Of course with suicide, there are reflections of death. I don't know if that dream was really a reflection of how I would react if some psychotic was about to kill me. But the feeling was really chilling.

I visualize suicides I've seen in movies. Putting a gun in the mouth, back of the skull blown off with brain matter flying, splattering. Animate, alive, one moment, then off; click...off...gone. Inanimate. Dead. A whole life came before that moment, and that's the culmination. What was Kurt Cobain feeling in his blood?

Or being executed. Archival film from WWII of Jews lined up, kneeling next to a mass grave as a Nazi officer one by one goes down the line shooting each in the head. What do you feel? You are a life, you had a whole life before this moment, and this is how it ends? This is the final value? Killed in cold blood. The killer with no regard about what he was doing.

What's the big deal about these thoughts? Well, I guess I am being overly dramatic, and most of us hope to go out peacefully at a wrinkly ripe old age after a long lingering disease.

As for me, I just want to keep it close. Focus on consciousness and the end of this particular existence. Focus on body and it being lifeless, preferably without anybody having to deal with it. Focus on brain, this incredible wonder of nature, nestled in this skull that I call mine, having no meaning.

I don't want to say I'm near my breaking point, because I think I'm already way beyond it. I feel I've made my decision and I'm just looking at execution. And if my liver isn't beyond the point of no return, I already am. I really don't want to just cruise on like this for much longer.

East of Raohe night market area. Nikon N70, Kodak BW400CN, 1/250 sec.

ISO 200, red filter. Old subject matter.

You know, when I wrote before how we all need to care for the people around us, I kinda thought that was a crock. And even though Ritu's suicide taught me that, I'm under no delusion that my suicide will convey that to anyone.

I'm watching a National Geographic series called "Meet The Natives", where a primitive tribe of Pacific islanders are given video cameras and flown to England (the natives) to do a reverse documentary sorta thing, filming our contemporary society from their point of view. They do much of the commentary.

It pleased me that in one town, their message to the people they met was just that. Care for each other, take care of each other. So maybe I'm not that way off. It's a deep thought. I thought I got it before, but it took a friend's suicide for me to get it, and I still think I don't get it. I'm still trying to think deep what it means to care for each other, take care of each other, when that is not really at the top of the food chain of our values.

And strangely, on an aside, I think that was the center of Jesus' ministry, his message of love that has been largely lost by the organized church. When really the deepest spirituality is as simple as that.

I've managed to cut back on drinking a little bit. Instead of buying a bottle every other day, I'm buying a bottle every third day, and it may be making a difference. I don't know. It might be just a coincidence with other factors.

I've gotten back my equilibrium for now, as futile as I realize it is now. But it's good because I'm more comfortable that my decisions will be made with a clearer mind.

Funny thing at work is that nothing has changed since my co-copy editor gave notice, and it's impossible for nothing to change. It seems to me the boss is totally trying to ignore the consequences of his quitting. Inconceivable! I still see myself quitting when he realizes that he has to ask me to do more, and I won't. It's all in the future unknown, so I won't speculate anymore what's going on.

One thing that I won't speculate on, though, is that I am done. No best case scenario will change the fundamentals of what I really want to happen.

I had an ideal age I wanted to die, coincidentally it was the age Ritu died, and I steamrolled right past it. But then I had an absolute, ultimate age I didn't want to get past, and I'm there. Getting past this age would be the most devastating, life-questioning thing I can think of. And I don't want that. None of us want that, right?

Dampening emotional considerations, I go through an inventory of my life, and there isn't anything that can happen, anything someone can say that would make me say, "oh, I want to live". And everything tells me that suicide would accomplish what I would want to accomplish, from the good points to the bad, from what I can control to what I can't, from who would get it and who wouldn't.

I had a dream last night, and from that dream I think I know how it feels like to be just about to be murdered in cold blood. I admit I emotionally panicked, although outwardly I was keeping my cool ("Um, guys, a little help!"). The last thing I remember before waking up was feeling the blood in my veins literally feel like it was turning to ice.

