他在后院里朝着他的德国牧羊人扔石头，或者拿棍子戳他的屁股。大约我八九岁的时候，我们开始成日在外鬼混。我和他在一起混大概是因为马克有个有线电视，而我喜欢看《Flipper》。放电视的房间在马克的地下室里，那儿还有个专门从上往下运脏衣服的升降机。看完《Flipper》后，马克会发明些游戏，比如“监狱游戏”，这游戏是要把自己竭尽全力挤进升降机里，装作自己在坐牢似的。马克发明的可不是一般的牢房——守卫们都很严厉，他们不会让囚犯拥有任何东西——甚至衣服。当我们在升降机里赤裸相对时，马克会用他的手在我全身的皮肤上游走，试图去攥紧并亲吻我的那玩意儿。这事儿发生了几次后，我崩溃了，我告诉了我妈。她直截了当地去找马克的家长了。虽然马克父母给了我个说谎者的污名，不过很快马克就又被送进了军校。从那时候开始，我们两家人成了格格不入的仇敌，而且我总感觉马克因为我告发了他导致重新被遣送这件事耿耿于怀。后来自从他回来以后，他没跟我说一句话，他只是透过他家的窗户玻璃和篱笆墙瞪着我，眼神充满了恶意。我生怕他会对我，我的父母或者我的狗阿露莎实施报复。我成日战战兢兢，活在恐惧之中。 因此，当下周又能重新回到我祖父母家，和查得玩侦探游戏时，我真的是大大松了一口气。这一次，我们决心把我祖父的秘密给一次窥视个干净。当艰难地咽进半盘子我祖母做的饭菜后，我们胡乱找了个借口离开饭桌，开始向地下室进发。我们从楼梯间顶上能听见他的玩具火车呼哧呼哧地跑着，他就在楼底下呢。
Marilyn Manson自传汉化（二）
上接一 Holding our breath ,wepeered into the room.His back was to us and we could see theblue-and-gray flannel shirt that he alway wore, with the neckstretched out, revealing a yellow and brown ring around the collarand a sweat-stained undershirt. A white band of elastic, alsoblackened with dirt, clung to his throat, holding the metalcatheter tube in place over his Adam's apple. A slow, tense wave offear shuddered through our bodies. This was it. We crept down thecreaky stairs as quietly as we could, hoping the trains would coverup the noise. At the bottom, we turned around and hid in thestale-smelling alcove behind the staircase, try not to spit orscream as cobwebs clung to our faces. From our hiding place,wecould see the train set: There were two tracks, and both had trainrunning on them, clanking along the hap-hazardly built rails andletting off a noxious electrical smell, as if themetal of the track were burning. My grandfather sat near the blacktransformer that housed the train's controls. The back of his neckalways reminded me of foreskin. The flesh hung wrinkled offthe bone, old and leathery like a lizard's andcompletely red. The rest of his skin was gray-white, like the colorof birdshit, except for his nose, which had reddened anddeteriorated from years of drinking. His hand were hardened andcallused from a lifetime of work, his nails dark and brittle likebeetle wings.P15--P16....................................................................................................................................... Grandfather wasn'tpaying attention to trains circling furi-ously around him. Hispants were down around his knees, a magazine was spread over hislegs, and he was hacking and moving his right hand rapidly in hislap. At the same time, with his left hand, he was wiping phlegmfrom around his tracheostomy with a yellow-crusted handkerchief. Weknew he was doing, and we wanted to leave right away. But we hadtrapped ourselves behind the stairs and were too scared to come outinto the open. Suddenly, the hackingsputtered to a halt and grandfather twisted around in his chair,staring straight at the stairwell. Our heartsfroze. He stood up, pants sliding to his ankles, and we pressedagainst the mildewed wall. We couldn't see what he was doinganymore. My heart stabbed at my chest like a broken bottle and Iwas too petrified even to scream. A thousand perverted and violentthings he was about to do to us flashed through my mind, though itwould have taken noting more than for him to touch me and I wouldhave dropped dead with fright. The hacking, jacking andshuffling of feet began again, and we let our breath out, It wassafe to peer around the staircase. We didn't really want to. But wehad to. After