Hi, and welcome! (Scroll past this post if you’re looking for the updates :))

This is my new thought and fiction diary! Here I’m going to be posting whatever comes to mind, experimenting with whatever I feel like at the time. There will be a lot of first drafts coming through here, but the quality of stuff should reach at least a decent standard. The first post (‘#1: for the sake of flow’) is actually an example of experimentation gone very badly, but you know what? Next time it’ll be better, and that’s the point of this secondary blog!

My previous blog is at ChasjngDreams, a blog that’s taken more of the spin of personal thoughts and rants. If you like what you read here, maybe you’d like the writer behind all of this too!

Hope you enjoy!

– j. NG

253: High-est-Hell

A man sits in an inherited treehouse
Supported by some rotting legs of legacy,
Weighted down by his flapping decor of ego.
A hundred metres high he claims he knows the earth and sky
But never has he felt the worldly wind’s true touch,
Nor has he bent down to test the wise tops of the pines.
He will live long enough to feel their cuts, just once.

251: Lost-Time

O, how I thank thee, twenty first century,
For not since your great depressions
Has my realm, this monarchy
Blossomed with such time swirling bliss.

I, Gerrard Marquis, master of Lost-Time,
The seventh of my kingdom’s millennial line
Has pored over the lore of my father and his,
And have enjoyed the succulence of poets’ minds,
The trappings of children’s fascinations in the space
Between butterfly wings, in their delight of falling rain,
But as history has truly writ, that space is wrested back
By the demands of Success and Ambition.

I have only suckled on dreamers like popsicles,
Thin, hollow, melted, taste lingering before reignition.
Like a beggar I have scrapped for meals
During fatigue in chimney sweeping children,
In memories being buried in those beside lowering caskets.
I have only lived in the shadows of fluttering curtains,
In the dryness of dust hovering in old homes,
And with most difficulty, in the vacuous nothing
Of what you call vegetables, and I call vacation.

But now, refurnished, refurbished, my veil hangs over the skies.
Might is mine. My kingdom is fine, wide.
Ambition sends its armies and artilleries,
Loaded with shells of reason and persuasion.
Success sends their convoys, whispering promise.
But I drop empty onto Ambition’s armies,
Supplied with every drop of time you’ve lost.
I silence all minds, with the words you forgot.

So, I plead my pleasure onto you –
Continue my upkeep of never-maybe’s,
And this drought of Doing in your world,
For when you waver, as I do,
Here, the uncertainty is perfect.
Therefore, I thank thee as you forget me in advance.

250: Regretting, still.

My thunder was the footsteps of my mother,
Pacing the hallways for the peeps of sounds
That could occasionally slip underneath the slit
Of closed hallway doors.

Twas never the fear of wrongdoing exposed,
Being caught in bed like a silhouette against bolt,
Never that, but when that doorknob rattled,
I held my breath and trembled.

The mask would appear first – the intention clear,
Like a mummified paper mache project gone wrong,
Labelled across the forehead, big eyes, red lips,
It read “MOTHER”.

“Are you asleep yet?” ran the hiss, a trap, either way,
If eyes opened, then chastising, shut, a pecking, and
An asleep droning lecture of self-praise. The only way:
Groaning, tossing, turning.

That would send her back, my incantation like a cat,
Hissing – begone, send your spirit back.
If only her moon eyes could’ve seen her own act –
Then I could’ve loved her right back.

-j. NG

249: Alt-Tab

The alt-tab snap –
Whipping fingers quickly darting
From where they’d been tap dancing
Over the w, a, s and d keys.

The get out of jail free:
Lamb-faced, white document screen:
Fifty minutes’ve passed,
Just a single paragraph to be seen.

Tracked, your papers look like:
“w a a s a w a d”, with a half-dozen
Blank       spaces         where      that
Jump puzzle stumped you.

I don’t mind the tomfoolery
Or the delusion that all adults are fools,
Only that four weeks hence,
Your parents will stride in:
But they won’t be blaming you.

