Maybe she doesn't understand that when he writes a song for his new album like "The Devil Beneath My Feet," with lyrics like "Don't bring your black heart to bed/When I wake up, you best be gone or you better be dead," he's not necessarily referring to her, even though they did come from a text he sent her. Then footsteps can be heard."I'm sorry," he says, "but we're going to be interrupted now, it seems."It's Usich, wearing a slinky velvety dress that features a peek-a-boo keyhole-shaped opening right about cleavage-high. It's an uncomfortable moment and goes unexplained.Tonight, he's dressed in a black shirt, black vest, black coat, black pants and black boots over blood-red socks, with sunglasses covering his eyes in a room that is so dark to begin with that his black hair, shaved short and asymmetrical, almost ceases to exist in the general mood of black nothingness. Manson picks up his cat, an aging Devon Rex named Lily White that has a delicate smear of Usich's red lipstick on its head, and watches her go.He pops the top, pours some in a glass, sets the glass down and never touches it again.
That same year, he proclaimed himself the God of Fuck, and two years later the Antichrist.
He wore mismatched contact lenses, one dirt-brown, the other sky-blue, that made him look deranged.
Second, no underwear shall be slipped farther down than his ankles.
"I have a phobia that the house is going to catch fire, and I don't want to be naked," he says.
Many of its songs, among them the hard-stomping recent release "Third Day of a Seven Day Binge," were recorded in one take, with all subsequent efforts to clean them up ignored.
"It's dirty," says Manson, happily, "like the dirt under my nails, like someone who has dug a grave."Right now, the only thing he's digging is a Sunkist grape soda out of the fridge in his dank little Spanish-Gothic-style house in the Hollywood Hills.I'm the part where it rains and the part where the person you don't want to die dies.I'm here just to fuck shit up." Which means that tonight could be quite the debauch, full of terrible and wonderful things.He scared the religious right so much that, in an effort to get his concerts banned, they stated for a fact that any virginal young daughters who attended one would witness myriad homosexual acts onstage, rampant drug use, rape and bestiality, animal sacrifice and, yes, the sacrifice of virginal young daughters. It was said that he had a rib removed so he could perform oral sex on himself.All manner of outrage seemed not only possible but likely – including plastering a deaf groupie with luncheon meat and hosing her down with his own urine, which, in fact, happened.Then it's time to step out, head on over to the Chateau Marmont for a little guys-only fun. "I'm chaos, I've always been chaos, my point on Earth is chaos," he says, getting worked up.