The page starts with a hard defense of Shavendra and the army, then pivots into a more practical question: whether I should stop waiting on platforms like Wix or WordPress and just build the site myself.

A page of birds, mythic role-casting, chainsaw jokes, and military satire hardens into a political argument that Sri Lanka now needs outside pressure, financial supervision, and accountability instead of more excuses.

What begins with There Will Be Blood and stray Twitter sightings turns into a practical question about whether the diary should become YouTube entertainment, or whether writing alone is still the right medium for the project.

Anne Frank’s line about “never had a real friend” got echoed, then Guinness and Irish stew nostalgia took over. Anthony Bourdain clips and Jameson praise closed the night, name-checking Troy Billet and Grace

The day starts with family hostility, economic despair, and the need to clear December's video backlog, then turns into partner-agreement work, enthusiasm for violent ritualized movie ideas, and long transcript notes about...

The page opens as a genuine love note to cooking and favorite foods, then hardens: Navin Marapana has to go, Malik and others become impossible to deal with, and the larger conclusion is that I no longer believe I can build...

An Austrian visitor opens the evening, but the page really settles on stored survival supplies and a long meditation on painting my grandmother, Freemasonry, Harry Potter symbolism, and why that portrait still feels charged...

A Sri Lanka crime-and-survival brief for overseas partners drives the page, but the movement is rejection: Navin blocks the outreach, Tamara blocks the politics, and the answer is a harder turn toward lawyers, banks,...

Halloween brought scattered shout-outs, vivid Mirtazapine dreams, tech and industrial ambition, nostalgia about stores and Sean Connery, and the sense that the month was closing in a strange mix of exhaustion, sadness, and...

The public record is sparse here, which leaves the day feeling more like a held-back page than a fully narrated one, with the omission itself becoming part of the mood.

The day was dominated by an islandwide power cut, retention worries, hiring, and messy internal deal politics, with me trying to hold the company together while recalculating loyalty, commissions, and who still mattered.

The watch errands mattered more than they should have, and the day became a mix of liquor-business chasing, defence ambition, sentimental objects, and the strange comfort I found in my own rituals.

I stayed in negotiation mode from start to finish, juggling calls, pressure, tactics, and private anger while trying to keep control of both the deal and my image.

I wanted the day to be quieter than it was, but it turned into a mix of politics, TV, restless thinking, and a small reset walk that helped me regain control.

I numbed out with Fleabag, doomscrolling, and old memories, while politics, online conflict, and my own darker loops kept pulling the day away from any real rest.