I have no idea what the point of all this is. I've been here before, and I don't like how it has turned out before.

OK, I'm trying to cut down. But why? Believe it or not, I don't like to feel bad, and this level of drinking is starting to get to that point. Or I've been at that point for a bit and I'm just coming out of denial. 

It's not because I'm panicking about my health keeling over and capsizing, although the thought did occur to me. It's only human. If I've already gone too far, then why not pull back and go out not feeling bad. If I'm not past the point of no return, then I'm just keeping my options open. 

The danger point for me is that first drink. If I lay off the sauce, eventually feeling sober starts feeling normal and even the appeal of the first drink goes down considerably. But then once I have that first drink, it's all downhill. 

Still, with this campaign, I'm pretty sure I can cut back at least a little; not buying a bottle every other day, but maybe every 2 or even 3 days. 

I should probably explore that danger point, though. If I last long enough to get to the point where I'm OK not having a drink, then what is it that leads to that first drink? hmm. 

Mind you, I'm not trying to quit. Whether I have a problem or not is irrelevant and I don't really care. Just exploring what's going on.

I just spent most of the last 12 hours in bed, initially trying to get to sleep impeded by insomnia, drinking each wake-up and watching music videos, finally succeeding for a decent chunk of time – maybe around 4 hours – but waking up later than I wanted because I was supposed to go to my bank (they close at 3 p.m. here) to take care of some business, but then also finding it raining, I abandoned that and stayed in bed, then tried to get up to do some other stuff, but then finding my body drained, flopped back down on the mattress just to rest. This happened several times. Viva la run-on sentence.

I went on a run last night. I wondered how bad could my health be if I can still run at what I think was a decent pace for 30 minutes (I'm not measuring yet, but I think it was about 4 miles)?

But now I'm wondering if today my body was reacting to that exertion and telling me it can't take it anymore. I'll find out on my next run after the rain rain goes away; and I'll make sure it's also on the night before my day off.

My co-worker has given notice at work. He's staying until the end of November. This means I will likely give notice soon, too, depending on what happens. And I can't imagine things happening that will make me stay.

I'll leave as soon as conditions get any more unfavorable than they are now. Anything that tips the equilibrium at which I'm staying now. Things pretty much have to remain as they are now for me to stay, and it doesn't look good for them.

So I should be out of work soon. Which is funny about what I just wrote about work being oppressive. I think I can push along until I leave, although that makes me wonder if it's just another diversion tactic.

I definitely don't want to do what I did in San Francisco after I quit my job and let my savings dwindle for the next year and a half. I don't want to do that again. That was rather pathetic.

I don't know how being out of work will affect the difficulty with which I push through each next day. I want to say it probably won't change a thing, but it's still in the future and I can't project on the future.

But it won't change a thing, I've been through this before and nothing's going to change. OK, then, nothing's different.

9:24 p.m. - No new subject matter.

Trying to get to the core of these feelings. I thought today that maybe it was work, the idea of work, that was getting oppressive, but I don't think so. I think work exacerbates the underlying feelings, so it's easy to think they're the cause.

Isolation is a big part of it, along with the increased unbearableness of meaningless daily routine, doing the same things day in and day out.

And then the inevitable consequence of years of heavy drinking, with more and more symptoms of something seriously going wrong cropping up.

The more I think I'm going to die soon from the natural consequence of alcoholism makes me realize that I have something I want to say from suicide.

I don't want to die a medical death, with the message that I was suicidal being lost. I don't want people mistaking my death as an unfortunate accident, a mere matter of consequence, when it was really my intentional decision; what I wanted.

I want people who know me to know that I chose this; that I specifically wanted them to feel or react to my decision. And not as a revenge thing or consequence thing, but just that these things happen. That we have to care for the people around us.

I think my family, who are in denial about my alcoholism – they've indicated they're aware of the signs – think they care for me, but they don't even know what that means because they don't even know me, they don't have a clue, they're not even trying, they don't know how, and how do you care for someone you don't even know?

