It's done. It's over. It's dead. Finally.

It was a spider the size of which warrants burning the place down if in the U.S. How big? If I spread out my fingers and then clench the middle knuckles, that's about how big. Now I don't have huge hands, but never mind, if you're comparing the size of a spider to your hand, it's fucking big. An Australian might have thought it cute ("You call that a spider, mate? 'At's more like a pet, give it a name" Sorry, my Australian accent is terrible. I hope yours in your head is better).

Taiwan? I haven't heard of anything this big showing up in anyone's home, but I have seen larger in the great outdoors on hikes and thought, "I'd hate to find one of those in my room". How does a spider that size even get around in the city? Uber? And if they can get around in the city, why have I never seen one outside. Then it somehow just shows up in my apartment?

It was the stuff of nightmares or horror films. It made its first appearance back in August, more than four months ago. I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, and when I turned the corner and could see into the bathroom with the faint ambient light coming from out the window, I noticed the dark splotch on the floor that wasn't supposed to be there.

Quickly assessing it was some sort of bug, I sucked it up that I would just have to deal with it. I didn't fetch my glasses because . . . why? I didn't want a clear look at whatever it was I was likely going to have to squash. I stepped into the bathroom and closed the door to keep it from escaping, entering the field of battle. Then the fucking thing took off! Holy shit, it was fast. I realized it was a spider and faster'n you could yell "fuck me in the ass!" it had scampered a bit up the wall and back down and out of the bathroom through the crack at the bottom of the door. I threw open the door freaked out at how fast it moved.

It disappeared behind the large cabinets that line one wall of my apartment. There was nothing I could do, it was safe there. I probably waited a bit to see if it might come out but knew it probably wouldn't. It ran scared and was going to stay where it was safe. Aside from lightning speed, things I noted before peeing and going back to bed include: 1) It had excellent eyesight; 2) It's strongest instinct was fear; 3) Did I mention it was fucking fast?

Yea, I went back to sleep. Long time ago, lesser spiders in the room would've kept me awake. But I've actively worked on minimizing irrational fears such as those of spiders, and there was no point in literally losing sleep about a situation where I couldn't do anything.

Thing is, I knew it was there. I knew it wasn't just going to disappear, find its own way out. I knew it was still there when I woke up, and over the course of weeks that fact became manifest.

Furniture lines that wall of my apartment. Three large closet cabinets with my desk and a steel frame shelf, where the wall behind it can be seen, between them. The spider could move freely out of sight under and behind the furniture. If it moved on the wall behind the shelf, I could see it but there are too many obstructions to do anything except note it and shudder.

It did make appearances over the course of weeks. I kept a sneaker handy to hurl at it if I got the chance, and once did but more to scare it. I knew there was no chance of hitting it and there's still a sneaker mark on the wall. The miracle was that I didn't create my own disaster by knocking a bunch of shit over, which with my luck I would've expected to happen. There were several ghost appearances where I swore I saw it in dim light but wasn't 100% certain. 99% when it was right under me while at my desk and ran back under the closet. 1% chance it was my imagination.

It stopped making appearances sometime in October. I optimistically hoped it had escaped, but knew that was unlikely. More realistically it had starved to death. I mean, what was it eating? I continued to terrorize myself over it and stayed vigilant; frequent visual room scans, not only left and right but up and down, especially going to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

It met its sad end tonight after over two months without a sighting. I came home, turned on the lights, took my shoes off and did a room scan (that's something I routinely do after coming home, not because of the spider. I don't know what's my childhood trauma that justifies being so paranoid. I just don't like surprises and anything can happen in this world). Then I turned around and there it was on the wall right by the door.

Of course I hesitated. I froze. That gave it a chance to get behind the open closet door against the wall by the door. Note that I saw it and that it hadn't bolted. It was probably a good 15 seconds from when I entered the room and spotted it and it was just sitting on the wall. As scary and huge as it still looked, this thing was tired and likely emaciated. I kicked at the closet door but knew the gap to the wall was enough not to crush it.

I picked up a sneaker I had just taken off and pulled the door away from the wall and there it still was. It hadn't run to safety in the gap between the closet and wall. I took a thwack at it and missed and it reacted but didn't run. I followed up with a solid bonk and that knocked it wounded off the wall and to the ground. The coup de grace was easy and undramatic. You don't want to squash something that big. Kill it with blows. Blunt force trauma. And I could because it was already almost starved to death. If it was healthy and vital, any shot I might have would've been a frenzied, scream-like-a-girl, splatter-force blow and the clean-up would be even more disgusting and traumatic.

I did feel bad for it. Partly because of a book I had just finished at the library about the Armenian Genocide. When I first struck and missed the spider, it didn't run; likely too tired, too incapacitated for instincts to fully kick in, not unlike the starved, skeletal Armenians who were force marched by the Turks into the Syrian desert to their deaths. With the second blow it seemed to be like "why are you doing this to me?", not unlike when the Turks rounded up Armenian men and marched them away from their homes and villages and massacred them without mercy. Could I show it no mercy? At least now I know it's gone. That's the way it had to go. That's not how the Turks felt about the mass murder of Armenians after the WWI effort, allied with the Germans, failed. If I was a Turk, I'd be like "Spider? What spider? It was coming right at me" and then gone on killing spiders for the next five years.

Postmortem, I did as the Australian in my head said and named it Gonzalez. Speedy Gonzalez.

Had this facebook messenger exchange with my cousin Audrey over the course of a few days:

Audrey: Merry Christmas and happy new year.
Me: You too, and the kids! But we're not Christian. And we celebrate Lunar New Year and that's not for a month.
Audrey: You celebrate no holiday.
Me: I have nothing to celebrate.
Audrey: Celebrate that you are still here. (emphasis mine)

Gob-smacked. Wow, was that a stunner. Celebrate that I'm still here? Why? Who would say that to me? I just can't get my mind around anyone saying that to me whether they know me better or not. OK, it's more understandable from someone who doesn't, but from my cousin it near took my legs out from under me.

It's hard to describe the feeling. Wanting to punch her in the face? No that's unimaginable. Punch someone else in the face? Yea, something like that. Undirected aggression without anger. I almost felt insulted. So insulted that it almost amused me. Like I said, hard to describe. Disgust in there, too, a bit. Bitter, bad taste in my mouth. Celebrate that I'm still here. *smack* *smack* *bleah*

I'm still sifting through the layers of possible meaning and reason. Was she being characteristically tone deaf about an issue that should be lightly trod or was she  joking? This is the mind of a suicide, folks (often frustratingly unreadable, double entendre intended).

My cousin and I do that simple verbal sparring thing where some nonsense is said that's sort of a challenge to the other how to respond. That's what my first response was, not that I meant it to be. So then her reply follows in that same vein and is also a joke and a challenge. My reply as well, with glib hyperbole and faux dark tones that "people who know me" might wonder if I was being half serious and roll their eyes and ignore it as a result.

So was her last line joking or earnest? Logic suggests it's a joke. And if it was a challenge of 'let's see how you respond to this', she clearly won. I haven't responded. If it were a face-to-face exchange, and more clearly joking around, I likewise would have lost with no way to respond. And that's the point of the game.

Ah yes, it's actually a game in Korea, I've seen it on TV. Two people take turns trading taunts trying to trigger the other person. I've seen it in Chinese movies, too, where it's like a poetry duel using verses instead of taunts. They can range from the non-sequitur and absurd to pure zen. People everywhere engage in it with friends as a matter of conversation.

So I was successfully triggered. I can let it go. Did she mean to go too far? Well, that's the point of the game. Did she know she was going to far? Never mind the mind of a suicide, how about the mind of an acquaintance?

Short answer is that she has no idea about me and has stated as much ("of course you'd never commit suicide" were her approximate words and then going on without waiting or looking for how I'd respond). The longer answer is that she should at least have some sort of awareness and may be in denial. She has been exposed to ample evidence that something is not right with this picture and it wouldn't take much to put the pieces together to not brush any possibility aside (like she did).

Of course I would never commit suicide? Why? What gave her that idea? Buddhism probably. It's the perfect excuse to not deal with something she knows she can't deal with.

It is also totally possible that her final response was purely sarcastic. I was being sarcastic. Do you know what sarcasm is?

I kinda feel it would be remiss to not mention Shinee's Jonghyun committing suicide at age 27 last week. I'm not a fan of K-pop boy groups, but I am aware of them and respect a bunch, especially one of the original top groups of the second Hallyu wave.

I am familiar with the names of all five Shinee members. I have seen their promotion performances on music shows and acknowledge they are amazing, charismatic and talented. I knew Jonghyun also wrote songs for Shinee and other singers. It's a short list of K-pop idols who also write. When I find that an idol also writes, they get a gold star next to their name for creativity. They create.

My reaction to the news was probably very typical and of normative nature. Disbelief, terrible loss, tragic. He was young, famous, adored, talented. He had it made. He had made it. His suicide was felt far and wide, and more than he could likely contemplate. He was a public figure. He had responsibilities. Why?!

