Editing Hotel Hallucinogen

{{Book
| Name        = "Hotel Hallucinogen" from The Long Hard Road Out of Hell
| Cover       = TheLongHardRoadOutOfHell.jpg
| Cover size  = 200
| Writer      = [[Marilyn Manson]]
| Released    = February 14, 1998
| Illustrator = [[P. R. Brown]]
| Publisher   = ReganBooks
| Media type  = Print (Paperback)
| Length      = 288 pages
| ISBN        = 0060392584
}}

"'''Hotel Hallucinogen'''" is a poem [[Brian Warner]] wrote to Night Terrors magazine in 1988. The letters along with the poem can be found in [[The Long Hard Road Out of Hell]].

== Poem ==
<blockquote><small>Lying in bed contemplating,<br>
tomorrow simply meditating,<br>
I stare into a single empty spot,<br>
and I notice a penetrating of eyes looking up and down and at various odd angles secretly inspecting me;<br> and I feel my stare tugged away from the blank screen in front of my eyes and directed at the eight empty beer cans<br>
forming an unintentional pyramid.<br><br>

And I close my eyelids to think-<br>
how many hours have passed since I constructed such an<br>
immaculate edifice of tin?<br>
Or did I create it at all?<br>
Was it the watchers?<br>
I open my eyes and return my stare to the pyramid.<br>
But the pyramid has now become a flaming pyre, and the face within is my own.<br>
What is this prophecy that comes to me like a delivery boy,<br>
cold and uncaring of its message, asking for only recognition?<br>
But I will not fall prey to this revelation of irrelevance<br>
I will not recognize this perversion of thought.<br>
<br>
I will not.<br>
<br>
I hurl my pillow at the infernal grave, as if to save my eyes<br>
from horrific understanding, and I hear the hollow clang<br>
of seven empty beer cans, not eight- was it fate that left one to stand?<br>
Why does this solitary tin soldier<br>
stand in defiance to my pillow talk of annihilation?<br>
Then, for some odd, idiotic, most definitely enigmatic reason<br>
the can begins to erupt in a barrage of whimpering cries.<br>
Does he lament because his friends and family is gone<br>
or that he has no one with which to spawn? They were gone...<br>
<br>
but no, that's not the reason. It is a baby's cry of his mother's treason.<br>
The screaming fear of abandonment. And this wailing, screaming, whining causes<br>
the dead cans to rise and I can't believe my eyes,<br>
that this concession of beverage containers is chanting in a cacophony of shallow rebellion
to my Doctrine of Annihilation that was discussed in my Summit of the Pillow<br>
 (which is now lost among the aluminium-alloy anarchists).<br>
<br>
I am afraid, afraid of these cans, these nihilistic rebels. As the one approaches-the baby crier,<br>
 I suppose my fear now escalates, constructing a wall around my bed,<br>
 trying to shut everything out but without a doubt the crier casually climbs what I thought was a Great Wall not unlike the one in Berlin.<br>
<br>
He begins to speak. His words flow cryptically from the hole in his head<br>
like funeral music: deep, resonant, and sorrowful. He says to me: "you must surrender your dreams it's just.<br>
 We sit all day planning for your attendance and upon your arrival you very impolitely ignore us."<br><br>

No. He gives me a pair of aphrodisiac sunglasses, and I fall asleep in the shade.<br>
Asleep in a field of hyacinth and jade. When I crawl out of my sleep<br>
I get up, my hair is tangled in a mess of golden locks. I enter the kitchen, and go to the icebox. <br>
I pull out a single can of beer, and as I begin to drink I hear the weeping of an abandoned infant.<br><br></small></blockquote>

== Trivia ==
* The poem can be found on page 58 and 59 in [[The Long Hard Road Out of Hell]].

[[Category:Writings and literature by Marilyn Manson]]
[[Category:Marilyn Manson bibliography]]