Ritu's suicide taught me that lesson. Compassion eluded me when she was spiraling downward, and I should have cared for the people around me.

I hope I've practiced that more since Ritu died, but the message has to keep on going. Or not. Whatever. There's no way to control other people's reaction to suicide. You can't expect them to get a message. I just need to focus on what I feel and reconcile it with what I want to do.

When the thought of even one more day becomes unbearable. When the thought of even one more day becomes too painful. When?

Nikon N70, Kodak BW400CN, ISO 800:

Now I know I'm re-treading subject matter. I know I posted this subject already.

I know that there's no such thing as an easy suicide. Suicides by nature are emotionally messy for everyone involved. I should not be trying to whitewash mine or think I'm taking consideration to "make it easier" for anyone.

It doesn't matter when I do it. There is no opportune time that's going to make it easier for other people. It should not be a consideration for me. It doesn't matter who I leave high and dry, who was relying on my dependability.

I was suicidal, ergo not dependable.

I miss John Lennon. I miss Freddie Mercury. But whether we are assassinated or die of AIDS, we all have to go. I miss Suzy Gonzalez having never met her (counter what her mother believed, if Suzy had lived on, she very possibly could have been me today). I miss Amina, I miss Shiho, but nothing's going to bring them back into my life. I miss Amber, I miss Eva, but they are never going to be part of my life.

Nothing's gonna change my world. Once I get that, I need to move on.

Breathe. Breathing. It's important.

Someone I know is having tension in his job. He asked me about relaxing. I said tension is in the body, relaxation is in the mind.

At the end of days, I need to be breathing.

My life is hinging upon equilibrium. Positive-negative. I've already established that there are no active positive elements in my life. The passive positive elements pale.

There are plenty of passive negative elements in my life, acting as the background radiation of my life, and the equilibrium I'm trying to maintain is a matter of keeping the active negative elements in check.

Basically I'm trying to maintain an equilibrium where the negative elements don't get the better of the positive. But it's impossible. The passive negative elements still drip drop by drop; they're always there. It's only inevitable that the passive negative elements will tip the scale. There is no equivalent effect on the positive side.

Is that right? I don't know if I'm conveying what I want to. I don't want to end my life with the negative prevailing. So I breathe. Breath is positive. Breath symbolizes life.

Part of me really thinks I'm near the end. I can feel it. Part of me thinks I'll Sisyphus it day to next unbearable day.

In my mind I'm saying my goodbyes. I'm mentally resigning myself that I already saw family members for the last time when I visited over the Summer. Since then I haven't heard from them anyway. My mother has called a few times, but that's about it. I've been ignoring all contact from extended family in Kaohsiung.

Notice is out.

The first wave of resignations at work has begun. Anna had her last day. Sweet girl. We never went deep, never had a substantial connection, but I think we enjoyed working with each other well enough. Still, it's the last time I'll see her.

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 9, 12:20 a.m. - Farewell Anna.

I think Frances is next. Her English was excellent and she came to me with several problems that we talked through after work several times – one with her family, another with her girlfriend – so we connected substantially. Our sessions made me realize that doing the counseling thing is probably what I do best, so if I wasn't so self-absorbed and really wanted to do good and make an impact, I should enter the monastery. But I still don't see it in my future, even though I have ten more years until the cut off age.

Han and Rosanne have given their notice and will be gone at the end of the month. Han's English is so good that I talk to him like a native speaker, and only once in a while he trips up on something obscure that I'm reminded English is his second language. And just because his English is so good, he's a major social point for me at work.

Rosanne is a writer of local news so I don't have a whole lot of contact, but I've always liked her because she seems very genuine.

All goodbyes, but truth to tell, I don't remember any hellos.

My disappearance will have little to do with any of them, neither those who are leaving nor those who are staying.

My co-copy editor also has expressed he is near his breaking point, and as soon as he gives notice, I'll give notice. I won't put up with any of what he's put up with. Oh, which is the new boss who came on earlier this year. Anyone who has to deal with him can't stand him, which is why I'm fine with him – he avoids me at all costs for some reason. He has no idea that he's the reason why people are leaving.