Since then it has come to light that he had been fighting depression his entire life and it finally overwhelmed him. There was nothing vain, cavalier or impulsive about his suicide. It wasn't the result of life circumstances that would likely have changed if he just lived on. He wasn't distraught over some tangible thing and went home and hanged himself like others have. He was and always has been in the middle of a dark storm that few people can even imagine. And it wasn't going to go away. Ever. He would eventually have been consumed by it.

Usually I hate the cliche platitude the living use to comfort themselves saying the dead have gone to a "better place". Not that anyone has said that about Jonghyun, but I would be alright with it if they did. It is a good description. He has gone to a better place: Not here.

He meant to do it. It wasn't what I call a "suicidal gesture" whereby a door is left open to be rescued. He meant to do it despite a final text message to his sister who did promptly inform the police.

Usually I would consider that kind of act a call for help with an unconscious half-expectation to be saved. His final text wasn't that. I believe he had no expectation or desire to be rescued.

It was partly a definitive good-bye, but it may have also served a practical purpose given the way he did it. He burned charcoal in a frying pan releasing deadly concentrations of carbon monoxide. The text also served as an alert so that someone would arrive, not to save him, but to turn off the burner and air out the CO so that no one else would be harmed.

It's anyone's guess whether he actually thought of that. Considering the information reported, I would bet that he did. He would have run the scenario in his mind and noticed the danger to other people and taken measures so that others weren't harmed. That fits with the profile of the type of person he was.

That would also answer a question I had about how his sister knew where to send the police. He didn't do it at home, he had rented a short-term apartment for the purpose.

Renting the apartment wouldn't have raised bells. On a most simplistic level he could just tell people he needed a fresh space to write. But then why give his sister the address? Anyone could contact him by phone. The only reason would be the expectation that someone would need to go there.

There are actually plenty of other reasons why she would've known, maybe she had even been there, but basically, dispelling all suspicion, she had it because he gave it to her. It could've been a totally innocuous message saying that he was renting a place so he could write, here's the address if anyone needs me. She would have read it and not thought it suspicious that he was including an address, but there it is planted. It is in the range of suicides to think like that.

Why he rented a place to do it and didn't do it at home is also something we will never know but also goes into the mind of a suicide. It suggests this wasn't spontaneous but planned over a period. There may be an element of separating and getting away from his familiar life. Suicidal thoughts was probably something he lived with, but renting the apartment was a definitive indication that he knew or decided now was the time. Specific reasons of his own we can't know.

Fans have noted other clues that could only be noticed as meaning anything in retrospect. He had a visible tattoo of a black dog that is a symbol for depression? That's news to me, but OK, the article explained it. Fans noted that at a recent broadcast he skipped a sentence that they could see displayed on his teleprompter mentioning his comeback in January. There are other possible reasons for it, but now it looks like he didn't mention it because he didn't expect to be around in January.

My going on and on about this displays the truism about suicide that it leaves more questions than answers. Details can be pondered, contemplated, analyzed, speculated upon, rocks thrown at, poetry written, statistics cited, Broadway shows composed, but we'll never know for sure.

I sympathize with Jonghyun. And I'm glad there has been a lack of public condemnation or judgment regarding his suicide. People seemed to grasp the true tragedy quite quickly, which is not merely that he committed suicide, but that he suffered so much to the point of committing suicide.

I can't say I was a fan, I don't have any Shinee in my music collection*, but I respected him and joined as one of the silent mourners around the world.

In that final text message Jonghyun sent to his sister, there is a phrase that has been translated in two different ways. Fans have latched onto the translation of him saying to his sister, "Tell me I did well". I think there's a very Korean nuance to it that I can't explain. Fans have responded en masse in their condolences telling him he did well. Same as me, it was probably the first thing they thought when they read that message in the news. You did well, Jonghyun.

* I do have several songs that Jonghyun penned for female singers in my collection. In fact, the day after he died, IU's "Gloomy Clock" written by and featuring him came up on my iPod Shuffle. The iPod was loaded the day before he died. That's a 2GB capacity iPod randomly selecting from a 100GB collection. That was one hell of a coincidence.

I don't know what came over me, it's probably another obsessive distraction, but I've started reading about World War I. While my childhood included World War II as a hobby, I never had any particular interest in WWI. My knowledge consists of scattered cursory bits of associated information like trench warfare, gas warfare, the first tanks, pointy German helmets, etc. I knew Franz Ferdinand was not the lead singer of the band (apparently there were fans who thought that).

I'm reading The First World War (1999) by John Keegan. As a supplement I also found at the library a rather massive photo book, The Great War, by Imperial War Museums (U.K.). Fortunate for me, since it's a visual reference to help picture how bleak and harrowing what I'm reading was. Fortunate also because it's not a reference that I'd otherwise come by casually. Only people really interested in the war would have it on their bookshelves, I shouldn't wonder.

I think anyone who doesn't know much about WWI but has any hint of interest in it or related subjects (and there are many) should read up on it. On one hand, it's very simple to describe and understand the contours of what happened and what led up to it. On another hand, it's an historical enigma that scholars are still debating about. You can point out all the various factors that contributed to the war, but adding them all up doesn't amount to the sheer magnitude of the horror and suffering caused and endured. You look at results and wonder why combatants weren't smacking themselves in the forehead asking what was going on and how it happened and why they didn't just yell "Stop! Wait a minute. What are we doing?". There were reasons. Many, many reasons, and none of them counters the insanity or incredulity of it.

Having nothing to compare it to, I found Keegan's book quite adequate and engaging. I felt I got a decent grasp of the contours of the conflict, but I would definitely look at other books for comparison if I find them. My major complaint was "white noise" information of troop movements which didn't help illustrate anything or mean anything in terms of strategy or intent. Same with eastern front fighting after the Russians withdrew. Oops, was I supposed to say *spoiler alert*?

I skimmed over those parts not feeling they were important, interesting or compelling to the narrative or knowledge of the war. Similarly, the Russian Revolution is covered so quickly it's almost laughable. That's not necessarily a problem or criticism. In a volume such as this, that's all that could be expected for a topic that deserves its own book. And I did laugh at the description of the Bolsheviks' frantic instruction to sign a peace treaty "at German dictation" when their delay tactics failed and Germany started invading.

Reading about the causes of WWI, it's easy and tempting, if not blindingly obvious, to draw parallels with the current world situation and whether a third world war is in the making. A lot of the debate over WWI is whether it was preventable or was it inevitable. Trying to answer that is to enter the quagmire.

I think the strongest argument today that WWIII is inevitable is the fact that WWI happened. The question whether it is preventable or inevitable is equally uncertain today and as much of a quagmire, and once you draw all the parallels of the fragile relations, belligerent stances and war readiness, the likelihood of a WWI situation goes way up. The scenario of a side conflict leading to an international crisis that no one will check because of self-interest, distractions, basic stupidity or any number of factors, then escalating into a worldwide conflagration is not so hard to imagine when reading about WWI.

Only the over-optimistic would doubt the world situation today is a powder keg waiting to blow. A pot coming to a boil. A powder keg in a pot coming to a boil. No wait, the boiling water would neutralize the powder. But seriously, with the presumptive main combatants being the U.S. and China or India and China or China and anyone but Russia, and non-presumptive but potential flashpoints of North Korea or Taiwan, that shit's gonna be hard to contain.

This is the dashcam of South Korean actor Kim Joo Hyuk in late October in the moments before he suffered some medical problem and crashed, dying later at the hospital. The full clip starts at 0:21.

After traffic goes through the intersection, pay attention to the black SUV to the right and then the black sedan that passes on the right. That's when Kim starts having (or noticing) problems and is either trying to get to the side of the road or has already started losing control of his functioning. It looks like he probably sideswipes the black sedan (not caught on the dashcam), who is probably honking like mad (no audio), alerting the SUV in front, who presumably seeing the collision in his mirror, steps on the gas and speeds away to not get involved.

As Kim's control further deteriorates, the cam shows a black sedan (presumably the one he hit) come up on the left, partially blocking Kim's car. Presumably, logically, the sedan driver only knows that he's been hit and Kim's car didn't show any sign of stopping because of the accident, and therefore he wants to prevent Kim from leaving the scene. That's when Kim loses all control of his functions and presumably his foot falls heavy on the accelerator leading him to hit the sedan again, careen towards the sidewalk and crashing. The last image before cutting off is Kim's vehicle flipping over. He had to be extracted before being sent to the hospital. From my very limited layman's experience and knowledge, I might profer he suffered either a seizure, heart attack or stroke. The autopsy was inconclusive.

What's sad and profound to me is that the dashcam includes the last things Kim Joo Hyuk saw of this world. He probably didn't wake up that morning and consider he might die that day. He may have, but I daresay most of us don't. He certainly didn't get into his car thinking he was about to die.

