I was watching Peep show a few weeks ago. I was drunk, so I don't much remember the start of the episode. I remember Mark was going to have sex with some girl, cheat on his girlfriend. He didn't particularly like this girl; he knew he would break Dobbie's heart. He was so close to having sex with that random wench, but he didn't in the end. He went home to Dobbie.

I've been reading the Bible lately. I also read a bunch of Charles Bukowski's short stories. I tried reading some Fydor Dostoevsky, but I'm not good enough at reading.

I was at the pub with my workmates, earlier that day (that's why I was drunk) Farewelling Armin, who worked in quality control. I don't know if he was my friend... I wish he was at least. He likes anime, I think - that might be something I projected onto him. He likes One Piece at least. I like One Piece.

I've been reading Monster by Naoki Urasawa. I wish I had recommended the anime to Armin. He has Netflix. And he's German.

The very first time I went out to the pub with my workmates, it was with Armin. New to pubbing, I hadn't settled on a preferred beer yet, so I asked Armin for a recommendation. Carlton Draught. Trust the German on beer, I thought. That's what I drink now. I relayed this to him that day. I wanted him to know that he had a lasting impact on my life... even if it is something so asinine.

He's a web designer now. Sounds like an awful job too me. He moved interstate. He doesn't like Israel, and I wonder if that factored into his decision to leave. I think he would really like Naoki Urasawa.

I'm rewriting this from a few months ago (original got deleted). Something to distract myself, I guess. Put me in a more positive headspace, like I was back then.

I had this dream last night:

Along with my school mates, I was being bussed to a dilapidated building. It looked like 1980s British housing commission. I don't remember entering it, but I was suddenly inside.

Inside was a central stairwell spiralling to some many floors. All the rooms were bathrooms, toilet cubical and change rooms; there were also hallways and open spaces connecting them. I started at the stairwell. My friends dispersed immediately, wandering off into the maze of rooms. There were other people there too, lingering around, exiting and entering rooms. They would undress, clean themselves, redress, lock themselves in the stalls or occupy the bathrooms. Everybdy, including myself, was wearing a thick woollen red or blue tracksuit.

The spaces were divided by normal doors, flimsy stall doors or curtains. Often you could enter a room via a hallway and enter out another passage into completely different hallway or room. The floor was uneven, with many elevations, falls and pointless steps. The walls floors, doors, curtains and most other things were coloured either blue or red to match the tracksuits; sections of the rooms were divided into different colours with no rhyme. Much of the furniture was too. The ceiling however, in most places, was varnished wood panelling. It all sprawled on endlessly it seemed.

The only other room was right in front of the stairwell. It roughly resembled my lounge room, except it was red and blue. There were couches and a TV. On the TV played newsreports of earthquakes around the world. I returned to the stairwell and entered the lounge room. On the floor, mostly stuffed under the couch, were remnants of a dog that had ripped too small bloody pieces. I looked at it, then looked away. When I looked back the dog had reassembled, live and well. It was little wite yipping dog with bulging eyes and flopping brown ears. It followed me from that point.

I just sort of wandered around some more, not really doing anything.

Another thing to note was the unease. This is the hardest part to describe. I had internal clock the gauged the good in the world. It was mostly depleted, continuing to deplete. I knew this to be fact: the world had submitted to darkness. When it reached zero, a picture of the Devil would appear on the TV. He would rise out of the flaming Earth and people would bow down and worship him.

After that, I would reappear in the stairwell as I began, with my clock set back. My friends would disperse. The dog was dead at first glance, then it would reassemble.

The gauge depleted and the Devil appeared, and time would reset over and over. If I killed myself, the world would reset.

Before I went to bed, I had watched a YouTube video on Licentiousness vs Legalism.

Would you bang you're slightly unattractive coworker? Sure. I'll do anything. I never want to do anything, but am still doing anything. I certainly don't think I need a girlfriend. Not sure If I want one though.

I am so angry all the time. I think I do a very good job at controlling myself, but under the surface I'm always seething. I get really really angry when anybody touches my things.

I stopped drinking. Maybe sometimes I drink still- maybe once over the past three months. Not for health reasons, or addiction or that I saw it as a coping mechanism. I just stopped because I think it's boring. I'm over it. It's fun, but I don't much care for fun. I stopped drawing too.

Been watching the Sopranos. Season 1 episode 12: Tony hallucinates he has a beautiful Italian girlfriend/wife. He dreams they live together in Italy. I had dream last night I went to Italy, and I saw Paolo Conte perform and I shook his hand. It was the happiest I ever felt, and I was feeling pretty good. It's a day since, I don't really care anymore. I gave up trying to learn Italian again. I love learning about Italy and the idea visiting the country, but I don't think I would ever visit. Wouldn't be much point, my Auntie tells me everything everywhere is all the same these days.

I finally started reading Charles Bukowski. I like him.

Listening to Paolo Conte and writing to feel less angry.

Himeno is the most perfect depiction of woman I have ever seen. Truely I was in love with her. Her body and soul. I never felt so strongly about this to any person, let alone a fictional person. Sad, I know.

When she died, I got so sad that I drank whiskey until I vomited and passed out.

The paper doesn't have a soul. Fujimoto, but he keeps killing my loved ones.

I started reading Look Back. It's really good. Highly recommend to any artist. Puts a lot of stuff in perspective. I think I love Fujimoto.

I had left a paper bag in my room with food stuck to the bottom. Ants find it, they create a trail. My mother sees, she is aghast and kills with fly-spray. She has killed but demands I clean up the trail of dead insects.

I look at the trail of dead insects and I contemplate. I Must eat, I think, to make their deaths sensible. I single out an ant. I press my finger to it gently, and it sticks. It is collapsed into itself, head curled into its body, legs point inwards. I perch it on the tip of my tongue and guide between my four front teeth. I bite in half and the taste is potent. Spicy and bitter actually. A lot flavour in something so small, is very surprising to me. I eat one more. And one other more. Delicious.

Hundreds of cultures eat ants. Animals eat animals without cooking. Lots of protein. It is healthy I assure myself. But then I remember the means of their death: poisoned. I have ingested fly spray. Enough to kill three ants at least, but I am a lot stronger than three ants, at least.

What if it was not the flavour ants I like, but instead the fly spray. My mother left the aerosole can with me. I am now thinking hard about how much I shouldn't eat the fly spray.

I encounter problems like this everyday.

I fell asleep at work and had a dream where I had gay sex with Walter White and that's true