severalexcruciatingly slow minutes, a gruesome noise leapt from histhroat, like the sound a car engine makes when someone turns thekey in the ignition when it's already on. I turned my head away,too late to keep from imagining the white pus squeezing out of hisyellow, wrinkled penis like the inside of a squashed cockroach.When I looked again, he had lowered his handkerchief, the same onehe'd been using to wipe away his phlegm, and was sopping up hismess. We waited until he left and then clambered back up thestairs, vowing never to set foot in the broken workbench drawer, hedidn't say anything to us. During the ride home, wetold my parents what happened. I had the feeling the my motherbelieved most if not all of it, and that my father already knewfrom having grown up there. Though Dad didn'tutter a word, my mother told us that years ago, when my grandfatherstill worked as a trucker, he was in an accident. When the doctorsundressed him at the hospital, they found women's clothesunder-neath his own. It was a family scandal that no one wassupposed to talk about, and we were sworn to secrecy. They were inutter denial of it ---and still are to this day. Chad must havetold his mother what we had seen, because he wasn't allowed to hangout with me for years afterward. When we pulled into ourdriveway, I walked around back to play with Aleusha. She was lyingin the grass near the fence, vomiting and convulsing. By the timethe vet arrived, Aleusha was dead and I was in tears. The vet saidsomeone had poisoned her. I had a funny feeling I knew who thatsomeone was.P17...................................................................................................................................................... 我们屏住气偷偷地溜进了房间，祖父背对着我们，我们能看到他穿着那件他常穿的蓝灰色的法兰绒T恤衫。他的脖子伸得长长的，坦露出他变成黄褐色的领圈，还有被汗渍弄脏的内衣。一个有弹性的白色东西（当然也被垢污弄得很脏了）挂在他的脖子上，它支持着他喉结处的金属导液管，不让管子的位置变偏。 一阵紧张的恐惧感使我们惊惧地颤抖了起来，它缓慢地到来，潮水一样淹没了我们，是的，就是这种感觉。我们从吱吱嘎嘎作响的木梯上尽量轻手轻脚地爬下，希望玩具火车的声音能够压过我们的攀爬声。在最底部时，我们转过身藏到梯架后面散发着腐旧气味的橱柜里，竭力压制住因为蛛网扫到脸上时想发出的呸呸乱吐声和小小的尖叫声。 从我们的藏身之处看出去，我们能看到玩具火车的整体构造：一共有两个铁轨，每一架铁轨上都跑着一架火车，它们在随意搭建的铁轨上发出当啷声，还散发着一股令人难以忍受的机械特有的臭味，闻起来就像是铁轨已经烧起来似的。我的祖父坐在装有火车控制台的黑色变压器旁边。他脖子后面的皮肤总莫名其妙地让我想起包皮。那带褶皱的肉从骨头上耷拉下来，不仅老旧而且像皮革似的，就像是蜥蜴的皮肤，完全是红的。他其他的皮肤除了鼻子以外全是灰白色的，就像鸟屎的颜色一样。他的鼻子是通红的，因为多年酗酒已经不成形了。他的手硬得要命，布满了因毕生劳作而产生的老茧。他的手指甲发灰，而且像甲虫的翅膀一样脆弱。 祖父看起来没有注意到他身旁狂吼着驶过的玩具火车，他的裤子褪到了膝盖旁，一本杂志铺开在他的腿上，他在不断地干咳，右手在大腿间很快地来回动着。与此同时，他的左手拿着一块黄色的手帕，正在不停地擦着从他气管中呛出的痰液。我们都知道他在干些什么，我们真想马上就走，但是我们已经陷在木梯后面，根本没胆量再走出来到空地上去。 突然，干咳声戛然而止，祖父在椅子里扭了一下，转过来直直地盯着我们藏身的楼梯井处。我们的心跳瞬间静止了。祖父站了起来，他的裤子滑落在了脚踝处，我们把自己的身体紧紧地抵在发霉的墙上，于是我们便看不到他在做什么了。我的心就像是变成了一块破碎的玻璃瓶，不停地扎着我的胸口，我太怕了，几乎要喊叫出来。我脑海中闪过无数种他可能对我们做的变态狂暴的事情，尽管他根本不用这么做。他只要轻轻碰我一下，我就会砰然倒地被吓死了。 干咳声和脚拖在地上的沙沙声又出现了，我们松了一口气。现在在楼梯附近偷偷走动是安全的了，我们并不真想这么做，但我们实在没办法。 过了令人难以忍受的几分钟后，一声可怕的响声从祖父的喉间迸出，就像是有人把钥匙捅进了已经开动了的汽车引擎点火开关，又拧了拧而发出的响声。我把我的头赶紧转过去，不过已经太晚了，我能想象到白色的脓液状的东西从他黄色发皱的阴茎里喷出来，那东西就像是压扁的蟑螂流出的体液。当我再看的时候，他已经把手帕放低了位置（就是那条他刚才用来擦走痰液的手帕），开始吸干他面前一团糟的液体。我们等到他走了才手脚并用地爬出来，上了梯子后我们发誓以后再也不涉足于地下室一步。不过就算祖父觉得我们曾经进入过下面，或者发现了坏了的桌子抽屉，他也说不出什么。 在坐着车回家时，我告诉了父母我看到的一切。我有种感觉，我的母亲很相信我说的话，即使不是全部相信，也是大部分。而我父亲好像早就知道这事儿了，因为他就是在那房子里长大的。尽管父亲一个字也没说，但母亲却告诉了我们一些事情。母亲说很多年前我祖父还是个卡车司机，有一次他出了车祸。当医生们在医院里脱光他后，竟然发现了他衣服下还有女人的内衣。这是一件家庭丑闻，一直没人敢提起它。我和查得都发誓不把这事说出去。这是一个绝对机密，而且一直到现在也是。不过查得一定是告诉他妈妈他在地下室看到了什么，因为此后的很多年，他都不能和我在一起玩了。 当我们驶入车道时，我快活地走回去想找阿露莎玩。可我看到她躺在篱笆后的草地上，不停地呕吐和抽搐。当兽医到的时候，阿露莎已经死了，我泪流满面。兽医说阿露莎是被人下毒了，我突然有一种滑稽不堪的感觉——我知道是谁杀了她！ 第一章完 This is the end ofChapter One