Everything was going normal until it wasn't. A late afternoon commute, driving from one place to another as he does every day. That's the profound part of the clip, not the accident but the normalcy leading up to it.

Death is a universal experience, but so are the moments of each of our lives leading up to dying that the dashcam so poignantly captures. And since we generally don't know when or how death comes, we don't know when those last moments of normalcy are being experienced. So breathe.

Then again, there was Elvis who died on the crapper.

I can't even English this.

email. remaining parent. from dead parent's email. cruise. February. me go with.

There is no nope on the scale of nopes to express how absolutely and irrevocably nope the nope is.

The only possible reaction on my part was to immediately delete the email, wash my eyeballs out with soap and try to forget about it. If there is to be communication, since I no longer have a phone, it would be through an intermediary, i.e. my brother, whence the nope can at least be buffered. There is no precedent and therefore no acceptance of direct email communication between the chaos and its spawn (that would be me).

"Yea, I'm alcoholic"
"Why do you drink so much?"
"Because . . . if I didn't, I wouldn't be alcoholic". Duh.

August-September-October-November, it's been three months since I cut back on drinking. It's no accomplishment. It doesn't feel like anything. And with the great revelation that a lot of the physical gripes I'd been griping about went away, there's a huge incentive to not go back to constant drinking.

It hasn't been hard. There have been the expected markers of alcoholism – pangs and temptation – but minimal restraint was necessary to get past those (restraint was necessary nonetheless). Also I haven't totally quit and I still probably drink enough to be considered alcoholic. Alcoholism, I shouldn't wonder, is not just the amount but the habit and regularity.

Ooh! That was quotable! Quote me, baby. Booyah.

Same as I mentioned before, I allow drinking before periods when I'm naturally not going to drink, i.e. before going to sleep and going out. But I also ration one beer outside of those times, meaning one in the morning and one in the evening is OK. I don't consider one beer a drink. It's a refreshing enjoyment, a quick buzz. More than one beer becomes drinking and I haven't done that at all.

To quantify, before I was drinking on average more than six bottles a week, but not quite a bottle a day. Now I go through a bottle about every three days; a schedule I've been on before.

Cutting back on drinking has also contributed to the cognitive dissonance since I'm clear and sober to contemplate the contradiction and futility of my continued existence. There are more spans going from moment to moment where I'm clear to question why I'm still here.

Cutting back on drinking has also put a full stop on insomnia, more or less. Same as I mentioned before, sleep isn't always perfect, but is OK and adequate. If I've been able to identify a bad night as insomnia these past three months, it's been a one-off.

Sleep, who can deny?, is a comfort. Waking rested after a good slumber is a feeling of all that's good about living and existing. For me it's cognitive dissonance. The feeling is quickly ambushed that it is temporary and I can't keep going on like this. The theoretical suicide is there first thing to contemplate during morning sitting.

There isn't anyone in my life, but if there were, this is where they start suggesting I go back to drinking constantly. Sorry, I'm done with feeling like shit all the time.

I finished "reading" Night Falls Fast: Understanding Suicide (1999) by Kay Redfield Jamison that I quoted earlier. "Reading" because I skimmed large portions of it, not because it was difficult subject matter but because . . . it got boring.

I liked the stories. I'm sorry, that's what I could relate to. All the biology, chemicals, statistics and other stuff I'm too lazy to qualify I could do without. There's a natural type of person who would be interested in this type of book. The author is one of them (an insider). I used to be, I shouldn't wonder. People who could relate.

It's likely a valuable reference read for those interested or curious about the pathology. The book limits its scope to the clinical and normative, but that's nothing surprising. It admits to an age bias, so a narrow focus is already intended. I didn't find a whole lot of insight, but I suppose it's difficult to be insightful about suicide. I don't mean this as criticism, the book does what it does well and handles the topic with compassion and empathy, albeit with added emotion at times.

I felt myself strangely detached while reading it. Maybe I've steeped in the topic for so long that it's not something necessarily emotional or even personal. I'm jaded. Or not even really suicidal, a poseur.

It's not a mental health issue for me as far as I'm concerned. Maybe there may have been a connection long ago, but it's a non-issue now. So reading about other people, I sympathize that they were suffering, but it's not necessarily something I share.

I suppose I found it inspirational, which of course was not its intention. It's not you, book, it's me. People who have been successful; also pointing out that I've been a failure and I don't like being a failure. I've failed at a lot of things, but things I ultimately didn't care about. This is something closer to home. And if I fail at suicide, that just means I live for a little while longer and die anyway. Maybe under more desperate or pathetic circumstances.

I'm winding up for another imminent attempt. Yet again. And like before it's totally hypothetical at this point and doesn't mean anything. I feel a need for it within the next half year or so and I'm going to focus and push for it, cognitive dissonance, aspiration, but admit it's not likely.

It's like telling a psychiatrist I'm planning to rob a bank. Which bank? I dunno, the one down the street? When? I dunno, within the next year. How? I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. Any accomplices? No. What would you do with the money? Hm, I haven't thought of that. Continue to pay rent and food? It's hardly cause for a psychiatrist to be alarmed.

I had to buy a new set of earbuds last week.

Some time into my years in Taiwan I started buying quality earbuds. Until then, I was satisfied with the crappy earbuds that came with iPods. When they melted and fell apart in Taiwan's heat and humidity, I never spent much more than US$30 (NT$1,000) on replacements, usually Philips.

I grew up in a time when you bought something, you expected it to last. It wasn't a disposable culture like it is now, where product obsolescence is planned. I was outraged that iPods came with earbuds that were of such poor quality that they couldn't last. Did they have no pride in their product? Now I have a pile of Apple earbuds that I've never touched. It's almost an insult that they still include them.

Then one day I impulsively splurged on a set of UE (Ultimate Ears) earbuds because what the fuck. They were probably in the $60 range and had noise blocking ear pieces. They lasted probably over a year until they, too, succame to Taiwan's weather.

By then, I was sold on the sound quality of higher priced earbuds and on noise blocking, in-ear earbuds. Also at some point during a visit to the States, my brother had offered me a set of $100 Sennheisers that he said sounded terrible, but it turned out he just hadn't used them enough to burn them in. I used them for several hours and gave them back when they sounded fine. But that incident probably set my price range even higher.

For the past few years, I've gone through three sets of Monster iSport-line earbuds which were in the over-$150 range in Taiwan. Same company that makes Monster sound system cable. In high school and college, Monster cable was the gold standard for stereo systems, but at the time prohibitively expensive. What I'm saying is that their reputation preceded.

The sound quality was great, no complaints there. Construction, mostly the quality of material used, not so impressive, especially for a product at that price and advertised for sports usage. I put up with a lot for a long time for that sound quality. Actually I only bought the third set of Monsters because they were on sale for about $100 and I considered that a deal even though I had low confidence in the construction.

Eventually all three failed, finally due to right channel defects. I wouldn't buy Monster earbuds again. Maybe the right channel failures shouldn't be considered uncommon considering how hard I used them, but it's time to try something new.

I bought a set of Audio-Technica earbuds at under $90 ($60 on Amazon). So far I'm not blown away. They're muddy in the lower-mids and bass ranges. Clarity and separation are mediocre at best. One reason I bought them was to test the theory that price is an indicator of quality. This doesn't challenge the supposition.

If they continue to not impress or satisfy, I can go with even cheaper ($60 range) or more expensive ($120) Sennheisers available in Taiwan. If I'm such a stickler for quality, I should go with the pricier ones.

I also have a set of Bose noise-cancelling earbuds which I bought when I was more confident about my finances, needless to say. I only use those on rainy days when I don't go out on bike. I baby them as you would a $250 product.

They sound great, so I also use them as reference in assessing earbud quality, mindful of my age and musician past that my ears aren't as sharp as they once may have been. They only sound good with the noise-cancelling on, though. If the battery dies and switches to passive mode, they don't sound all that great.

addendum: I gave up on the $90 Audio-Technica earbuds (ATH-CKS770). The weird thing about them was that some files sounded passable; nothing special, they didn't draw attention that the sound was just par. But then other files would sound muddy. I can't make any sense of it.

So I went and bought the expensive Sennheiser Momentum earbuds which unfortunately were more expensive than I remembered and were actually $160. The miscalculation gave me pause because I'm always hesitant about big purchases and it's habit to take any excuse to not buy something unless I'm really sure.

I decided I was really sure. I hated files playing and being disappointed how randomly muddy they sounded. I know I don't have money to throw around, but it's all relative, isn't it? How much have I not spent in alcohol over the past three months? I don't know, but probably easily enough to cover the full price of the earbuds. And I didn't stop drinking to save money.

Anyway, the Sennheisers are amazing. No burning in needed. They were immediately and clearly superior to the Audio-Technicas. Clear and tight bass, sparkling highs, incredible clarity and reproduction. No random files sounding muddy.

