Have I Said Too Much?

The Unexpurgated Diary of R. Cody Taylor [entry #Six.]

[12:13Am. April 30, 2021.]

I have no $$$, no resources, no hopes. I am the most disappointed man alive. A year ago, maybe two, I thought that I was a writer, a poet, an artist. I no longer think about it, I know I’m not.

This then? This is not a book. This is not a book in the ordinary sense of the word. This is an exercise in honesty, an autofiction that’s more ‘auto’ than ‘fiction’ [he wonders: should 'auto' and 'fiction' be in quotations?]—I’m going to sing for you, I’ll hum a tune, maybe a little off key, out and a beat behind the band, but I will sing. I will sing before I croak. Everyone’s clapping on the 1 & the 3.

Listen:

I have made a silent compact with myself not to change a word of what I write. No. no. no. I am not interested in perfecting my thoughts, my sentences, nothing on the printed page. I want it raw and unvarnished, maybe, probably, unfinished. I mean, how can I ever finish recording every thought and feeling that passes through my beleaguered brain, how will I ever tell you everything, say it all? First Thought/Best Thought. Right? Unedited. Fuck revision!

Huh? I no longer understand where I was going with this thought thread. I unwind the string and try to follow it back, it leads to a hole in the back of my head. I pry open my brain and words, lots of pointless words, fly out. 

[he’s repeating himself, didn’t he say this the other night?]

[4:09Am.]

I’m feeling a little down & out. I’m lying alone in a blue funk, thinking black thoughts. I guess I’m a little bit depressed tonight. Summer Babe (Winter Version)…trying to look cooler than I really am, putting on a pose. I’m so frustrated, lonely. Can’t sleep, doubt I will tonight, too jitter-jangled, shook, why even try? Maybe I’ll take a Ritalin, maybe not? Maybe I’ll drink a power drink [300mg of caffeine in the can], maybe not? I guess I’ll decide by 5Am, and if, by then, I’m ready to crash, I will, if not, I’ll take, or drink, a stimulant. Probably should go smoke a cigarette...think I will. Yes, indeed. [exit stage left, out through the front door. The Sound: The 1975. dig it!]

[4:14Am.]

¾  moon midnight. I light my cigarette. Inhale. Exhale. Blow a ring of smoke out my nose. [he uses that line way too much.] POP! Rock ‘n’ Roll! radio. Two Door Cinema Club: Cigarettes in the Theater. [he puts that pose back on, call him a poser.]

[he exits the room for a few minutes. 4:15Am. he’ll be back later.]

[4:28Am.]

What’s the point of sharing this publicly, what’s the point of posting this pointlessness? I guess it’s an attempt to be overly [he thinks, Extremely] honest. An exercise in truth telling, maybe too much truthfulness. I need to be honest with someone, because with most people in my life, well, I hide behind a mask. I don’t let them in on the real me, the me I am when I’m alone with pen in hand, the true me when I’m up late and writing in this diary. Only the Journal knows who I really am, the Diary is the only person I’m truly honest with, she doesn’t judge. She just listens when I need to talk. She listens to me when I’m lonely. The Diary is the only person I see regularly, she’s the only one I talk to most days. I feel like I’ve chewed her ear off. And now I’ll shut-up and be quiet. Silent. Not a peep. She says: Thank you. Sometimes you’re too much. Sorry. [Lorde: Royals.]

[5:06Am.]

I’ve been awake all night. Playing pretend, trying to convince myself I’m a writer, or some such shit. I think I’m some sort of Punk-Beatnik, whatever that means...makes some sort of sense in my head, I think? But I don’t know how to explain it. O! SHIT! I don’t know what the hell I’m trying to say, just go ahead and ignore this entire paragraph. Oh, whatever. Nevermind.

[5:38Am.]

Sun’s coming up, birds tweet in the trees. I’m kind of tired and think I might be out of words, I can’t think of much else to say. Is there anything else floating around my brain? I’ll dig back into it later. I think I might crash until 8Am, need to be at work by 8:30Am. A few hours, better than nothing? Can’t hurt, right? Right now my mind tastes stale. I need to QUIT! [5:43Am.]

END. Will I be back? Looks doubtful. [5:47Am. he goes outside for a sunrise cigarette. he crashes and dreams anxiously.]

 

20 Cigarettes & 8 Cups of Coffee. Overload!

The Unexpurgated Diary of R. Cody Taylor [entry #five]

[April 28, 2021. 12:31Am.]

And we—[the first few lines of this unexpurgated diary have been expurgated, DELETE!] Can’t sleep, anxiety is keeping me awake. Outside smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. Moonless midnight, the stars forgot to shine. I should probably try to relax, unwind and think about ending this night. To sleep, perchance to dream? What else do I have to say, anything? Everything!!! I’m in one of those moods where I need to record it all, put it all down on the pulp page [this is getting rather repetitive, he says this way too often]. My pen screams, UGGGHHH! He’s too loud, a little too aggressive. I’ve got so much to say. Really? No, probably not, but why not try? I’ll be fine. Slow down, easy. Inhale. Exhale. Blow a ring of smoke out my nose. Snuff out the last Lucky. EXIT...Back in through the front door. I doubt I have anything left to say, this could be the end. What to do, why? —[again, expurgated this unexpurgated diary. you don’t need to know what was once here. ERASURE!]…[12:50Am.]

[1:44Am.]

The cat invades my space. Afraid she has fleas. Don’t know what to do? I’ll be buying a dose of flea medicine soon. I’ve been compulsively vacuuming, doing all the laundry on Friday. SHIT! This is terribly boring. Need a new topic, what should I say? Nothing? Wanted to say everything! All out of words. O! Who gives a flying fuck? No one, that’s who. The cat leaves the room, I try to relax. Lying [laying? I can never remember which, and FUCK all that!] down and thinking about sleeping, should I? Would kind of like to stay awake all night and watch the sunrise, will the sun ever shine again? Maybe. Probably. This has gone on longer than it should. [1:51Am. END???]

