I spend the day arguing with myself about whether I am too intense, too dark, and too exposed to be accepted as a leader here. Emma Stone, Trump, my book, and the dream of serving people all stay in the frame, but so does...

A strange resemblance opens into media, power, and the executive-reading culture that keeps surfacing across the archive.

A late-night movie page moving from Life on Mars fantasy into Oldboy, American Psycho, dark humor, and Squid Game, before ending on the core claim underneath all the references: my artistic style still feels intensely...

A brief page about Eight Crazy Nights and Fast Food.

The entire visible page is a short Hallelujah parody, turning a sacred song structure into a half-comic campaign lyric about leaders, holiness, wicked boys, and the fantasy of people chanting for me.

I make a moral case for Anura by tying politics to honesty, pain, and what I keep seeing in ordinary people's faces. I'm tired of the usual names and the fake differences between them, and I say that plainly. The day's...

The page opens on fresh frustration with Ranil and the SLT line, detours through a long Pokemon memory and a lawsuit threat, then lands on its real argument: Anura is the honest candidate and the rest of the field is...

I'm deep in build mode here, fixing translation bugs, thinking through server-side rendering, and obsessing over how to make my site feel cleaner, shorter, and more Apple-like. At the same time, I keep slipping into a...

The whole page is a short electoral statement: the country needs an honest man, bribes and empty inducements do not matter, and Anura is the candidate who still feels respectable enough to vote for.

The day runs on swagger and ridicule: rich-man car envy, jokes about Upali and Aravinda, a nursery-rhyme attack on Ranil as a liar, and one more claim that I could have sung as Sri Lanka's could-have-been president.