So no regrets buying the Sennheisers. A little regret having bought the Audio-Technicas, but not a total loss since I can use them with my Korg Pandora PX5D for guitar and bass. For some reason only stereo connector plugs work with the quarter-inch to eighth-inch adapter. If it has the Apple control ring on the plug, it doesn't work. I already tried them with the PX5D and they sound fine.

I think it's fair to say that if I commit suicide, it would have been decades in the planning. Has there ever been anyone who prepared so well for a suicide in terms of limiting impact on others? Probably, but you've never heard of them nor has anyone written about them. Why? Because they limited their impact so that there was no one to write anything nor anything to write anyway.

If I commit suicide or simply disappear, which would be preferable, there isn't anything anyone could say about me that would be valid or current. There would just be the fact. They would be left with just the fact and nothing else to say beyond it.

Mind you, it's very intentional that I'm writing "if I commit suicide". I've been contemplating and aspiring toward it for years to the point of meaninglessness, which I suppose also adds to the lack of impact if I actually succeed. I'm all talk and the only meaning to this blog would only come from actually doing it. If I'm still talking, that's all it is.

I deserve to die. After all, I've put so much effort into dismantling my life so that there's no social value to my existence and withdrawing from everyone who was in it so that no one would be significantly affected by my dying, that I should be rewarded for it in some way, don'tcha think?

Years and years of continued existence, frittering pathetically away in base enjoyments of reading, watching TV and videos and listening to music and maintaining a marginal, nominal mindfulness practice is hardly any reward. I deserve better than that.

It's so sad, embarrassing and pathetic reading what I've written and re-written over and over repeatedly and redundantly about suicide and killing myself and realizing I'm still here years and years later.

Those patients with schizophrenia who are more intelligent and better educated, for example, who perform better on measures of abstract reasoning, and who demonstrate greater insight into the nature of their illness, are more likely to kill themselves. (p. 84, Night Falls Fast, Jamison).

The experts agree that I'm no great intellect or abstract thinker. Thanks. Of course, I'm also not schizophrenic. But I haven't been diagnosed otherwise, either! Wait, what am I saying? That I still might be schizophrenic which would just prove what a failure I am because I haven't committed suicide?

So physical activity is OUT because it would likely contribute to a false sense of accomplishment; no cycling or attempting to run. Until I do.

Fake reading Chinese is OK because it emphasizes the futility in learning the language in my case. I love the complexity in this pathology. I don't think I'm unable to learn the language in some fundamental failure of being. The key to learning a language is interaction and usage. You have to communicate with other people. That's what I'm unwilling to do and presumably the basic reason for my failure. 

Forcing myself to pretend to read a newspaper with Chinese phonetics just exposes me to a diversified vocabulary and emphasizes how much I don't know. It's not vocabulary I would necessarily need in daily conversation, or if it was I'd learn it in daily conversation. It keeps me mystified by a seeming impossibility of learning a new language because there's always so much more to learn, when basically the problem is that I've pretty much isolated myself from interacting with people.

Pretending to play bass or guitar is also OK for pretty much the same reason. I've given up any identity thinking I was a musician. I still have some basic technical facility on fretted instruments, so I can play along to songs and work out chord progressions and appreciate what went into the songwriting. 

I also have the Jamey Aeborsold jazz play-along series of workbooks and music files. These are apparently THE essential studies for anyone interested in playing jazz. Despite that not including me, I still wondered why I'd never even heard of the series, so I asked my sister-in-law's sister's husband, Tom Kennedy, an A-list professional bass player (go ahead, look him up), and he confirmed it. Everyone goes through Jamey Aeborsold. It's K-12 for aspiring jazz musicians.

It's an endless source of music learning and backing tracks to play along with for practical application. For me, it emphasizes that after however many years I thought of myself as a musician, I really know bupkis about music. Even the meager facility I have on fretted instruments, my fingers always do the same one kind of pattern and movements over and over, and even that I don't know what I'm doing. I assume it's some basic blues scale.

So in terms of wasting my life away on the conveyor belt of distractions to get from day to day, pulling out my guitar and bass is OK.

It's about getting me to a state of perpetual cognitive dissonance about my existence. I shouldn't be here, but I am only because I can be with minimal effort. I'm here because I'm lazy; too lazy to end my life even though the very framework I've built for it has been to end it.

The framework and foundation of my life, through attitude, theory and implementation, has all been set-up for ending my life. All the activities and things I've done and pursued during my life were just fluff and filler, false identity. I don't regret any of it, a lot of it was probably a blast as it happened.

But the fun should be over and I can't let myself be fooled by it now. I don't know what I will do, the pattern my history shows doesn't suggest anything dramatic *yawn*. The best I'll expect at the time being is continue to work on relatively sober development of perpetual cognitive dissonance and hope for the obvious and only proper outcome.

Forcing myself to read the Chinese newspaper when I go to the library is like sadomasochism for one. So when I find an interesting book in the stacks, it's easy to allow the temptation. At the closest public library (there are four within walking distance (under two miles)), I'm reading Fields of Blood: Religion and the History of Violence by Karen Armstrong.

It falls under world history among categories of reads that interest me; perhaps specifically human developmental history or human cultural evolution. It's a fascinating read that sweeps through various historical cultures in broad strokes, describing the relation between religiosity and violence.

Religion and violence, of course, go hand-in-hand, but the book is very well-researched and offers perspectives that aren't obvious nor common knowledge. There's room for disagreement, but she provides plenty of food for thought. I'd definitely recommend it.

Actually religion and violence don't "of course" go hand-in-hand, you still need human nature in the equation. You can just as easily say that economics and violence go hand-in-hand, and the same with politics and ideology. None of those, including religion, are inherently violent by nature or intent. Just add human nature and the potential for violence arises whenever conflict occurs and a clear "other" can be identified.

Despite reading the Chinese newspaper without understanding it being tedious and boring as hell (hard to stay awake), I'm only allowing reading books one at a time at any particular library. So when I go to one of the other three libraries, I have to read the newspaper. Only when I finish a book can I start another one at any library. Dumb rules I make for myself.

Summer ended rather quickly. I don't specifically remember how it's been in previous years (except perhaps one with a typhoon), but I'm sure this is how it typically is. I'm sure I probably mentioned it before, too.

What happens is the heat hits wet weather around this time of year (typhoon obviously qualifies), temperatures drop with the rain and *bam* thereafter it's clearly autumn. It's very sudden that the fan isn't on all the time, shirts are worn at home, and showers need an infusion of warmer water. More gradual are the window closing bit by bit, dressing in layers and moving under the covers to sleep.

I know I've mentioned before how I find it odd during Taipei summers that it's completely unimaginable how cold the winters get, and during the winter it's totally out of mind that summers are unbearably hot. This is the transition period, what happens between the heat and the cold. A lot of laundry gets done. That happens in the spring, too.

Distractions, distractions. Every day is all about distractions. Distraction conveyor belt to get from day to day.

Useless distractions; no running or cycling because even though I'm curious about the effect cutting back on drinking has had on those activities, doing those things might give me the impression that I've accomplished something. That I've done something not completely useless.

Reading Chinese is useless. That's OK. Watching lots and lots of videos on YouTube, which although enjoyable is utterly useless and is supposed to be reminding me how insubstantial and ethereal and empty such enjoyments are.

Not saying anything bad about that. There's nothing wrong with feeling good or even inspired in certain ways. Just remember to keep things in perspective and that none of it is anything I call real.

It's raining. It hasn't rained like this in quite a while. Nothing unusual, even this non-stop for days rain. It emphasizes that this summer can be characterized as having been rather dry, as opposed to summers where it rains every afternoon.

Sparse typhoon season, too. I think only two typhoons hit Taiwan. A one-two punch a few months ago, one right after the other with a strange sunny (but windy) day in Taipei between them. One went right across the island and the other swept up it; a hook and an uppercut. The destruction was typical, not disastrous.

Yesterday was the first day I woke up and checked the thermometer and it was below 80 degrees. That's autumn cooling in Taiwan! Air conditioning has been off for several weeks now. Fan is still on almost all the time. Sometimes I'll turn it off, only to turn it back on in short order.

The nature of my self-distractions to get from day to day has changed since cutting back on drinking and the resultant clarity. For one, I've stopped reading books I'm interested in at public libraries and I've gone back to reading a Chinese newspaper that has the phonetic pronunciation next to each character.

It's a newspaper for students, both native children whose knowledge of Chinese characters is still growing and foreigners here to learn the language. For me to read this newspaper is an exercise in pointlessness.

I consider my Chinese language learning at an end and having ended in failure. The point in reading this newspaper is to rub it in how much of a failure I've been in learning the language.

I can run my eyes over the words, some of which I can read and understand from previous studies, and know how to pronounce them because of the phonetics, but for most part I don't understand articles as a whole.

It further confounds me that after years of earnest study, how I can know so little? With what kind of further study could I have gotten to the point where I could read this newspaper? And I can't imagine even a lifetime's effort having me reading Chinese without the phonetics.