—Mourning breath—…[1:53Am.]—Take a breath, go wash your teeth—one more cup of coffee?—think I’ll stay awake all night, who needs sleep anyway???—[1:55Am.]—Pest paranoia. —Slow down, pump the brakes and drive slow, homey…—STOP!!!—All is vanity...There’s nothing new under the big black sun—Thus sayeth the wise King Solomon.—END. [1:59Am.]

[2:06Am. Fuckin’ Problems (feat. Drake & 2 Chainz & Kendrick Lamar): A$AP Rocky—the radio plays.]

On the front porch smoking one more cigarette, almost smoked a pack today. Big cup of black coffee, too late for coffee—getting cranked and crunked, no sleep. Need someone to talk to, this diary is the only person who lends me their ear. Smoke it down to the filter—sitting in my rocking chair—maybe I’ll stay out here? NAH! Getting bit up by something, itchy. Probably the stray cats that live next door, dropping off their fleas for me to carry inside—Flea paranoia—can’t get it off my mind. NOTHING. Else. BASS DROP!!!—[2:16Am. Radio plays another song—SICKO MODE: Travis Scott.] Exit through the front door, back inside.

[2:18Am. I did ½ a Xan: or some such shit heard on my radio.]

Quick: Dim lights, shook. Jitter-jangled & neurotic. Weed smoking song plays and I’m so fucking bored with this. Can’t stop. Won’t stop. Going to fuck the world: line on the radio.

[2:43Am. Haest on my radio: The Only Good Wham Is a Wham Bar.]

I’m unable to wind down, can’t relax. Too much coffee, heebie-jeebies in the middle of the night. Why do I feel the need to stay awake all night? No good reason, NOPE!!! Need someone to talk to, hopefully my friend Claire sends me a message, I'd love to hear from her. Boredom is killing me. WHAT ELSE DO I NEED TO SAY??? Punk rock on my radio: commercial break. Too long...the break just goes on & on, I want my tunes back. Wake up! Folgers in my cup. Not really. Dunkin Donuts in my mug. Fuel up & get going. Don’t quit. Say it all, EVERYTHING! I think my brain is breaking down, it’s drowning in flames [you stole that phrase from a Bukowski title, right?]—FUCK! [me]. Now it’s time to wind down, start making sense...SAY NO MORE. please. [2:56Am. This Tired Boat Is Sinking, plays on my red radio...I turn up. Tune in. Drop a load.]

MixTape. I need tunes, I need to write all night and keep track of where I’ve been tonight. She/Beast: Born To Fight. [2:59Am.] Do I have—[once more I had to expurgate his redundancy, you would’ve been bored, trust me.]—This song kicks ass! Really, should I keep on? Been doing this for two and one-half hours. Is that long enough? Maybe…[3:03Am.] Sick: Ceremony tune. Dig it.

[3:20Am.]

First thought, worst thought.

This should be revised—EDIT.

He tries to find,

WORDS! WORDS! WORDS!

All the wrong words, flowing

from a black ink Bic ballpoint.

He scribbles to save

his damned soul,

Save me! Please Kill Me!

One more time,

pen glides across

the pulp page,

He writes...

This. The pen’s

out ink.

[3:27Am. Black Flag is on my MixTape: In My Head.]

I feel like I’m too deep inside my own head, and now I can’t get out. Stuck, trapped. Up and inside of my bedraggled brain [has he said this before?] . WORDS keep coming. Meaningless WORDS. Pointlessness. Paranoia. I feel my thoughts being broadcast on AM radio, the whole town’s tuned in and listening live. Am I entertaining enough? I sure hope so, don’t want you to be bored. Can't have that. Keep listening. There’s more to come. [3:34Am. Commercial break.]

[3:46Am. Haest: Always Put Your Shit Friends In the Bin.]

Need a cigarette. Exit stage left, out the door. Will continue this on the porch...Lights up. Inhale/Exhale. Blow a ring of—breathing smoke. 

[3:49Am.]

What I dig about Haest is their long song titles, and their lyrics, they’re so clever, their sound is powerful. Dig it! John Travolta Looks Like an Action Man Who’s Been Put in the Microwave. See what I mean? Such a great title! 

On now [3:58Am.]: Are You Telling Me Ipswich Has No Fun Points? This band is killing me. Really dig it! Talking with my friend Claire, she’s helping me get an upcoming chapbook figured out. I’m having such trouble with it. I’m not sure what to do, hmmm? Guess I’ll give it a break for a little while and let Tohm look it over this weekend, I hope. Snuffed out my Lucky Strike. And back to my conversation with my friend Claire. She’s a big help. 

[4:42Am.]

Listened to the full Haest discography and loved it! 

[4:46Am.]

I’m afraid I chewed Claire’s ear off. Mildly manic this morning. Way too much coffee and I’ve been talking to this journal for way too long, been writing for three(ish) hours. Began sometime after midnight, took too long to warm-up and get the pen on the page. Soon it’ll be shower time, wash my teeth and put the cigarettes down until somewhere around noon. Gotta facilitate NAMI [National Alliance of Mental Illness] at 10Am—Ritalin will be important this morning. One power drink left in the fridge and a smidge of coffee to brew. Dogs bark in the distance. Annoying as fuck!

[END. 4:51Am. on to a new file, and new subject matter. but wait! he ends up passing out at 5:06Am, sleep filled with stress dreams, he wakes at 7:09Am, bleary eyed and bushy tailed.]