The Unexpurgated Diary of R. Cody Taylor [entry #three]
[April 22, 2021. 10:38Am.]
The rooster crows in the valley & I have denied Christ three or four times already this morning, but does he care? Nah! I think he’s used to it by now. FUCK! I’m so unreliable and fickle, taciturn and maudlin in the morning.
Thoughts aren’t particularly straight, nothing’s linear, it’s all disjointed and I’ve got the heebie-jeebies from four cups of coffee and two cans of sugar free Red Bull [the big cans, 40oz]. I’m already cranked, feel a little crunked, and think I might try to say, today—all day—every thought that flits and flickers through my bedraggled brain.
Feeling something like motivation this morning, and I’ve already been to the grocery store. I’m a verb this morning, full of action and gumption to get shit done. Will I clean the house? Probably not, but I do think I’ll spend the day scribbling aimlessly in this diary, all the unexpurgated thoughts that float from the hole in the back of my head.
I’m sure I’ve already bored you to death, and for that I sincerely apologize, please forgive me. I promise I’ll try to be mildly entertaining today. NO! I guess I can’t promise that. NOPE! This will, more than likely, be rather drab and dismal and no promises of being interesting or entertaining can be made. Please stick with me. Are you out there? Will you leave me like everyone else has? Probably. Sorry to disappoint.
[11:08Am.]
The bulbs in my room burn fluorescent, white light, and my hair blows in the breeze coming through the open window. Tenses, strengthens, thoughts float outward...dust has covered the coffee table, and the dingy carpet is frayed. I wait for something, anything, to happen. Life in rewind, backwards in the past tense. In my tomb-rooms of dust and no things...I’m not proud of my dirty sink, with dishes piled high, and I’m embarrassed by the state of my toilet. God, why? I sit upon my bed, dead things piled next to it. Pearl Jam’s Immortality (live) plays on my home stereo, I turn up, tune in, drop out. I’m swept out through the cracks beneath the door. Does this make any sort of sense, dig?
Vacate is the word. Please define me. Holier than thou, how? Scrawled my suicide note on the back of a math equation I never could solve, pulled from an old algebra book I stole while still in middle-school. I’m in a strange mood, and the thoughts zip-zap, zig & zag, back and forth, through my beaten and blown brain. I wish you’d hold on, please don’t rush me. Some die just to live. What’s with me today? I want immortality, indeed I do. Life beyond the grave, eternal and everlasting.
I can no longer do this, too confused and juxtaposed with absolute meaning [what the hell are you talking about? start making sense, and fucking quit with this gibberish, this nonsense, you’ll make a fool of yourself if anyone sees this]. Spin me round, roll me over, fuck in circles. Drop it down, dig? I can’t keep it up, too much light, overstimulated and uncomfortable.
And that’s all I got, at least for now.
[11:28Am.]
I’m not even mad anymore. No, really. I’m no longer mad. But I’m certainly self-obsessed, a solipsist. I wish you nothing but the best, and the wicked get no rest. I’ve only slept 4 hours, and did not dream, nothing, just restless sleep. I hope when I finally sleep, I hope I dream of me. All I know for certain is what’s on my mind, do you think we’ll be in love forever? Do I look pretty?
[11:36Am.]
This diary, a nightmare, high and low, and behold the prophet, speaking blind allegiance to an intoxicating dogma...banished forever and anointed into the shelves of a dusty bookshelf, my unimaginative sleep, repetition without change. Baby, you’re no good for me, but I want you, and I want you to love me forever.
[11:39Am.]
I’m given away in whims and journals, my Secret-Genius diary, begging for help. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Stopping in for coffee, and insulting the preacher sitting near the window, goddamn! I hate that bastard. If they laugh, then fuck ‘em all!
[11:42Am.]
I sit alone in the house. My tiny yellow house. Zero degrees from all else, and I feel 6,000 human years old. I envision the deaths of many men, I’m the killer. Can you live without me? I don’t know why I’m sad inside? Social suicide. Sitting in the house, I save the lucid dreams for another time. Live without me. I murder many men inside my mind, watch them die a slow and painful death. [a commercial on the radio: Stone Cold Steve Austin & Ice T, they want me to wash in cold water with Tide.] I’m isolated from all else, 8,213,001 human years old. I don’t want to fall asleep, afraid I’ll pass away, I hope I go to Heaven, too afraid of Hell. Don’t stay awake too long, don’t go to bed. Pour another cup of coffee, up and at ‘em. Clear my head. Still semi-asleep. Make another cup of coffee for my head. What the hell am I saying? NOTHING. Everything means something else, something I no longer remember. This is possibly plagiarized [how much did you steal?]…I bite your beats and don’t even cite my sources. Steal like a hackneyed artist, such a waste. The killer, the simple mask. Can’t really trust nobody.
[11:52Am.]
I think I’m going psycho. Didn’t Post Malone say something like that? The words rip through my brain, everything’s so fucking fast right now, can I keep up? Don’t be cautious. Don’t be kind. Just pull the pen’s trigger. One more coffee and a banana and strawberry smoothie. By the way, I’ve been uninvited. Copycat, bites another beat.
[12:08Pm.]
…optimism for the jump…
Gotta wake-up. Taste the delicate thoughts that never bring the dawn. Two days ago it snowed, the day before it was 70 degrees. Could the mind turn violet? Everything turning in these yellow, fluorescent lights, turns to stone, ash from my cigarette, dust covers the windowsill. Come back to life, please. Gotta, gotta, gotta wake-up. I cover the hammer’s tracks that mark the wall. I no longer know what I have left to say [that’s an awkward sentence, revise]? DONE!
[12:27Pm.]
Two cigarettes, coffee, mango and cherry tomatoes for lunch. I’m beginning to run out of steam. Need an off-brand, bought at Aldi, Red Bull, can’t remember what Aldi calls their version of the power drink, but I bought a four pack and plan on drinking two of them today. O! Who gives a good goddamn? I mean, really? This again? Nah! I’ll write about something else besides my caffeine intake, gallons of coffee, and etc.
Today I’m thinkin’ about, what? I need to find an end to this muddy stream-of-consciousness.
Listen: sitting in the sun, and I fall to pieces. Reassemble me. Head spins, bury a friend. I want to end this. What do you want from me? Why do I do this? Does anyone give a rat’s ass about any of this bullshit?
This is the END, my dear friend. [commercial break.] Wait! I’ve got a new complaint. What? I know you’re tired of me. Erase me. NOTHING left to say. I FUCKING QUIT! My brain is drowning in flames and I need to relax. Afternoon dose of medicine at 2:13Pm, and then, maybe, afterwards I’ll be back to these pages. Could be? That’s All, Folks! I got nothing left. [12:39Pm. END.]
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