Basically I'm just tormenting myself, reminding myself that there is no effort that is worth it or will come to any fruition. Having suicide as a goal and death as the only thing worth learning about is all there is. There is no excuse for the distractions and pretending they are anything else than distraction, i.e., a waste.

The most sobering part of sobriety may be the clarity. Well, after the not drinking all the time thing.

It's not that I wasn't clear-thinking-ish when constantly drinking. I felt I was thinking clearly, and if I wasn't I was at least subjectively thinking clearly enough. But certainly sense reality as a whole took on a muddled or muted feel, amenable to distraction.

Since cutting back on drinking, I've been trying to alter my daily existence to stop being a distraction-to-distraction conveyor belt from day to day. It's still a work in progress. Can't say a particularly successful one, though.

As a grandmaster of distraction, all I've done so far is switch out my old daily distractions with new ones. That's not a total fail, as I tell myself that at least I wasn't attached to those distractions as a way of being. Also, the changes may be seen as first steps to further changes. Like pulling myself out of quicksand.

Ultimately, I'm trying to get focused on the task at hand; what I want to do, what I keep saying is the purpose of my life and where I've led it. Cutting back on drinking, increased sobriety lead to focus on ending this life, this manifestation. Move on already.

There's a frustration that alcohol has been muting all these years. Drinking less allows me to be more acutely aware of it. So I decide to soberize because I realized drinking isn't going to kill me, and that leads to clarity about the frustration that I'm still alive and the need to focus on suicide as the goal. I can't figure out if that's ironic or logical.

The worst thing the distractions do is fool me into feeling like I'm doing something worthwhile or personally productive. That feeling, for most part, shuttles me from day to day. Laziness contributes, too. Too lazy to commit suicide. Never having encountered the external "unbearable" is also part of it. Nothing particularly or immediately compelling to commit suicide has led to complacency. Never been tested.

So why is it now, this time's newfound clarity that is suddenly compelling? I could rattle off a whole bunch of reasons, but they're the same reasons, I'm sure, that I've been citing for years, if not decades. Actually yes, decades.

I have no reason to believe that I won't be alive in six months' time back to drinking a bottle a day.

And that's the point where I shut up because it becomes a theoretical, abstract stream of thought. I really want to focus this time, I really want to do it, but I've said and done this over and over before. It's an incredibly consistent internal dialogue that has become like a recurring nightmare.

And I want to say something is different this time, but I've said that over and over, too. Something's gotta be different this time. I've probably said that before, too.

I officially no longer have phone service. My phone is a 2G Samsung slider phone which drops jaws whenever I show it to anyone. The strong reaction is an indication of how complete and thorough the homogenization of the cell phone landscape has become.

You can pull out a CD Walkman or even a cassette player and maybe get a surprised or impressed reaction; you know, whatever floats your boat. But if you're not using a so-called "smart" phone, people flip out like you lifted your shirt and showed the still-attached fetus of your stillborn twin that you had actually murdered in the womb.

It's probably a matter of time before kids are wondering "what's a slider phone"? What's a "dial tone"? Why do you "roll down" a car window? Why do you "trip" on acid? Duh, because when you're on drugs you lose equilibrium and stumble and fall a lot.

2G service ended in Taiwan at the end of June, but I read conflicting reports about a grace period of continued service to let people upgrade. One report said that there would be a six month grace period until the end of the year and it was all excuse for me to do nothing.

I got my usual $9 (NT$288) phone bill in July. Then in August I got one that was a little over a dollar. Then in September none at all. Then I met up with someone on Monday and had him try to call and text my phone and confirmed there was no service. There was no grace period.

There's still no point for me to upgrade to a 4G phone and service which will certainly be an "upgrade" of more than $9 a month. Nine dollars per month on the same service as when I first got to Taiwan was more than I needed. My sparse and irregular annual phone usage certainly doesn't justify upgrading. Good riddance to those people.

Furthermore, I know absolutely nothing about 4G phones or services provided. I'm not about to buy something I know nothing about and I don't know anyone to give me a primer. And being so far behind the learning curve as it is, I would only accept learning from someone from whom it wouldn't be a complete embarrassment. No one, that is.

I'm hopelessly behind on all technologies, I shouldn't wonder. I browse technology news sites and I have no idea what most of the headlines mean. At most I'll recognize a prominent company or product name. That's it.

I've heard opinions that people are moving towards not having a physical music collection, where files on a computer are considered "physical". My main workhorse listening to music is the iPod Shuffle and it has just recently been discontinued.

Coincidentally, I bought a new one the last time I was in the U.S., and apparently it's the last one I'll buy. I have three working iPod Shuffles, none of which have impressive battery life, even the new one. The very way I listen to music has a finite lifespan!

Being left behind by the relentless march of technology. Being disconnected and isolated. Indicative of a good time to check out.

Ooh, that's almost haiku!

Here:
Being left behind
Technology disconnect
Good time to check out

I decided to cut back drinking in dramatic fashion because of the realization that it's not going to kill me and therefore serves no purpose. So not constantly drinking, it's . . . sobering. Sobriety; interesting and strange with all its side-effects.

The constant drinking was making me feel like shit, and I think I can confirm that all, if not most, of my gripes and grievances regarding my gut and physical ailments were alcohol-related. Appetite is back and that's great. I don't struggle to eat and that's great. Eating more than once a day is, um, OK.

A bummer is that I get hungry now. Sometimes I find myself looking around my apartment at untimely moments to see if there are any morsels to munch on and glad for a pack of crackers.

A minor inconvenience is having to think of eating twice a day. I know, poor baby. But for years I've only had to think of it once and get it out of the way. Saved time and money, too. Well, time at least. I'm not doing the math, but I'm getting the sense that the amount I'm spending on more food is still offset by what I'm not spending on alcohol.

I've taken to looking for places to eat on Google maps. I wonder if anyone else does this. You can check out photos of eateries that are mapped out on Google maps and see what the place and the food look like and if it's appealing. Key for me is whether there is a readable photo of the menu if deciphering from Chinese is needed.

Sleep I mentioned has been "alright". It has continued to be alright, meaning no nights that I would call insomnia. The hours I've been sleeping aren't a lot, but it's never felt like insomnia, I haven't been struggling with it.

It's not insomnia where I can't sleep. It's just that I'm not sleeping a lot, but when I get up I'm satisfied with how much I slept. I may crash during the day or need a power nap, but it doesn't feel like I'm dealing with a problem.

Actually insomnia rarely led to crashes or power naps. Not getting enough sleep leads to a fatigue switch flipping and crashing, nodding off or power napping. With insomnia, there is no switch or it's a dead switch and nothing happens.

And this change occurs right after I cut back on drinking. The relationship between alcohol and sleep wouldn't surprise anyone, but with my type of insomnia, I would be surprised if it all hinged on alcohol.

I thought my insomnia was of a particular type that I was able to brush off cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), the most common treatment for insomnia. I thought there were deeper psychological issues involved or even a physiological basis that psychiatry isn't even looking for.

If it turns out it was all just because of alcohol, I'd be a little disappointed. Although I wonder how drinking less affects my other sleep-related quirks. For instance, I can't fall asleep unless there's music in the background. Every night, the last thing I do before turning off the light is play a CD with a 30 minute timer set. Eventually, I guess, I'll get around to test if this is still so.

Another one that is unlikely to be tested is that I can't fall asleep if there's someone else in the room. I have to be alone. That probably fits well if the other person isn't happy about music playing in the background.

You know, I keep starting these posts with something I want to say, but end up writing about all these other things. Distractions. That's what I continue to do, constantly distracting myself.

I've started morning sitting again after a two month break. The superficial excuse to stop was the heat. It's really hot, I don't want to sit. But that's really not a reason to stop, at least not in my room where I have the means to keep reasonably comfortable. I just didn't wanna.

I think I needed the break. I recall I was having trouble with practice in general in the first half of the year. I'm sure that played a part when I woke up one morning as daily temperatures were rising and air conditioner days had begun and decided not to sit. But then not sitting continued and it became habit. Instead I'd turn on the MLB baseball game airing live the previous evening in the States. That's another bad habit distraction; having baseball on every morning. Not sitting meant turning on the game earlier instead of in a later inning. Don't judge me. ok, maybe a little.

After two months, the hell heat started to weaken in late August and I woke up one morning and decided to sit and it just snapped back into place like I've never been gone. It was no big deal either way. That's just the way I approach the practice.

A part of me may have wondered whether I was doing something wrong. Why wasn't I bothered when practice got weak? Why didn't it bother me when I stopped sitting? Was I not at all worried that I wouldn't or couldn't get back into it? That's just not the way I approach the practice. I'm very laissez-faire about it. I just don't put that kind of pressure on myself for whatever reason. It's counter-productive? I'm lazy? Whatever. I don't believe in being hard on myself. I don't even know what it means to be hard on myself. That's possibly a character flaw.

