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...

This is a light but revealing culture day: I'm in music, faces, style, and taste more than plot. Jesse Plemons reminds me of Eric Schmidt from the side, I like the artwork in front of me, and I'm fully with 50 Cent in that...

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 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.