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.]