An'ther hell hot summer done. I've mentioned it before. They've been a feature of Taipei summers over recent years, possibly, if not probably (if not definitely), an effect of global warming. I stopped going for rides in the afternoon because of hell heat. I thought of switching rides to mornings, but that never happened. Too busy watching baseball :p

Hell heat is sweltering, suffocating, oppressive; and going outside means going directly to somewhere that has air conditioning. No lingering, wandering, meandering or taking the long way home. Bangkok was like that when I was there 20 years ago. I've never felt it anywhere in the U.S.

Unfortunately there apparently has been recent government encouragement for public establishments to set thermostats higher to save energy. It used to be that you could step into any indoor space and be greeted with an immediate, refreshing, arctic blast of air-conditioning. Some places are still like that, but more and more places greet you with unsatisfying, lukewarm, tepid air-conditioning. I don't know if it's a city or national government directive, but I wouldn't vote for them if I could figure out how for the next elections.

The hell heat may have broken, but it's still subtropical summer hot. A lot of people still find this uncomfortable, but I'm alright with it. It still means having a fan on me all the time at home, even all night. None of that oscillating shit.

I guess that is a change from before, either indicating a hotter climate or me becoming more sensitive with age. I used to get uncomfortable with a fan blowing directly on me for extended periods of time. Not in this heat. Before at night, the fan would oscillate and the timer would turn it off after three hours. Now it blows and blows all the time. All the time, it blows.

Perhaps some insight into the expert level of my self-distraction: I've spent the summer reading the Harry Potter series of books. HBO was also accommodating with a timely broadcast of the series of movies. Twice, in fact, so I had the opportunity to read the books in conjunction with watching the movies. I'm reminded of this as the entire movie series has been broadcast back-to-back these past few days. Twice! I'm not watching it, I've quite had my fill.

I think it's really impossible to say whether the books or the movies are better. They are quite complementary with their pros and cons. What the movies do great are things that are lacking in the books, and what the movies miss out on are provided in the books. The movies' strengths are their visuals, economy and consistency over 8 films and 7 years. One of their main weaknesses is related to their economy and the amount of information that was necessarily left out. The books' strength is the detail and fleshing out of information that was left out of the movies. At varying points, that's also the books' weakness when they go overboard in detail and prattling discussions that go on ridiculously long and are tightened up in the movies.

One more prominently memorable of the examples is in the Prisoner of Azkaban in the Shake Shack scene when Sirius and Lupin confront each other. In the book it's a long drawn out verbal confrontation. Tensions and emotions are high, wands are threateningly drawn, and . . . they're having a conversation. It's an action point, and that's what the movie realizes. Instead of the drawn-out discussion, Lupin arrives already having figured out the conclusion of the discussion in the book, explained in a very economical and logical way.

There is so much detail in the books that is not included in the movies that it may seem that a lot is lost in just viewing the movies. Maybe so, but it doesn't feel that way and the movies are still great on their own. Unlike The Lord of the Rings, the complementary nature of the books and films is strong. 

An example that comes to mind of the opposite, where the book explains what the movie doesn't is in the last book. At the beginning of the movie version, the Dursleys are leaving with the brief and hurried explanation that it "isn't safe anymore". The book is much more satisfying in going into why it isn't safe anymore. And it's not just that the Dursleys are leaving, but they had been told by the Order of the Phoenix that they had to go and would be escorted to safety by Order members, and the Dursleys actually weren't sure whether to believe them or not and equivocated about leaving.

There isn't a contradiction between the pros and cons of the Harry Potter movies and the books. You can enjoy the movies without the details, then read the books and get the details, but then still enjoy the movies with the added information. That's different from the Lord of the Rings which I both watched and read in conjunction several years ago. Unlike Harry Potter, the Lord of the Rings books are flat out superior to the movies. The Lord of the Rings books are near arguably considered literature, whereas the Harry Potter books, I shouldn't wonder, will never be more than Young Adult fiction with a wider appeal. That's not a diss; they are what they are, and are very good at what they are.

The contradiction I find in the Lord of the Rings is that if you haven't read the books, how the hell do you know who everyone is and what their motivations are? And if you have read the books and know who everyone is and what their motivations are, then how do you watch the movies and not think how inferior they are (story-wise) to the books and how much is wrong or missing?

There are also substantial differences between the Harry Potter books and movies, and some the books do better or worse, and some the movies do better or worse. For most part, I think the movies' economy on plot points actually improves the story. Scenes that are convoluted in the books are presented in the movies in a way that improves them. And some not. For example, the fate of the elder wand in the last movie is terrible compared to the book. In the book, it makes much more sense and has much more meaning and is more consistent to Harry's character and his relationship to Dumbledore.

Finally, if I were a parent whose children were interested in the Harry Potter series, I would require them to read each book before watching the movie. Partly because watching the movie first just seems lazy. There's also an element of encouraging literacy and patience in investing the time and effort into reading a book and using imagination, instead of just being fed someone else's visualization of the story (albeit a very good visualization). I don't think children would read a book and then watch the movie noticing what was left out. That's what critical adults do because we don't know how to just enjoy and have fun anymore. Kids would likely enjoy the movie with the extra information simply incorporated into their viewing experience.

I've been wanting to get less distracted by mundane things, but I have to admit that, although I do consider life a spectator sport, I do enjoy watching actual spectator sports, too. So it wasn't the greatest timing when the Vuelta a Espana and the 2017 Taipei Universiade both began on August 20.

The Vuelta is the third of three, three-week grand tours of cycling held annually, and I told myself I wouldn't follow it because I already watched this year's Giro d'Italia in the spring, and the Tour de France in July. They were grand distractions.

And I'm not following the Vuelta, per se, but I keep having it on in the background. Even though I'm not really paying attention to it, it's still just as much a distraction. I don't know why I don't just turn it off. I feel like I might miss something? Like I'm not already missing my life as it sieves through my fingers?

It's not like cycling is very exciting to watch. It's probably among the most boring sports to watch unless you're a hardcore fan and know the teams and the riders, along with their pets and hobbies. I know just enough to have it on in the background and be interested in the rare dramatic moment or development.

I'm so easily distracted, I'll likely continue having it on in the background for the remaining week and a half of the race. And when it's over, it will be a great relief to have my nights freed up, even though I was the one tying them up in the first place.

The Universiade just ended on the 30th. It was a major sporting event, the equivalent of the Olympics at the university level and is the second largest multi-discipline sporting event in the world after the Olympics.

Since it was held locally, it was a big deal and several local channels carried a multitude of events throughout the days. Even Eurosport, the channel which carries the Vuelta, aired a bunch of Universiade events live and in replay with English commentary.

Being distracted by the Universiade was more justified since it was local and it was exciting to watch. I did have trouble with my allegiances, though. Taiwan, U.S., South Korea, Japan? I'd have to tell myself that I couldn't, for example, root for South Korea or Japan over Taiwan or the U.S., but then didn't mind if the result was counter.

I think Taiwan did itself proud hosting the Universiade, with the notable exception of the opening ceremony face-palm when political protesters regarding a relatively petty local issue were able to disrupt the athletes' entry into the municipal stadium.

Fortunately that occurred so early that Taipei was able to redeem itself with smooth-running competitions for the rest of the games. There have been criticisms that come with any large sporting event, but all-in-all I get the impression that the athletes were satisfied, and when not focused on competition had a good experience here.

Things are going well after over a week of severely cutting back on drinking. It still stands, though, that anything I say about drinking should be taken with a grain of salt. I don't know how things will be a week from now or a month or six from now.

That's the insidious part of alcoholism, I suppose. I can't discount the possibility, I can't even eliminate from imagination that at some point I'll be back to drinking near a bottle a day.

So instead of drinking shot by shot through a bottle over the course of a day, now I sip through a single shot (4 sips per shot) right before doing something that forces me to stop, either going to sleep or going out. I drink the single shots telling myself I'm gradually decreasing intake, rather than going cold turkey which might create more tension over time.

I find that upon committing to cutting back, I mostly don't even want to drink. Without that commitment, it's the opposite; the simplest suggestion or thought has me reaching for a drink. Someone drinking on TV is an invitation to join in.

Really I don't like the way it makes me feel. That first sip, even a tiny one, is harsh to the system and raises my body temperature uncomfortably. It makes me wonder why I'm doing this. I liked the way I felt before I took the sip better.

However, one alcoholic trait that remains strong is that once I start, it's a slippery slope. That's why I try to only pour a shot right before I plan to do something that precludes further drinking.

If I start and stay home, I will have sipped through 3 or 4 shots without much thought. That's still less than I was drinking before, but by that time the amount is immaterial. I'm in the grip of habit.

Physically I started feeling better almost immediately. The stomach and intestinal issues disappeared within days and appetite has more or less returned. Is such a quick recovery suspicious? Maybe. Also maybe alcohol creates such stress on the gut that when it stops, the end of the distress comes quickly. How would I know? I ain't no doc.