Once I quit, I'm not going to drift like I did before. Jobless and idle in my apartment is not an attractive option – not an option. So very soon after I'm out of the job, it'll be time to move on.

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 7 - Nikon N70, Kodak BW400CN. Bottom pic ISO 200.

It's my movie, but I don't know how long it's been since I've played lead in a scene. Instead, I'm mostly waiting in the wings – doing my loner things – and that's become most of my life. The only time I get screen time is when I'm in a supporting role or extra in other people's movies.

The loner things may be scenes of their own. But then they would be the final scenes in my movie. All the major action and events are done. All the points of my movie have been made. These last minor scenes are just a coda, a way to end the film. How the film will end.

Funny, but on my last bike ride, my iPod shuffle was playing a lot of moody indie movie-ending songs, I felt.

I remember reflecting on a film called "Auto Focus," about the Bob Crane ("Hogan's Heroes") murder, and how the end of my film might be modeled on what director Paul Schrader did. He portrayed the decline and things going out of control by washing scenes out and using shaky hand-held shots to convey the feeling.

The end of my film may not be so dramatic. No descent. OK, there still may be one final climax at the very end of my film, but these scenes leading up to that probably should have a feel of calm, reflective isolation, with maybe a few indication of cracks in the ice wall. Like how in neurotically keeping track of my expenses – if not obsessive-compulsive – I'm buying a bottle of liquor every other day, every two days at most.

I don't think I want to die of liver or kidney failure. Sounds too drawn out. But maybe it gets drawn out because people end up going to the hospital, trying to survive. Trying to survive? Then why were they alcoholics? Alcoholics run the likely risk of dying! I know cases are more complicated than that, I don't necessarily mean to sound unsympathetic.

I won't go to a hospital. I knew what I was doing. I already have one symptom of having frequent pressure in my lower back. But even this is probably just early stages, but possibly, depending on my individual health, already past the point of no return.

If I went to the doctor now, I may simply be advised to stop drinking if I want to live, or it may be so bad that I may be hospitalized to turn things around. Who knows? But I won't go to a hospital and I won't see a doctor. If something goes wrong, no one will know about it until I physically can't go on. That's still a while a way, I shouldn't wonder.

It also feels like the cowardly way to go. If I have a point, then I need to make the point. If the point of my life is to achieve a suicide, then I need to focus on that. But maybe I am a coward and will wait to let alcohol take its course, or worse, stop drinking.

Finally, I don't think I'll quit my job without a reason. Granted the simplest of reasons is enough to send me over. Although that feeling may change tomorrow when I go back to work. I just had two days off – what people normally get, called a "week end", I think – and that has eased my negativity towards work. And I have another two days off at the end of this week, which has been unheard of recently. I wonder who's been taking those shifts.

It is a ridiculous job. One and a half persons, the copy editors, are the gatekeeper and monitor of everyone else's work – people pulling stories from the international wires, the people coming with local news, and the page designers.

I learned recently that a copy editor at a legitimate newspaper only checks English – grammar, spelling, consistency – and by the time a news story reaches the copy editor, it has already been through several editors. And every story gets actually read.

Instead, we have to supervise and monitor the international desk by being the ones responsible for there being no repeat stories in today's paper or from yesterday's paper. That's supposed to be their job. With one and a half copy editors, we don't read international stories. We only have time for a spell check and a format scan and then send them to the designers.

We have to supervise and monitor the designers and point out errors in the design elements. That should be their job. You don't need to know English to see that a line is wrong, or a byline font is wrong.

And don't get me started on the local news stories. Local news stories we have to read, but with one and a half copy editors, we still can't keep articles going to print that sound like they were written by English students. We can correct the English, but we don't have time to re-write the style, so there's a lot of stilted phrasings.

I don't sweat it anymore. I don't read our newspaper looking for mistakes that the copy editors missed. I read the local stories for amusement. Now, our newspaper is Taiwan's Leading Chinglish-Language Newspaper Since 1952.