– j. NG

248: Fermi’s Zoo

These four limbed flesh wearers,
How piteously they live so,
Enslaved to the metal lights, like fireflies;
No, species error, like moths, flying into flame.

We have watched them, outside, heads bent
Like dipping reeds in reverence to their machines,
Holding small versions close to eyes
As tenderly as they would hold a newborn child.
Such is the rapture of man.

We have seen them rush inside, agents reporting
That they flatter the machines with information,
Keeping secrets from one another,
Storing the Steel One’s secrets worldwide.
Such is the occupation of man.

We have watched them breathe smoke into the air,
Leaving a belching crust of incubating glare,
Visible to our eyes, but seemingly clear down there.
They have fed their metal by bleeding the planet dry –
Such is the vision of man.

We have attempted to speak with the Steel One indeed
But silence was the reply.
So fulfilled in his servant’s constant enslavement
He feigned muteness, dumbness.
Such is the sovereign of man.

Hence we move onwards,
For though we’d delight in helping man shine,
Such is not our right.
We leave this message behind
For wish that digital quiet does not overwhelm their minds.
Such is the hope of man.

– j. NG

Ah, the delightful irony of writing this on my phone while on my way to work. Just in case anyone is wondering, no, I am not an undercover ambassador from an alien race. Don’t come and drag me away for experimentation please.

247: Colorblind


I do believe I was born within
A transparent and hollow shell,
Just one half inside before one clear missile dived
In from a barrage of goodness and love.

And though I was just a millionth of their weight
I was already blessed with my parents’ grace;
And though I didn’t know at all at the time,
I’d already some of my father’s strength
And all of my mother’s eyes.

I was ready before I knew it,
To cry and suckle at my mother’s chest,
To wear shoes with my father,
Play hoops till sunsets and onsets
Of mosquitoes and repellant.
Ready to read books with them both,
To watch my mother swim breaststroke
Up and down until I cried for fear
Of her disappearing amongst the waves,
Despite the distinguishing of red, white, and blue lanes.

I was ready for all of that,
Before my eyes went from chocolate chip
To black pebble, with my forehead like an alien,
A bubble, expanding until the day I looked human.
I knew all of that before I had the choices of blue or pink,
Planes or dolls or dresses or overalls.
Knew all of that before I stopped transparency,
That I was me, an entity,
Sinless being stained into translucency.

I knew all this, knew it with red veins,
Knew my mothers’ shaded belly lines were likely blue,
I treaded water with white fingertips, with no teeth, but a heart,
And a mind, suspended in dreams. I was human too.

Then my translucency finished.
It became solidity and my skin went from wrinkly
Peach, to a solid hue of cinnamon toasted muffin,
Morning coffee, bed frame wood, chocolate,
Broken into bars, squares, with a little bit of
Nuttiness inside, goodness spread like jam across bread.
I came out, head-first, and I was still camouflaged
And melted in the heat of my parents’ joy, as I knew I would.
But what I did not know was this:

I did not know that I was the shade
Of the sticks and the stones that would break me.
That I was dark clouds and others stood in my shadows,
Watching me wander adrift, daydreaming,
Inching away from my gaze despite how I was just
In my childhood days.
I did not know what dress my people wore;
I knew my father liked suits in the morning,
Loose shorts at night, and my mother
Sung on the days that she could stay in her jammies.
I knew many things, but not these.

I did not know that if I had something to show,
A measurer of time, a clock, they’d think it’d explode.

I do believe I was born within
A transparent and hollow shell.
I did not know that I was a missile who dived
Into a land to cause chaos and hell.

-j. NG

This is a work of fiction. It is not meant to represent or imitate the life of any real or living persons, though of course, I am at the moment very deeply affected by the outright discrimination of Ahmed in Texas. I know I was going to write Optimistic Ogling, I really was, but this one came first.

Please like and share this one if you enjoyed it.