Sleep has been alright, but not perfect. Perfect sleep? What the hell is that anyway? Certainly the decrease in alcohol must have some immediate effect on my sleeping patterns. Maybe 'alright' sleep is it.

Where I am in life is the direct result of how I've lived my life with an affirmative aspiration or goal to commit suicide. Most everyone has an aspiration towards what they want to be. Most are socially acceptable. Mine is one that is not.

I don't know if I'm going to reach my goal. Many people don't reach theirs. But not reaching mine has consequences. People who don't have a specific aspiration still are or can be content, to varying extents, to float along.

The way I've lived my life precludes floating along indefinitely. If I don't commit suicide by choice, then I'll eventually reach circumstances where I'll feel it's the only option. That was the design. That was all the sabotaging I've done all through my life.

When it hit me that alcohol wasn't going to kill me and I'd have to do it, I balked. Isn't there any other way? It took a sleepless night of calm reflection to realize I didn't even want "any other way". That's part of the design, too. Run through the scenarios of re-entering living life, and nothing appeals. I don't even want to.

I can't suddenly decide that I want to live and re-enter living life. The thought only occurred to me because of fear and attachments. It is scary facing the end of one's life. And the attachment is primarily to these senses and this perspective that I call me, not to the stuff of the world. It's all I know and it's all going to disappear, and I'm the one who has to make it happen.

Anyway, I have to work on unraveling the routine of distractions that has come to make up my life. Or is it distractions of routine? Same difference.

Given its druthers, without external obligations or responsibilities, my daily life falls into routine. It creates its own things, a schedule, that it has to do. Much of it trivial and ridiculous, including being ruled by TV. This is a big problem.

The routine gives me something to do, creating a false sense of purpose and a conveyor belt to tomorrow, distracting me from figuring out that suicide is the only next step.

The drinking was supposed to be the back-up plan. If I kept not ending my life, then eventually my health would fail from the constant drinking. That was the hare-brained theory.

But that testimony in the previous post makes a lot of sense to me, and it makes sense to 100% accept that I'm not going to die from alcohol-related health complications. The best I could expect from continuing to drink like that might be a long and painful existence that I'm possibly already feeling. Yea, I don't need that.

So the first conclusion is that constant drinking has no purpose, and I should stop. Now I have to face the truth of my alcoholism, which I never felt was a problem nor an addiction. It was a tool, a habit, something I did. I can stop any day. Well, it's any day.

I'm not going to assume it's going to be easy. I'm not going to try to go cold turkey. I think it's something I'll just have to deal with and observe week after week and any assessment, especially feeling good, will have to be taken with a grain of salt.

The second conclusion is that if I'm going to commit suicide, I can't rely on a back-up plan. That's pretty much what I've been doing. I've gone completely slack about having to actually do it. I was just letting the water flow under the bridge because I could let it. And the water's harmless if I'm sitting on the bridge.

For the past however many years I've been distracting myself, listening to music, collecting K-pop, cycling, running, maintaining mindfulness practice, watching sports and reading countless books in libraries, all the while drinking, drinking, drinking, thinking it's gotta kill me hopefully sooner rather than later.

It was laziness. Fading focus. I got sucked into enjoying just being able to live without ambition or wanting anything.

I wasn't having doubts or second thoughts about it. I want to die. This is for what I've been living my life. The exact place where I am in life is the result of having suicide as the affirmative goal. It's what this whole blog is supposed to be about.

So what I mentioned flippantly in the previous post about having to do it myself, was actually a reality-shattering wake-up call, prompting me to stop drinking and realize that I can't just be sitting around on this, distracting myself and filling time.

I've been feeling like crap starting this past weekend, along with two nights of complete insomnia. Then after a day or two of my anus feeling like it was going to explode, I took some Imodium multi-symptom relief (Diarrhea PLUS *Cramps & Pressure, *Gas, *Bloating) that I brought with me from the U.S.

It's over-the-counter, but I'm suspicious and wary about the U.S. pharmaceutical industry. It's obvious that profit is the most important thing to them, so I'm reluctant to take their products just because I'm feeling a bit off. I have to be pretty desperate and well into suffering to reach for the Imodium.

I write shit like this and then I realize I'm just repeating myself. Just a few posts back and I've already written what I'm experiencing now. It's chronic. The misery, the suffering, the realization that alcohol is probably at the root of it; variations on a theme.

I was desperate enough to take the Imodium and was feeling bad enough to drink as little as possible today. Even that I've done before, I know I've written about it.

I finally found a description on an internet forum of what happens when you drink a bottle of liquor a day for years that matches my experience. The question was about how long people can live (minor spelling and grammar edits):

Good question. Far longer than you might think. Depending on how well they take care of themselves, whether or not they have other diseases and barring drunken accidents they could very easily live for many years that way. People are a lot harder to kill than is generally believed. That being said, under the right conditions and keeping in mind that everyone’s body is different, a person could easily drink themselves to death in a relatively short amount of time. It really just depends. 

A person who drinks that much daily will be experiencing daily diarrhea, dehydration, organ swelling, hemorrhoids, vomiting up of blood, vomiting, morning shakes, possibly seizures. They risk cancers, lesions and outright destruction of their entire digestive tract from mouth to anus. They run their liver ragged and inflame their pancreas often developing untreated diabetes. Its a long, painful death for all involved. I know because I drank a 5th of hard liquor every day for many years. I have done every drug and have been addicted to most of them at one time or another and can tell you from personal experience and from watching other alcoholics in rehabs and hospitals that alcohol is by far the most destructive and dangerous drug on a long enough time scale and we haven’t even touched on what it does to relationships and its costs to society.

Aside from alcohol, I don't take drugs. No addictions. No known disease and relatively good health runs through the family. When I drink, I don't engage in dangerous behavior. I don't get drunk per se, and every night I drink until I shut down my computer and wash my shot glass.

Reasonably athletic until recently when I couldn't be anymore. Probably because of the alcohol. My nutrition I'm sure leaves a lot to be desired, and has only gotten worse with the inability to eat. Also probably because of alcohol.

I can relate to the daily diarrhea, organ swelling (I have a perpetual paunch and I hardly eat anything), vomiting. The destruction of digestive tract resonates.

Much of what he writes resonates and suggests that my drinking is probably not going to kill me. It will just continue to bring misery and suffering. If I want to die, I'm going to have to take it into my own hands, so to speak.

And I have been thinking about it a lot recently even though I haven't mentioned anything (I probably actually have). Anything I have to say about suicide I've said before. I've just been giving it a harder look and realizing shit's got to get real.

2016 mix CDs

These 2016 CD mixes of my vanity project to make mixes of every year I've been alive took months of "little tweaks" to be satisfied with them. Maybe not "satisfied", but rather that I reached the point where I got tired of making any more changes.

Still all K-pop, although I did manage to fit in a David Bowie track from his last album; that was going to happen no matter what. I was concerned that it would stick out like a sore thumb, but I think I put it in a sequence of songs (the last five actually, with their minor feels) that creates an appropriate atmosphere without getting depressing. That song is probably the most emotional regarding his cancer and facing dying.

If I do this again for 2017, I think I'll make all effort to make it a single disc or not at all. I don't even know if that's even feasible. Looking at the rejected songs for 2016, they could fill a third CD and it still would have been pretty strong by my estimation. That's why it's hard to say I'm fully satisfied with the end result, a lot was left off.

The "unofficial stage mix" videos that are linked are fan made so it is left to be seen whether they get deleted in the long run. Still, they are so brilliantly done by this particular user that I thought they are worth linking at this point.

The transitions are so smooth that it's like watching a magic show. What's astounding is how the editor matched shots from multiple performances from different music programs (different camera crews and directors) and made the transitions look more like morphs.

