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It was not the first time I dreamt of you, nor the last time I believe. Last time we saw each other in real life was pre-covid, which feels remote and ancient to me. But the moment we lost connection, was long before that. I almost convince myself it happened at the singularity point of… Read more: Dear friend, I dreamt of you last night…

For someone like me, English is not my mother tongue, writing in English, in the sense of expressing oneself, is hard. It’s not that you don’t have an urge to say, nor you don’t have anything to say. Most of the time, it’s the other way around. As if 5 pints of beer in your… Read more: On holding your pee

I don’t choose the nights. They’re given to me — handed over whole, end first, the way you might be handed a letter you’ve already read. By the time I find the door I know what’s behind it. By the time I learn the town is called Mischung — a mixing, a place where humans and elves and dwarves and halflings had agreed, some generations back, to be happy in the same narrow streets and mostly managed it — I already know it burns.

My friend in Yarraville sends me scenes instead of letters — a man on a phone, a woman at a desk — and never says where she was standing when she caught them. I give each one a body to see through and a name to answer to, then write it back to her. She… Read more: Things I overheard from Yarraville

It’s already one day after Mother’s Day, but still I’m going to open today’s journal with a long-term tug-of-war with my mom. Mom’s always super helpful whenever I’m searching for a job, finding a master’s program or some PhD program tailored to my interest. She would quietly collect all the information needed, and the next… Read more: Mails from Hogwarts

It all starts with a casual chat with my mom on WeChat. My mom showed concerns with how I founded a reading group which consequently drew attention from many overseas expat communities. Out of her surprise, I replied thanks for the hints, I’ll make sure we will stick to what we want to do from… Read more: Hundun

The first journal in this rose-colored French-made notebook will be a free-writing session artifact. At this moment, regardless of the extreme unease of cold-ish symptoms, the nib dances swimmingly on the friction-free paper. Before this session, I was reading one or two poems from some newly arrived poem collections. Once again, I observed how much… Read more: We Are Zhuang Zhou, and We’re Butterfly

The track involves experiments with Ableton wavetable, adding a touch of acidity to conventional techno.

A better future, which could’ve been, is always melancolia.

In my view, a better future society can’t simply gamble on the public’s collective goodwill. Some guidelines need to exist to nudge private organisations toward serving a wider range of people. I’m not arguing for authoritarian power. I’m arguing for a society that takes everyone’s lived experience seriously…

Welcome to bob in troop! The name was after the “bob army” sketch from SNL (check out if you haven’t yet), basically everyone gets “bobbed” here in this “slay army”. I guess this is also this blog’s attitude, and where this blog stands in the mad world. This blog has its “beauty standards”, which is… Read more: Gets bobbed!