THE STORY OF JANE’S ADDICTION
By Perry Farrell
Issue 1, Winter 1986
INEVER HAD SEX WITH JANE. I slept with her and her friend once, but Jane was shy so I had her friend while she rested. She and I shared the upstairs level of a six-bedroom house that t still inhabit. It’s a stately old home built back in 1914. My room was an add-on used for storage back then, but I fixed it up real coach and named it “The Love Garden.”
Downstairs lived these four extremely hip looking musicians. Yes, they were hip from the top of their puffy-pop rock hairdos to the bottom of their pointy-toed shoes. From the outset the house was divided. They were really uptight about Jane because of her daily habits, and because she was bringing Mexicans around the house. Mainly it was a kid named Sergio and his amigos. Sergio was actually Jane’s courtier. During the steamy evenings I would hear him whistling up to her window where she’d be gazing at herself In the mirror, adjusting her wig and lip synching off the radio. We’d have friends dropping by to do a little of this and a little of that. I’d listen to Sergio tell of his latest adventure about getting back across the border. In his thick accent he’d lie about everything from his age to the origin of his scars. One night he showed up with an ace bandage wrapped around his forearm. He told me it was from a knife fight and that he had killed his attacker. When later matching stories with Jane, she laughed because he had unraveled his bandage to her, revealing gauze with aloe vera on it. He was using it to heal his marks.
Sergio left this love threat on the answering machine once that Jane shared with one of the guys downstairs. He called while in the heat of a drug passion, accusing her of disloyalty and swearing at her in crummy English. The roommate called the whole house together to listen to it, offering proof that Jane was bad news and must be gotten rid of. In truth the message was so funny that I begged him to let me make a copy of it. He declined due to a severe lack of humor and an ignorance for romance.
Soon after, a meeting was called to discuss whether or not Jane should continue residency with us. From the outset it was a farce. I was Jane’s only defense versus four predetermined mama’s boys. Everyone got their chance at whipping her, then we moved on the subject of Sergio. In particular, they brought up an incident when Sergio and his friend came over one night feeling strange and got carried away with their affections for Jane. She yelled for them to stop while the whole house had their ears propped up.
While the others listened righteously, Jane’s eyes caught mine and we both exploded laughing. I was then accused of being sick for seeing humor in the matter. Jane thought it was funnier than I did. She lived for times like that.
I once had this daydream that I was a bodyless spirit talking to another bodyless spirit. He was asking me what earth was like, because he was considering living there. “Well,” I said, “there’s a lot of variety and it’s kind of dangerous. You can have a lot of pleasure, but at the very next moment your luck can run out and you’ve got big trouble. People there can flip out on you and go into mass hysteria. They call them riots. Or the wind could all of a sudden start spinning real fast in a circle and come wipe you out. They call them tornadoes.” I told him a few of the heaviest things that can blow a person’s mind.
After coming back from my fantasy, it dawned on me that I spend most of my time daydreaming. It is the dream that takes up most of a person’s time, but I never even thought to mention this to the body less spirit.
It is the volatile moments during the course of a lifetime that Qualify one’s existence. The news attains the highest of all T.V. ratings because it brings us real murder, protest, and violence. We see the future unfold just before we’re ready to accept it. We may curse its hands, but we’re hypnotized by its movements.
Jane lives in L.A., but not in my house anymore after a bloody brawl in the kitchen, nor do the puffy-pop rockers.
We called the band “JANE’S ADDICTION,” because like her, we’re drawn to life’s violent strobe and its erotic colors. This more than anything was her addiction. She tries to surpass her daydreams.
I just saw Jane again recently at one of our shows. Seeing her is like going through your closet and finding a misplaced fetish. A frail attachment to a pristine moment, she leaves me saddened. I cannot part with her. Through her charm and good spirits, I noticed her looking spent. I figure that’s what wealth is for.
by Perry Farrell