2016 mix CD, part one (zip download):
1. Russian Roulette (Red Velvet) (full stage camcorder, Seulgi focus fancam, 2x speed version for people short on time)
2. Jealous 질투 (U Sung Eun x Kisum)
3. Sting 찔려 (Stellar) (choreography version)
4. No Oh Oh 아니야 (CLC) (choreography version)
5. Good Luck (AoA) (full stage camcorder)
6. Very Very Very (I.O.I) (full stage camcorder, unofficial stage mix)
7. Help Me (Brave Girls) (lyric video) (audio only)
8. To the Beautiful You (Wonder Girls)
9. So Good (Hyosung (Secret)) (lyric video) (audio only)
10. The Rain (Ladies' Code) (full stage camcorder)
11. Bambamhae (feat. Mad Clown/prod. by Gil (LeeSsang) (Yuk Ji Dam)
12. Day of Excess (Miryo (Brown Eyed Girls)) (lyric video) (audio only)
13. Free Time (Kisum) (audio only)
14. Are You Hungry? (EXID)
15. Next Page (Twice) (lyric video) (official audio)
16. Lip 2 Lip (Nine Muses A)
17. ViViD (HeeJin (LOOΠΔ))
18. Come In (Two X) (lyric video) (audio only)
19. Secret (Cosmic Girls)
20. Love Like This (Hyolin (Sistar))
21. I Do (Jeon Ji Yoon (ex-4minute))
22. Dollar Days (David Bowie) (official audio)
23. Missing U (Lee Hi) (official audio)

2016 mix CD, part two:
1. Magnet (Jeon Ji Yoon (ex-4minute))
2. Windy Day (Oh My Girl) (full stage camcorder, unofficial stage mix)
3. You Are the Moon (DIA (BinChaenHyunSeu))
4. High Heels (Brave Girls)
5. I'm Jelly Baby (AoA Cream) (full stage camcorder)
6. Around You (HyunJin (LOOΠΔ))
7. You're the Best (Mamamoo) (adlib compilation, full stage camcorder)
8. Keep On Doin' (Luna (f(x))
9. Shooting Love (Laboum) (unofficial stage mix, full stage camcorder)
10. Hate (Melody Day) (audio only)
11. Why So Lonely? (Wonder Girls)
12. Do As I Say (I.O.I) (lyric video) (audio only)
13. And July (feat. Dean, DJ Friz) (Heize)
14. 13 months, 32 Days (DIA (L.U.B.))
15. Only One (EXID) (lyric video) (Solji x Hani audio only)
16. Let Me In (HaSeul (LOOΠΔ))
17. Hoo Hoo Hoo (NC.A) (lyric video) (official audio)
18. I Like That (Sistar)
19. Ya Heart (Dal Shabet) (audio only)
20. Walkak (Baechigi) (audio only)
21. Smile (Jeon So Yeon)
22. TT (Twice) (full stage camcorder, unofficial stage mix)

2015 mix CD, part 2

All those things I was griping about have been abating. So . . . that wasn't how it was all going to end. Sleep has been returning, but not perfect. It's not relentless insomnia anymore. Recovery sleep still wrecking.

I've been able to eat, but limited. Gastrointestinal issues, the least I know anything about, are likely chronic but have abated.

I may even try exercising again after the debacle last time over two weeks ago. There's a psychological barrier that appears when something unpleasant like that happens. There's both the unpleasantness aspect as well as the feeling that I shouldn't be doing this anymore because I can't. Which in my defense, at my age, is fair.

If I can't manage even 3 miles at a super slow pace, whatever. I have no problem quitting trying. I don't even know why I'm even trying.

When I was younger it was impulse. Craving. I grew up in places where winter was cold, and I couldn't run in cold weather because I'd get asthma. But once spring came along, I would get antsy if I didn't start running. It felt like something I had to do.

It's definitely not something I need to do now. As for cycling, I filled the tires on my bike two weeks ago, telling myself if I hadn't gone on a ride in two days, I'd deflate them. I've done neither, but I think I'll be deflating them this evening.

Whatever I do, it'll wait until the end of the Tour de France which I've been following on TV. The last stage is tomorrow. When I was younger, but older than running days, watching the TdF would have inspired me to get on my bike, but not now. Tackling climbs? Why?!! Looks painful, and I know how painful it is.

Morning sitting is still out. It wasn't too long ago that I would wake up and think of not sitting, but then think it was the most important thing I'd be doing that day and proceed with it.

I, of course, wouldn't mind getting back to it once the impulse or inspiration hits, but so far I haven't noticed anything different in my daily mindfulness whether I sit or not.

I don't think I could ever abandon or decry the benefits of sitting meditation, but perhaps the lifestyle I've chosen whereby I'm just waiting to die and have no social contacts or substantive attachments is by nature mindfulness practice. Don't need to pull myself out of something I'm not even sucked into.

The question still persists why I'm still alive, though. I'm still working on that. I've taken to focusing on certain body parts – a finger joint, or where an internal organ likely is – and asking what it has to do with me. There's a bone in here, is it me? No. Why should it exist? Why is it in any way important? It's not.

I still stare into mirrors and visualize and imagine the skull that is the basis for my head appearance. Strip off the outer flesh and all skulls look the same. You can't look at a skull and identify the person it was. It's the vanity of identity.

And as I've done many times before, I remind myself that the purpose of distancing myself from any and everyone has been to lessen any impact of my death. To make it theoretical, rather than emotional.

I hear about people dying and the emotional response by their loved ones, and I've worked to minimize that for when I die. There's just no proximity of any kind whereby anyone can be substantively affected by my dying.

Not physical, emotional, not even communication, any sort of connection, there's no proximity by which anyone could claim to be affected by my death. I've done well I must say so myself.

Misery and distress continue with insomnia, inability to eat and gastrointestinal problems which have disrupted all aspects of my life. Fortunately, my life does not have many aspects to be significantly disrupted.

Last night was total insomnia. No sleep at all. You flip the light switch and nothing happens. Eventually I blacked out at about 7 in the morning and woke up with a few interruptions around noon. That's optimistically five hours solid as far as I'm concerned.

The eating issue has a simple solution: don't eat. I keep getting tempted to eat or feeling I need to eat, or even feeling hungry, and I fall for it and even if I nibble at morsels, it puts me in some kind of agonizing food coma for several hours.

Eating anything has been triggering the gastrointestinal issues. Again the solution is to not eat. And stay close to home, or even better don't even go out.

Exercising has been completely out. Especially after last week's incident, which I've been thinking was the result of the plod itself, and not incidental to trying to do something. It adds up. If you can't take in nutrition, any exertion is going to lead to distress.

It is miserable and distressing. It's only balanced out by the fact that I have no responsibilities to anything or anyone so there's no external stress. I don't have to be anywhere or do anything. If I feel I can't get out for the day, I don't have to explain myself to anyone. No one will even know.

If I can't eat, if I can't sleep, it affects no one, no one needs to know. There's a slight question for myself how much of this I can take. When the balance of misery and distress tips any mitigating factors that are keeping me alive, whatever that means.

Insomnia may be abating, but recovery sleep is also brutal with difficulty getting up and general fatigue. My life is so fucked. Fuck my life. There are no words and no limit to how much my life is fucked.

Now that I've got that out of my system, at least I have and have had some modicum of control over my life and destiny. Even if it was just to fuck it.

Eating is fucked. All I ate yesterday was a bakery pretzel. Today just a simple portion of plain noodles, during which I knew it was the only thing I was going to eat for the rest of the day. No hunger or appetite otherwise.

Yesterday I woke up with my calves sore even though I haven't done any exercise in two weeks. It was odd. But even though I haven't been feeling great lately, I decided to try to go out and at least walk my three mile course.

I ended up plodding through it with full intention of stopping if I felt any discomfort anywhere. It was a woeful 10:56 average pace, but I've done worse in the past few months.

Afterwards I started feeling really bad, like I was going to pass out. I was too weak to even do cool down stretches. As I slowly trudged my way home, I seriously, at times, wondered if I was going to make it or if . . . this was how it was going to end.

Of course, I did make it home and ultimately alright. But it did give me a thought. I recently saw a video of a bull being killed in a Spanish bullfight. The fatal blow had already been dealt.

The video was showing how brutal and inhumane bullfighting is. Ironically, this was just a few days after news of a top bullfighter having died from his injuries from being gored. I'm sorry to say I had minimal compassion or sympathy for him.

But the video chronicled the bull's death and how blood loss was leading to its major organs shutting down and struggling until it collapsed and died. It gave me insights on what it might be like to die of untreated liver failure.

I haven't been able to find any description of what that experience is actually like. But drinking the way I do, I should expect liver failure at some point down the line. Of course it's a matter of personal physiology and there have been people who drink like I do who live to ripe old ages.

But drinking about a bottle a day (liquor, not beer) can be expected to progressively impair liver function. They say the liver is a very resilient organ and if the drinking stops, the liver can repair itself to a certain extent.

So it's not easy to push it over the point of no return, but once the liver loses its functionality, once it stops playing the role of "one that lives", the effects cascade. Other organs start shutting down and as parts of the system fail, the whole system eventually fails.

With the liver, it's not immediately critical like a heart attack or stroke or bleeding out. I gather it's more a matter of toxicity in the body rising until it gets critical. But then once it's critical, it's "immediately critical".

Is it painful? Probably. But it's also probably brief. If the system can't function, you die possibly quickly. If a person can be rushed to a hospital, there's a possibility of revival and recovery. But if I'm not counting on that, if I've abused my liver for so long without any expectation of living beyond its ability, it's possible that when it goes, I go.

If it happens in public, while I'm out, after or during a jog, I'm likely just to lie down somewhere as indiscreetly as possible and let the public and authorities figure it out. I never carry ID with me, so good luck to them.

I felt bad after that three-mile plod. I wondered whether I could make it home. But I took it moment at a time and proceeded as I felt I was well enough to.

At some point in the future, I might not feel like I could go any further. I may become disoriented and too weak. And the realization that I seriously don't think I'd be making it home and just find somewhere indiscreet to stop.

This gives me great comfort over the possibility of dying while writhing in agony and misery at home because I decided to eat something that day.